32. Natalie #2
“No one. I figured it out on my own. I may have intercepted a couple of text messages between Noah and Miranda, too. Then I got in touch with Cecil—”
“Wait, Cecil knows about this?” His voice jumped several octaves.
“He knows everything. He’s my co-conspirator, along with Blaine Sheridan, who is just a friend and a mighty fine actor. And just so there’s no hard feelings, Cecil’s picking up the tab for the entire shindig. He gave me his Platinum Card and told me to go all out.”
Dash stood stone faced, digesting this information. “That sneaky sonofabitch. So, me showing up at the party and you not being there—”
“All part of our plan,” she said, her smile as wide as humanly possible.
“And the others?”
Natalie shook her head. “Have no idea.”
Dash cocked his head to one side, his gaze reading her from head to toe and back again like the penultimate chapter of a spy novel. “You turned the tables on me, Amelia.”
She took a step toward him. “Stole your grand gesture right out from under your nose, Mr. Crown. You played right into my hands.”
“Truth be told, there’s no place I’d rather be.”
“There’s just one problem.”
“What?” he asked with a wary tone.
"Well, I had this idea that you’d walk in here, totally dejected, flop down at the bar, and order a martini. Then I was going to sneak up behind you and surprise you by doing the same—a full re-creation of our London pub scene, all the way down to requesting jalapeno slices."
“Should I leave and come back in? I mean, I’m happy to go the full distance to make this dream come true.” He stepped forward, their bodies almost touching.
You’re making my dreams come true right now, just by being here. By going all out with your crazy scheme to show me that you believe in me—that you believe in us.
"If it's not too much trouble,” she said, running her hand over his tie. “Then, once we have drinks in hand, you can tell me the story behind this gawd-awful thing.”
He pulled the antique stopwatch from his pocket and held it up. "I'll be back in sixty seconds. Time me."
I’m already counting the seconds. The nanoseconds, in fact. Like I’ve counted every minute since London. Forever starts now, Mr. Crown.
Dash headed back outside. Natalie watched him through the window.
He paced around for a few steps as he got in character, then turned back to her, a look of defeat plastered on his face.
She couldn’t hold in her laughter. He slogged back inside the bar, looking like a wounded puppy.
Head down. Hunched over as though he’d suffered a crushing blow.
He didn’t make eye contact with her but continued to the bar and parked on the only vacant stool.
Natalie slipped up behind him, watching his reflection in the mirror behind the bar.
"What can I get started for you, sir?" a bartender asked.
Dash let out a heavy sigh. "Double vodka martini, please—very dry."
"Can you make that two?" her voice cut through the noise. "With two olives, please, unless you have a jalapeno pepper back there, in which case I’ll take one of those instead."
Dash spun around on the barstool to face her. One hand fell across his heart in faux shock as he said, “Why Ms. Earhart, this is quite the surprise."
"It's Amelia, but my closest friends call me Amy," she replied, her smile radiant.
"You look absolutely enchanting.”
"And you haven't lost your impeccable fashion sense." She eyed his gaudy red tie, the word DOMESTICATED printed down the center.
He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out a flower. He brushed her hair back and tucked it behind her ear.
Natalie's heart roared with thunderous beats.
"The gardenias were a nice touch," he said.
"Oh, you like that, huh?"
"I like it all." His eyes grew serious. "Every single bit of it."
He pulled her body closer, locking her between his knees while his arms wound around her waist. A week ago, she couldn’t have envisioned this moment.
Being back in Dash’s arms? An answered prayer.
For the first time since London, Natalie felt truly secure with the knowledge she could have it all.
Dash would always champion her dreams and goals.
“Before you left my apartment, you made a statement that’s stuck with me ever since. You said second chances don’t happen very often, and we have to take them when we can.”
“It’s true. And I’m taking mine right now.”
Natalie didn’t give him a chance to respond. Her mouth covered his and she kissed him deeply. For a full minute, they were caught up in the deliciousness of guilt-free rediscovery, oblivious to the world at large.
The bartender cleared his throat loudly as he placed their martinis on the shiny bar top. Reluctantly, they pulled apart—both breathless.
"I know a little place not far from here," she whispered, her eyes dark with longing.
"Any chance we could get those to go?" Dash pointed to their drinks.
"I'm afraid not, sir," the bartender answered.
He turned back to Natalie. "You know what that means, right?"
"If we must, we must," she said with a shrug.
Together they reached for their respective glasses, drained them in seconds, and completed the Cowboy Treatment in full synchronization. Empties slammed on the bar, Dash stole another kiss, settled the tab, and reached for her hand.
"What's the rest of the plan?" he asked.
"I'm supposed to text Cecil and let him know when we're on our way back to Anton's. They're holding dinner for us."
"And if we don't show?"
She walked her fingers up his arm. "I think they’d love nothing more than to know we’re having a private party, just the two of us. We can treat them to brunch tomorrow.”
“Speaking of treats.” Dash dipped into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out an envelope.
Her eyes narrowed with intrigue. “What’s this?”
Dash gave an innocent little shrug. Natalie broke the seal with her fingernail and removed a check made out to her—one with more zeros than she ever imagined.
The curiosity in her eyes transformed to equal parts shock and joy.
She shook her head, then looked up at Dash, a look of total mystification on her face.
“This is—”
“Natalie Powell, may I present Miranda Everett, your not-so-silent partner for Natalie somehow, she and Kate had both found happiness in the most preposterous and unlikely way.
Miranda was right.
The universe does indeed find a way … as long as we keep fighting for what we want.
“Can I make a confession?” he asked.
“Of course.”
“Since our night, I had to stop listening to Willie Nelson.”
Natalie’s lips pursed in confusion. “What? Why?”
“Remember lying in my bed? We were wearing robes and listening to Willie?”
“Oh, I remember.”
“God, you had no idea just how sexy you looked that night, which made you even more sexy,” he whispered.