Twice the Temptation. Cara Summers
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about that parchment envelope she drew out of your fantasy box. You know, you’re two for two in the fantasy-fulfillment department. If I’d drawn one out, I might be a little nervous, too.”
When he paused to take a breath, Avery was almost sure he heard a sound. Laughter?
Narrowing his eyes, he raised both hands, palms outward. “Don’t get any ideas. I’m okay in the fantasy department. My partner and I are very happy.”
Nothing.
When in doubt, forge ahead. “The thing is, I’d like to see Reese as happy as her sisters.” He cleared his throat. “And she’s not. What I think she needs is a good nudge. And you’re the best nudger I know. So I came up with the idea of offering a Singles Weekend here at the hotel, one that would include events—beach picnics and other activities like hiking and sailing—so that singles with similar interests can hook up with each other. I did some fast talking and convinced Reese she needed to be here for it. Her sisters and their fiancés are all traveling and I told her one of the owners had to be around.” He waved a hand. “Yada, yada, yada. I’ve even persuaded her to do a little hands-on cooking demo on Sunday afternoon for the foodies.”
Avery stopped and drew in a deep breath.
When he paused this time, there were no lights, no laughs. He hoped he was good at selling ideas. But he hadn’t mentioned the kicker yet.
“Once she’s here, I figure it will be up to you to handle the rest, the way you did for her sisters.” He drew in a breath and let it out. “But here’s the part I thought I ought to talk to you about.”
Nothing.
“I want to use the fantasies in your box as an added marketing draw. We’ll have a mixer party on the first night and allow those singles interested to draw out one of the parchment envelopes. We might not get any takers, considering that only the locals know about your fantasy box. The sisters have kept it pretty quiet. But when I was thinking about how to get Reese here for a few days so that you could deal with her fantasy, I thought, why not offer the opportunity to someone else? And then …” Avery waved a hand. “What will happen, will happen.”
Any minute now he was going to break out into a chorus of “Que sera, sera” from that old Doris Day film.
For a moment the air around him stilled. And in the reflection in the mirror, he saw a panel in the wall behind him slide open.
The secret room.
He’d heard Naomi and Jillian both speak of it, but he’d never seen it. Turning, he strode to it, and sure enough, there on the floor was a linen-covered hat box. Lifting it, he carried it with him to face the mirror again.
On the cover he read the words Fantasy Box: Choose carefully. The one you draw out will come true.
Though the sisters had all spoken about the warning, seeing the words for the first time sent a little shiver up Avery’s spine.
He shifted his gaze to the mirror. “This isn’t for the faint of heart. But I’m going to assume I have your approval.”
For a moment, he could have sworn that the sound of the ocean grew louder. Then he saw two images take form in the mirror—a woman in a long white dress with reddish gold curls falling to her shoulders and a tall man with fair hair standing with her, their hands joined.
Both of them were smiling.
Even after the images faded, Avery stared into the glass for a long time.
1
Thursday morning—the day before Singles Weekend
THIS IS THE DAY I’M TAKING Charge of my Life.
At least that was the plan, Reese reminded herself as she got out of the van in the driveway of Haworth House. Shading her eyes, she glanced up at the tower, the place she and her sisters now called home. A home she’d moved all her belongings into and then allowed a ghost to scare her away from.
Not that she was afraid of Hattie Haworth herself. After all, she owed the silent film star big time for saving the lives of her two sisters and bringing them each together with a man they’d fallen in love with—Dane and Ian MacFarland. It was the fantasy she’d drawn out of Hattie’s fantasy box, along with Hattie’s matchmaking skill that had kept her from really settling in at Haworth House.
Well, that was going to stop. She was twenty-four years old, and Reese Brightman’s M.O. was about to change. No more running away. No more letting the people who cared about her push roadblocks out of her path.
That had been the history of her life so far. She’d been a baby, her sisters a few years older when they’d lost their mother, and their father had left them in the care of the nuns at a Catholic boarding school in the south of France. Six months later, when he, too, had died, the good sisters had kept them and raised them. All of her life, there’d been people taking care of her, making her life run smoothly, eliminating obstacles when they appeared in her path.
From now on, she was going to deal with her own problems. And first on her list was taking care of the silly fantasy she’d drawn out of Hattie’s fantasy box. Avery’s phone call inviting her to help launch the hotel’s first Singles Weekend was just the nudge she’d needed.
For starters, it allowed her to take a reprieve from her problems in L.A. Just thinking about the two anonymous notes she’d received during the last two weeks had fear bubbling up again. Ruthlessly, she shoved it down. She wasn’t a wimp. She might have ignored the notes if they both hadn’t been accompanied by a single black rose. It was the roses that gave her the willies.
And then there was the finicky producer of her TV cooking show, Mr. Can’t-Make-Up-His-Mind Mac Davies, who after shooting three different pilots, was still waffling about the setting for the thirteen episodes they’d sold. According to her agent, Davies’ staff was scouting out locations and filming was on hold until he found the perfect one. And she should be patient.
Usually, she was. Usually, she was quite willing to let events run their course. But this TV show was the biggest thing that had ever happened to her so far. And it frustrated her that Mac Davies hadn’t once asked for her input. Both times she’d tried to make a personal appointment with him, he’d refused to see her. And she’d let him get away with that. Shading her eyes, she frowned up at the tower. That was the old Reese Brightman.
“Your bag, Ms. Brightman.”
Reese shifted her gaze to the young man who’d driven her from the ferry.
“Would you like me to carry it into the lobby for you?”
“No thanks, Larry.” Noticing the surprised look on his face, Reese smiled as she took her duffel. “I can manage.” She wasn’t quite ready to go inside and talk to Avery yet.
She needed to gather her thoughts and have a little chat with Hattie. As soon as the van drove away, she strode down the driveway, and after a quick look around to make sure the driveway was deserted, she pulled a parchment envelope out of her pocket, then narrowed her eyes once more on the semi-circle of windows in the tower. “Because of you, I’ve been avoiding this place like the plague.”
As soon as the words were out, a ribbon of guilt wound its way up her spine. “Okay, okay, maybe it’s not all your fault.” Her schedule had been very busy—finishing her first book tour and then filming those three pilots for the hard-to-please Mac Davies.
“Part of the blame can be laid at the door of my boy-genius producer, Mac Davies. In the first pilot, I was a French pastry chef and the whole set was pink. Yuck! Then he changed his mind and turned me into a ditsy housewife giving everyday dishes a gourmet flair. Double yuck! “
Reese blinked. Had it been her imagination or had she seen a figure at one of the windows? Hattie had been pretty familiar with the L.A. scene some sixty-plus years ago. Maybe