Sweet Trilogy: Sweet Talk / Sweet Spot / Sweet Trouble. Сьюзен Мэллери
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been here before, that woman. She’s not easy. You did good.”
Simple words, Claire thought, a sense of pride swelling inside of her. “Thanks.”
“I didn’t think you’d make it, but you didn’t give up. That’s something.”
Claire grinned. “You’ve made my week.”
It was only when she’d moved on to the next customer that she realized she’d never once thought about panicking. She’d done what needed to be done. It was a great feeling and one she wanted to have again.
“MAYBE,” NICOLE SAID, as she leaned back on Claire’s bed. “Are you really going to wear jeans on your date?”
Claire didn’t mention they had been Jesse’s idea. “I thought my other clothes were too dressy. These have a dark wash and I’m wearing them with high-heeled boots.”
“Very fashion forward,” Nicole said as she shoved another pillow behind her head. “But Wyatt knows you’re all Park Avenue. He’ll dress up and you’ll feel funny in jeans. What about those white wool slacks. Those are really nice.”
“He’s seen them.”
“With what?”
“A white sweater. Well, ivory. Technically the outfit is ivory.”
Nicole rolled her eyes. “Of course it is. Do you have a different sweater?”
Claire looked through her clothes and pulled out one that was a pale blue with threads of light silver shot through it. “I never wear this one,” she said, half to herself, “even though I really like it. Maybe with pearls.”
“Earrings maybe, but not a strand of pearls. That’s too old lady. The color will be great with your hair and your eyes.”
She held the sweater up to herself and looked in the mirror. Honestly she didn’t see any difference, but she was willing to be wrong.
“Okay. I’ll wear this sweater with the ivory slacks. I have pretty silver heels and a great bag.”
Nicole wrinkled her nose. “That goes without saying. All your stuff is great. You must really like shopping.”
Claire wondered if they were about to get into dangerous territory. “Not really. Lisa buys stuff and I either keep it or not. I don’t really have time to go to stores.”
She braced herself for a sarcastic comment but Nicole only nodded. “From what she said, your days did seem full. Is that your real hair color?”
Claire fingered a strand. “I get highlights.”
“Maybe I should do that. My hair seems really dull and boring compared with your forty-seven colors.”
“It’s about five different highlights,” she admitted.
“It takes forever, but the different shades make it easier as it grows out. No obvious roots.”
“A plus when you’re traveling.”
Claire nodded slowly, looking for sarcasm in her sister’s comment, but not finding any. “It helps.”
Nicole stood. “I should let you get dressed. Wyatt will be here soon and I don’t want you to keep him waiting. Under the circumstances, it would be too weird for me to make polite conversation.”
Knowing she was probably asking for trouble, Claire said, “Thanks for all your help and advice.”
Nicole shrugged. “Just trying not to be the Bitch Queen of the Western World.”
“You’re doing a great job.”
“Gee, thanks.”
When Nicole had left, Claire plugged in her electric curlers. She wasn’t going for some fabulous style, just a little body in her hair. She curled it, applied light makeup, then dressed, fussed with her hair and shrieked when she glanced at her watch and saw Wyatt was due any second. As she opened her bedroom door, she heard Nicole yell, “Get your skinny ass down here. He’s pulling up and I will not act like your mother.”
“I’m ready,” Claire called back and hurried toward the front door.
“You’re on time,” Wyatt said by way of greeting. “I wasn’t expecting that.”
“Oh. Okay.” Were women usually late for dates?
Nicole hadn’t said anything. “Did you, ah, want to come in?” As she spoke, she glanced over her shoulder and saw Nicole shaking her head and motioning for them to leave. “Or we could just go. That might be better.”
“Sure.”
She grabbed her purse and went outside. Even with her wearing high heels, he was still a lot taller. And bigger. He was also dressed differently. A dress shirt and dark slacks replaced the jeans and plaid shirts he usually wore. He looked nice. Was she allowed to say that to a guy?
They approached his truck. He opened the passenger door and waited for her to move inside. As she brushed past him, she was jolted by awareness and a massive case of nerves.
“Do you eat meat?” he asked. “I couldn’t remember if I’d ever seen you eat any. You’re not a vegetarian, are you?”
She laughed. “No. I eat meat.”
“Good. We’re going to a terrific steak place. Buchanans. It’s one of my favorites. They have great food.”
“Sounds perfect.”
They talked about Amy and the bakery on the drive to the restaurant. Wyatt pulled up in front of the valet sign and handed over the keys, then came around and opened her door. Once they were inside, he told the hostess they had reservations.
Claire liked that he’d planned their evening together. She also liked the restaurant. It was intimate, all rich woods and leather booths. It was atmospheric without being dark, and elegant without being intimidating.
They were shown to a booth in the corner. After they’d slid onto their seats, the hostess put their menus on the table, along with the wine list, then left.
“You look good,” Wyatt said.
Claire paused in the act of reaching for her menu. “Ah, thank you.” She felt heat on her cheeks and was grateful for the subtle lighting. “Thanks for asking me out. This is really fun.”
“Don’t you want to wait until the evening is over to decide that?”
She smiled. “I don’t have to.”
He raised one eyebrow. “Are you flirting with me?”
“Maybe a little.”
“Good.”
The blush turned into a glow.
Wyatt didn’t need to look at the menu. He’d been to Buchanan’s enough times to know what he liked. But he enjoyed watching Claire study the selections. She looked intense, as if her decision had consequences.
He still hadn’t decided if asking her out had been smart or not. He was attracted to her, she was single and sexy as hell. Dating made sense.
Except she was Nicole’s sister and no one he would normally meet, let alone get involved with. A few minutes on the Internet had produced more information on Claire Keyes than he’d expected. She was famous, revered and adored on every continent she’d visited. Critics loved her, fans worshipped her and she’d had multiple bestselling CDs. He was a guy who built houses in Seattle. What was wrong with this picture?
“Would you like to order a bottle of wine?” he asked, refusing to talk himself out of the evening before it had even begun.
“That would be great. Do you—”
Just then a man in a tux walked over to their table. “Good evening. I am Marcellin, your sommelier. I heard you mention wine and