Click on image to enlarge.

	Regular				Club
You Pay:	$2.99				$2.54

eBook Category: Romance
eBook Description: Lauren Fitzhugh learned her lesson when Mick Hanover took her virginity, promised to love her forever, and then married someone else. She's building her store window design business and getting along nicely. The last thing she expects, the last thing she wants, is for Mick to reappear in her life. Still, having a chance to design the windows to a fully rennovated Hanover-Becks Department Store is a career-making assignment. For that, she'll pay any price, even if it means spending time with the man she's promised never to mention again--and never really fallen out of love with.

eBook Publisher: BooksForABuck, Published: 2005
Fictionwise Release Date: September 2005

44 Reader Ratings: Great Good OK Poor

Available eBook Formats [MultiFormat - What's this?]: Adobe Acrobat (PDF) [898 KB], eReader (PDB) [170 KB], Palm Doc (PDB) [167 KB], Rocket/REB1100 (RB) [148 KB], Microsoft Reader (LIT) [152 KB] - PocketPC 1.0+ Compatible, Franklin eBookMan (FUB) [203 KB], hiebook (KML) [412 KB], Sony Reader (LRF) [215 KB], iSilo (PDB) [137 KB], Mobipocket (PRC) [172 KB], Kindle Compatible (MOBI) [204 KB], OEBFF Format (IMP) [217 KB]
Words: 49566
Reading time: 141-198 min.
Microsoft Reader (LIT) Format: Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
Adobe Acrobat (PDF) Format:  Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud DISABLED
All Other formats: Printing DISABLED, Read-aloud DISABLED

"Miss Fitzhugh, I thought we'd agreed on the lilac dress for the window, not the peach one." Emma Messenger folded her arms and glared up at Lauren Fitzhugh, who stood precariously balanced on a stool in the display window, her mouth full of pins.

"Ih din' fih," said Lauren, quickly removing the pins before she swallowed one.

"I beg our pardon?"

"I said, the lilac one didn't fit the mannequin. This new mannequin is, well, fuller busted than the others, for some reason. The peach dress is the only one that accommodates all of her. She looks rather, uh, brazen in the lilac."

"Hmmph. The last thing I need is brazen bridesmaids adorning my window. All right, peach it is. Maybe you can do something with the lilac next month."

"I'll start thinking about it." Lauren responded as coolly as she dared, though she would have liked to let loose with an unbridled "Whoopee!" So Emma Messenger planned to use Lauren's window-dressing services on a regular basis. That was the best news Lauren and her depleted bank account had heard all month.

Impatiently she brushed an auburn curl out of her eyes and returned her attention to the task at hand. The mannequins were dressed and in position, but now the trickiest part of her job began. With just a little wire and some nylon thread, she would make it appear that the bride's train was billowing out behind her in the wind. Her silk bouquet would be suspended mid-air--just out of reach of the two laughing bridesmaids.

If she achieved her goal, people who passed this window would have to look twice--just to be sure the mannequins weren't really moving. That was the quality for which her little company, Windows Etc., would become famous some day, she was positive.

Two hours later, standing on the stool once again, she adjusted the angle of the suspended bouquet just as someone knocked on the window from outside.

Though she was used to people doing that, it still startled her. She paused to compose herself, then looked down through the glass at the man who had knocked.

All she could see was a tall, tweed coat. The glare of the spotlights in the window shielded his face. But by the time she'd hopped off the stool to have a better look he was gone.

Shrugging, she slipped her feet into black ankle boots. The display was finished except for the clean up, and she climbed out of the window to tell Mrs. Messenger. But she'd taken only a few steps before the front door of the bridal shop opened to admit Mr. Tweed Coat, along with a gust of cold wind.

Lauren started to greet the man and then froze, her heart thump-thumping from the shock. Standing before her was the man she'd sworn to love--and then to hate--until her dying breath.

They measured each other up for several more heartbeats. Judging from the look on his face, he was just as surprised to see Lauren as she was to see him. Finally he spoke.

"Lauren Fitzhugh, is that really you?"

"In the flesh." She gave him what she hoped was a neutral smile.

He looked good, she'd give him that. He almost glowed with a healthy California tan. His black hair was shorter than she remembered, the laugh lines around his brown eyes more pronounced. But Mick Hanover was still the choicest-looking male she'd ever laid eyes on.

His face broke into an ear-to-ear grin. Well, don't just stand there, give me a hug!" Mick came closer as he spoke, and Lauren had no choice but to accept the friendly embrace. Unconsciously she inhaled. The woodsy scent of his aftershave was the same, the very same, and her memory of it hadn't dimmed in all the years. Her head reeled with unwanted emotions that curled up from somewhere deep inside her.

She took a step backward. "You look great, Mick," she managed, wondering if he noticed the slight choke in her voice.

"And you look gorgeous." Again he flashed the smile that had broken dozens of hearts. "I can see life's treated you well over these past ... my God, how many years has it been?"

"I don't know." That was a lie, of course. She knew how many almost to the day--seven and a half. "The closer I get to thirty the less often I count backward. But it's been forever. What are you doing in Minneapolis?"

Mrs. Messenger favored them with a throat-clearing that was too loud to be anything but intentionally disruptive.

"I can see you're busy," Mick said, dropping his voice. "When do you get off work?"

"Oh, I don't work here," Lauren explained. "I was hired to dress the window. I should be through ... in a few minutes." Good God, what was she saying? What was she doing?

Mick followed with the inevitable question. "Why don't you meet me somewhere in, say, an hour? Pushman's Grill?"

"Pushman's? That's a college kid's hang-out."

"It was our hang-out."

As if he needed to remind her, Lauren thought, suddenly on her guard as long-buried memories struggled for her attention.

"Come on, Lauren. I'd like to hear what you've been doing with yourself."

"All right, then. In an hour."

Lauren kicked herself from seven different directions after he'd gone. Why hadn't she invented some excuse, any excuse, for avoiding him? An appointment with her chiropractor, or a sick aunt who needed her ... anything?

She didn't want to talk to Mick Hanover. That was a chapter of her life that was long closed and as far forgotten as it would ever be. She didn't want to know anything about her current life, or anything about his current life, or anything about the lovely Mrs. DeeAnn Hanover, either. Did they have children? Did they own a summerhouse in Catalina? God. She so didn't want to know.

"Miss Fitzhugh, are you all right?"

Lauren unclenched her fist and looked down at the handful of silk rose petals crushed in her deadly grip. "Oh. Yes, I'm fine." She dropped the ruined petals into her canvas tote bag and nodded her head toward the completed display. "So what do you think?"

Mrs. Messenger sighed as she gazed at the spring-like scene in the window. Lauren had arranged the spotlights so they cast sunny-looking dapples of light and shadow in all the right places. It was her best work, even if she did say so herself.

"It's beautiful," Mrs. Messenger breathed, her habitually stern expression having melted into something close to pretty. "You've worked a miracle. You'll bill me?"

Not if I could get you to write me a check on the spot, Lauren thought, again recalling her pitiful bank balance. "Of course," she answered with an obliging smile, donning her coat and wrapping a green wool muffler around her neck.

She could stand Mick up, Lauren considered as she climbed into her comfortably old truck and shut the door against the biting January wind. She was sure he wouldn't make the effort to find her. He hadn't so much as dropped her a postcard in seven-and-a-half years. Why would he change now?

After a day or two she could forget that she'd seen him at all, and everything would be normal again. But even as she rationalized, she let the truck drive itself to Pushman's.