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SHAKING IT UP Excerpt
E-book, Books We Love Publishing, January 2012 CHAPTER ONE 
Daisy L’Amore scowled as yet another woman walked through the front door of With a Twist, the trendy martini bar and bistro she owned along with her best friends, Jasmine and Rose. The three of them had been united in elementary school when relentless teasing from the boys about their flowery names had brought them together against a common foe. Mutual respect, friendship and—most recently—commerce had kept them close ever since.
“Quit frowning at the female customers,” Rose said. “I’m not frowning. I’m scowling,” Daisy shot back. “And what else should I be doing? It’s February first—as in only two weeks until Valentine’s Day. Two weeks to find my Mr. Wonderful and make him fall in love with me.” Rose sighed, glancing out the windows that lined the western wall. She didn’t say it, but both Rose and Daisy were counting the hours until the sun dipped behind the San Diego city skyline. Sunshine, it seemed, was necessary for the crystal heart perched on the shelf behind the bar to light up and do its thing—identify each of the girls’ one true love. “The heart picked someone for Jasmine before breakfast and for you after lunch. Hello. I’ve only got a couple hours before the sun sets on another day. And the only people walking through that door are women. As in fee-male. I know that gypsy had a twisted sense of humor, but that’s not going to cut it for me.” Rose tried not to grin, but Daisy saw her lips quirk and her friend couldn’t hide the mischievous sparkle in her eyes. “Honestly, Daisy, the odds of Max being my one true love are about a million to one. He doesn’t even like me and I have no intention of falling in love with him, no matter what that heart says. I’m just telling you what happened.” “The heart started to glow and you saw its reflection on him,” Daisy muttered. “I heard.” In truth, Rose looked none too happy about it and knowing what she knew about Max, Daisy couldn’t blame her. Shaking her head, Daisy lifted a towel from the sink and gave the bar’s spotless surface a swipe. A year ago this martini bar and Italian fusion restaurant had been little more than a dream. Jasmine had approached them with the concept—she had the funds and the idea; Daisy and Rose had the enthusiasm and willingness to work like drones for slave’s wages. Well, Rose had more than that. Between Jasmine’s business acumen and Rose’s culinary expertise, they could have pulled it off on their own. But they let Daisy be a part of the dream and never made her feel like her contributions were less than their own. But that fateful night a year ago when they’d met the gypsy—before their dream had all come together—they’d just been friends dressed up and out on the town, pretending that not having a date on Valentine’s Day was their choice. Cocktails and oysters at the Harbor House had turned into more cocktails and then the girls had made their drunken, giggling way along the boardwalk of Seaport Village, looking for the next place to stop in. They’d come across the gypsy with her folding table and silken scarves just as they reached the West Plaza. Like kittens lured by a twitching tail, they’d seen the crystal heart and been diverted. It caught the glow of Seaport Village’s bright lights and seemed to burst with radiance—ruby red, rich burgundy, delicate cerise and glamour-gown scarlet swirled like liquid fire within it. The girls’ steps had slowed, then stopped completely in front of the strange, entrancing crystal. As one they’d reached for it. Daisy didn’t think any of them had even noticed the gypsy until that point. As their three hands met on the cool surface of the crystal, the gypsy cackled—cackled like in the movies. “Never seen it choose three before,” the gypsy said with a little too much glee. That should have been their first clue that life as they knew it was about to change. The gypsy had insisted on telling their fortunes, stopping any protests they might have made with an arched brow and a pointed look at the crystal heart. “It chose you. All of you. Don’t you even want to know why?” And then she’d proceeded to tell them. She prophesized about With a Twist, putting their dream into words and framing it with predictions of success and wealth. She’d given them the address of the property they would later lease and the date their doors would open for customers. Then she’d pulled each one of them aside. When Daisy’s turn had come, the gypsy had looked at her with solemn eyes and said, “She left you a letter. It’s in her room, in the nightstand.” Daisy didn’t ask who she meant. She knew. Her mother had died five months before after a brief, bitter battle with cancer. Since her father had ditched them both before Daisy was born, the loss of her mother—her only family—had been doubly tragic. In fact, that night out with Jasmine and Rose had been the first in a long, long time. “I’ve gone through everything,” Daisy said sadly. “She didn’t leave a letter.” “Her nightstand had a small slide out table in it,” the gypsy said softly. Daisy nodded. “Look there.” Having delivered her messages, the gypsy then faced the three and dropped the biggest of her bombshells. “Great things will come to you in the next twelve months. You will have success beyond your wildest dreams. But this heart is not a good luck charm. It’s a symbol of love and you three girls have been called by it.” “What does that mean?” Daisy had asked. “It will recognize your one true love and it will light the way for you. But you must do the rest.” “And what would that be?” “Make him return your love before midnight on February fourteenth of next year, or everything you’ve gained will be lost.” The dire forecast had felt so melodramatic that they’d all managed to shake off the spell she’d cast. They’d each dropped money in her jar and turned away, trying to recapture their good humor and laughter. But the gypsy’s voice had trailed after them. “One year. If the heart isn’t full when it returns to me, you will lose everything you value.” The words seemed to chase them all the way home. The next day, Daisy had pulled out the sliding wooden tray in her mother’s old nightstand and given a shaky laugh when she didn’t find a letter. But as she tried to push the thin extension back in, it caught on something. Only after she’d wiggled the piece of wood completely free of the nightstand, did she see the letter, scrunched like an accordion at the back. Even after she’d read the words from her mother and wept over them, even after With a Twist opened to crowds lined up and waiting, she wanted to doubt. But a few days after their grand opening, she’d walked into Jasmine’s office to ask her a question and there it was, the crystal heart perched on the safe like a guardian angel. “How did you get that?” she’d asked, stunned. Jasmine had been pale and shaken. “I don’t know. It was just there when I opened up this morning.” The gypsy had been clear. All three must open their hearts, find love and have it returned by Valentine’s Day. If even one of them failed to do it, they would all lose. But they hadn’t known how to use the heart. They hadn’t known what she’d meant by it “lighting the way”—marking the one they were meant for—until Jasmine had brought it into the bar this morning and the sunshine had hit it, turning all those shades of red into an ethereal fire. And now both Jasmine and Rose had both seen the sun hit the heart just right and light it up so it cast its glow on a man. But Daisy.... All Daisy saw was more women walking through the door. *** The bar had been filling steadily and Daisy tried to keep busy mixing the usual—Cosmopolitans, Appletinis, Blue martinis, even Sakatinis—and the not so usual—Watermelon (a personal favorite), Key Lime and Breakfast martinis (definitely not a favorite—marmalade and vodka had no business sharing a glass, but hey, to each their own). Fortunately most of the clientele trended toward the exotic, but not extraordinary. Some liked theirs shaken, others preferred stirred, and a few wanted theirs a little dirty. Daisy could mix with the best of them, but she wasn’t a mixologist, much to her shame. She could duplicate any recipe and perhaps improve upon it, and she spent hours trolling the Internet, looking for new ways to make a martini. But when it came to conceiving the concoction herself...well, her few attempts had bombed atrociously. She always got so fascinated with the colors in the drink, that she lost sight of the taste until it was too late. Yet another of her failings. Lately she’d been feeling like they far outweighed her strengths. A scattering of early diners filled the tables in the recessed dining room. The population had evened out—males and females balanced nicely—but Daisy hadn’t seen even a glimmering sparkle in the scarlet heart sandwiched on the Top Shelf between the Gray Goose and Bombay Sapphire. The sun slipped another inch toward the horizon and Daisy’s spirits followed. What if the prediction came true? No matter that it was crazy, everything the gypsy had told them had come to pass. So if they failed to open themselves up to love—whatever the hell that meant—could they really lose everything? And if Jas and Rose found their love but Daisy didn’t...would that mean they’d all lose out because of her? Stress dampened her palms. She’d felt like the weak link in their power chain of three for a long time. What if she was the one to break it? “Could I get a beer?” a deep voice asked, spinning her around. Number one, people didn’t come to With a Twist to drink beer. She did serve beer, of course. But ordering one was tantamount to going to France and eating McDonald’s. The man who’d made the request sat at the bar, wearing a weathered jean jacket over a flannel button down with a faded t-shirt beneath. She couldn’t see below the waist, but she didn’t have to see to guess there’d be shabby jeans on his long legs. From the fine layer of dust covering him, she’d guess construction worker. Not her usual clientele—well, pre-shower anyway. Even though he was sitting down, she could tell he’d be tall. And big. Broad shoulders and a muscled chest looked powerful beneath those layers. A sexy smile and a five o’clock shadow went with his green eyes and dark hair. He had a devil-may-care look to him that set off every alarm bell Daisy’s self defense system had. Trouble. This man was Trouble, with a capital T. Exactly the kind she’d spent her whole adult life tangling with. Exactly the kind that left her single, heartbroken and bitter at twenty-seven. She cast the crystal heart an accusing glance, but it didn’t spark or shoot any reflections at the man. Equal parts relieved and disappointed, she said, “What kind of beer?” “Bud,” the man answered. Was he freaking kidding? Budweiser? He’d come to With a Twist and ordered Budweiser? “We don’t stock Budweiser,” she informed him in her best, we have class voice. He grinned, obviously hearing loud and clear what she didn’t say. “What do you stock?” The question hung with an air of innuendo, though she could see no obvious suggestion in it. Ignoring the heat that curled in her stomach, she indicated the row of beer bottles lined with precision on the shelves behind her, setting a bar napkin in front of him as she did. At that moment, three things happened. The front door opened, letting in a gust of air and an errant ray of the setting sun. A man walked through it, his face in shadow from the bright glow behind him. And the crystal heart began to hum. From the corner of her eye, she saw the napkin she’d set in front of Mr. Tall, Dark and Troublesome flutter off the edge of the bar, but then her attention became totally fixated on the heart. The reds within began to glow like coals in a banked fire. The swirling shades darkened and throbbed and then a scarlet beam shot from the center straight at the Bud drinker. Daisy bit back her groan, turning quickly to see her fate spelled out across his dusty jacket. But at that moment, he dipped below the bar to catch the falling napkin and instead of branding him with that laser of red, the heart’s beam skittered across open air—where his head had been only a split second before—and landed on the chest of the man who’d just walked through the door. It flickered against the bright white of his shirt and then blinked out. An instant later, Trouble sat back in his seat with a dazed expression. “Was that a tremor?” he asked. Daisy’s mouth was so dry, she couldn’t answer. It had felt like an earthquake to her, too, but no one else in the bar seemed to have noticed. Conversation went on. Laugher surged around them. Her gaze shifted from Trouble’s beautiful green eyes to the newcomer who moved hesitantly toward the bar. The man who’d been tagged by the heart had on a brown suit and an ugly tie. Average height, average build, he wore thick Clark Kent glasses and had a smooth shaven, baby-faced look to him, though she guessed he was probably in his thirties. He perched on the bar stool two over from Trouble and gave her a shy smile. He looked far too sweet and respectable to be her type, but maybe that’s why the heart had picked him. Her type had a habit of making her cry. Daisy realized her mouth had dropped open and she shut it with a snap. “What can I get you?” she asked him, her voice husky. “I’m not quite certain,” he said. “This place is incredible.” Clark Kent had a British accent that made her knees go a bit rubbery, and his eyes behind those glasses looked a warm, chocolate brown. “I’ve not seen an establishment like it before. You specialize in martinis, isn’t it?” Thus the name, With a Twist, but she didn’t say that. Instead she smiled and nodded. At least he hadn’t ordered a Budweiser, she thought, belatedly remembering her other customer. She shot Trouble an apologetic look and let him know she’d be right with him. To Clark Kent, she said, “Here’s our martini menu. See if anything sounds good and I’ll be right with you.” Turning back to Trouble, she said, “I’m sorry. What kind of beer did you want?” “I’ll take a Fat Tire,” he told her, casting a curious look between her and Clark Kent. When his green gaze returned to her face, it held a sardonic glimmer that made her want to squirm. “Please,” he tacked on. Did she imagine that he’d added a mocking, British inflection to that please? She served his beer with a cold glass—that he ignored—and went back to ogling the man the crystal heart had marked. He looked up and gave her a bewildered smile. “I’d no idea there were so many choices in martinis,” he said in that wonderful accent. “What would you recommend?” “Do you like your drinks sweet or strong?” “Oh, I don’t think strong would be the ticket,” he said, shaking his head. “I’d rather avoid becoming fuddle-headed and embarrassing myself.” Really, he was too cute for words. “How about a Basil Martini? It’s one of my specialties.” Trouble made a noise in his throat and Daisy shot him a suspicious glance, but he wasn’t looking at her. Maybe she imagined it. She wanted to ignore him completely, but not only was he a customer, he was damned hard to ignore. The man practically oozed sexy and all her love me some bad boy hormones had perked up at the sight of him and now they wouldn’t settle down. Irritated with herself, she reached for the Gray Goose and basil infusion she’d put to chill earlier and grabbed her shaker. Several times as she worked, she felt a heated tingle, the kind that came when someone watched you, but when she looked up, both Trouble and Clark Kent seemed to be engaged in a very engrossing conversation and neither paid her the least bit of attention. Miffed, she strained the infusion into her shaker, added vermouth and ice and gave it a good shake before pouring it out into an iced martini glass. Clark Kent took a sip, grimaced and then politely said, “Brilliant.” “Are you sure? If you don’t like it—” “But it’s simply wonderful. I’d have no taste at all if I didn’t love it.” His smile warmed her down to her toes, even though she suspected him of lying. Bravely he took another sip. “It’s not for everyone,” she said. “Well, now I feel rather special,” he countered. “It’s just for me.” He was flirting with her. Pleased, she beamed at him. Trouble watched with narrowed eyes. When she glanced over, he waggled his bottle at her. “If you’re not too busy,” he added with a dry smile. After that, the evening became a blur. Two other bartenders joined her behind the horseshoe shaped bar, each taking a station and the duties that went with it. Happy Hour folded into the dinner rush, keeping Daisy too busy to do more than serve one drink after another. Despite his protests about strong spirits, Clark Kent—whose name she’d learned was William Fairfield—ordered three more and drank every drop. Trouble nursed his second beer, ordered Rose’s dinner special, and ate quietly at the bar. When she cleared his plate, she asked, “Another beer?” “Nah. Thanks.” He tossed his credit card on the counter. “Just close me out when you can.” She glanced at his card as she rang him up. Romeo Corazón. Romeo. She shook her head. It figured. “Thanks for stopping in, Mr. Corazón,” she said as she handed him the black folder with his receipt and card. “Rome,” he said. “Call me Rome.” His voice held a smoky invitation that curled around her and made her want to lean closer. His eyes darkened to a forest green that had her thinking of secluded coves and hot sunshine filtered through a canopy of leaves. “Daisy,” William called, interrupting her ridiculous thoughts. Her face felt hot as she turned away. William spoke with a slight slur and looked a bit unsteady—no surprise after four martinis. He gave her a lopsided smile. “I fear it’s time to call it a night. I’d no plan to stay so late, but the evening has been delightful.” “Are you in town long?” “A few weeks, until my business concludes.” “Well maybe I’ll see you again then,” she said. From the corner of her eye, she watched Rome stand. She’d been right. Tall and muscular and too damned sexy for his own good. For her own good. “Perhaps....” William trailed off, looking shy and inquisitive. “Perhaps?” Rome hesitated and made a show of checking his pockets. “Would you...I know this is terribly forward of me, but honestly, I don’t often feel the click.” “The click?” “Do I have it wrong, then? Is that not how you Americans call it when a man and woman....” He waggled his two pointer fingers between them. “Oh, you mean when we click.” He nodded, a slight frown telling her he didn’t quite get the difference between his phrasing and hers. “We click,” he repeated. “I’d love to take you out.” Daisy didn’t date customers, but the heart had chosen him, just as the gypsy had predicted, and with a sense of doom and desperation, Daisy said, “That would be nice.” She could feel Rome’s gaze traveling over her, could sense a wrongness in the moment as her words trailed off. And yet, she didn’t trust her own feelings. They’d led her astray too many times. “Yes?” William said with a delighted lilt. “Have you a free night this week perchance?” “As it happens, I’m off tomorrow,” she said. “This feels quite serendipitous, no?” Daisy nodded, but in her gut, it felt too serendipitous. She glanced at the crystal heart, confused and uneasy. It sat placidly in its place, giving her not even a hint as to what came next. “I could meet you somewhere,” she said carefully. “Are you staying close to here? There’s a place just down the street called Cove’s Cellar. We can meet there.” She never let a man pick her up for a first date. It was a golden rule that had served her well in the past. “Brilliant,” William said. “Say, eight o’clock?” “Eight o’clock,” she agreed with a smile that felt stiff. What the hell was wrong with her? William seemed like a wonderful man and would it really kill her to date someone decent for a change? She’d thought him attractive when he walked in and he’d done nothing to alter her opinion. If it hadn’t been for Rome sitting in the other stool, distracting her with all that he-man sexuality, she’d probably be over the moon excited. But Rome had hyped up her hormones and jaded her perception of William. She shot Rome a dark glance and caught him watching her again. And damned if her traitorous pulse didn’t start racing once more. “I look forward to tomorrow, Daisy....” William was saying. “I do beg your pardon, but what is your last name?” “L’Amore,” she told him. “Daisy L’Amore. What a wonderful moniker. It sounds like a....” stripper. She’d been hearing that her whole life. “A royal name,” William finished, grinning at her. “You’re not a princess by chance?” “Hardly,” she said with a mental eye roll. William checked his bill, added some cash to the folder and then stood a bit unsteadily. “You’re not driving?” she asked, worried. “Oh, heavens, no. You Americans drive like maniacs. I took a cab.” He gave her a charmed smile, swayed for a moment and then caught himself on his stool. “Until tomorrow, Daisy L’Amore.” “Until tomorrow,” she answered. As he left, she glanced over at Rome, but he was gone. Annoyed with herself for feeling disappointed, Daisy got back to work. |
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