A Perfect Stranger

He let her lecture break over him like a wave and tried to figure out what was sucking at him in the undertow. Maybe it was the way her feathery eyebrows puckered in concentration, or the way one slightly crooked front tooth gnawed at her plump lower lip. Maybe it was the scent of peachy shampoo and warm woman tickling his nose. Whatever it was, it made him wonder whether she was wearing those tiny butterfly panties.

Gracie cut the lecture short, deputized him as an official chaperone and led Sydney, Joe and their students off toward Birdcage Walk. Nick struck out across the square in the other direction. The three North Sierra boys who’d decided to take their chances with him jogged to catch up.

“Are we really going to some dumb museum?” one of them asked.

“No,” said Nick.

“I thought you told Ms. Gordon that’s where we were going.”

“I told her we’d head that way.” He grinned at the boys. “I didn’t say we’d go inside.”

SYDNEY PACED the wide, fanlit entry to the dining room of the Edwardian Hotel that evening, staging a murder. She pictured the set design and costuming, imagined the sound effects and lighting. The blast of a pistol—no, the flash of a knife. “Yes,” she muttered. “A knife.”

She flicked her wrist and frowned at her watch. Two minutes since she’d last called Nick Martelli’s cell phone and listened to his gruff voice tell her to leave a message. Five minutes until the dinner scheduled for the tour group. An hour past the time Nick had promised to return with her students.

“A big, fat butcher knife,” she muttered.

The cheery bing from the nearby elevator heralded Gracie’s arrival. She’d traded her tire-tread touring sandals for evening footwear: sequined flip-flops. “Are they back yet?” she asked.

Sydney shook her head. “Haven’t seen them down here.”

“Nick’ll bring them back any minute, safe and sound.”

“But they were supposed to check in over an hour ago.” She snuck another useless glance at her watch. “And we’re leaving for the theater shortly after dinner. What if something awful happened?”

“You know what, Syd?” Gracie gave Sydney’s cheek a motherly pat. “You worry too much. In between chaperoning duties, you should find some space to appreciate this experience yourself, don’t you think?”

“You’re right.” She took a deep breath and battled back another queasy ripple of panic. “And everything so far has been wonderful. I still can’t believe I’m finally here.”

“Me, neither,” said Gracie. “Not after I saw your packing lists.”

Sydney shifted to let a few members of the tour group pass into the dining room. “Organization is important.”

“Important, yes. A religion, no.”

“You’re right. I guess I should loosen up.” A bit. Organization was a handy tool for maintaining control—not to mention a method for keeping impulses in check. “I just want to make sure that everything goes as smoothly as possible,” she said.

Gracie slipped the neon-pink Princess Diana bag from her shoulder and fiddled with the strap buckle. “I still don’t know why you think you need this chaperoning gig to clinch that full-time teaching spot. You already did a bang-up job as a long-term sub.”

Sydney winced at the term bang-up. It brought back images of the fiasco of a spring play her drama class had unleashed on the public—exploding props, disintegrating scenery. “Thanks. But I—”

“Things’ll go the way they’re going to go, with or without you micromanaging the details.”

“You’re right.” Sydney sighed. “Sorry.”

“I haven’t lost a student yet on one of these Europe jaunts. They’re probably just having an adventure and lost track of the time. Nick’ll take care of them.” Gracie’s face went soft and dreamy. “That man’s one in a million. And the kids love him.”

“Nick, Nick, Nick.” Sydney rolled her eyes. “What is it about that guy that turns everyone to mush?”

“Incredible charm? A great sense of humor?” Gracie tugged the purse strap through the buckle. “And the rear view isn’t too shabby, either.”

“Gracie!”

“Hey, just because I’m married and closing in on middle age doesn’t mean I’m blind. And I’m not the only one indulging in figure appreciation. It’s obvious that Nick admires yours.”

Sydney ignored the tiny buzz of feminine satisfaction and reminded herself to be offended. “Just how obvious?”

“Enough to be flattered. Not enough to duck behind the nearest potted palm.” Gracie lifted the shortened purse strap over her shoulder. “Climb out of the greenery, girl. Give the guy a little encouragement.”

“Even if I wanted to flirt back—and I definitely don’t,” said Sydney, “this isn’t the time or the place. I don’t think indulging in a flirtation would set a very good example for the students.”

“Hmm. Thirty hormonal teens spying on every move. I can see where that might put a damper on things.” Gracie frowned. “Speaking of romantic challenges, Mr. Nine Lives called a few minutes ago.”

“Henry?”

Yes, Sydney reminded herself, Henry. The man who should have been the number one reason to dive into the greenery and avoid mush-inducing Nick Martelli. The fact that Henry hadn’t been the number one consideration was turning out to be problem number two. “Henry called here?”

“Yeah, he did. He sounded pretty disappointed he’d missed you, too. And he asked me to give you a message. I’d rather not, if you don’t mind, since I’m about to sit down to dinner and I don’t want to spoil my appetite.”

“Sorry,” said Sydney with an apologetic smile. “He’s just being sweet.”

“Sweet enough to make my teeth ache.” Gracie shook her head. “What’s up with that guy, anyway?”

“What do you mean?”

“Any man who keeps hinting about marriage the way he does should either cough up a ring or cut you loose to find someone else who will.”

Sydney shifted uncomfortably. “He did.”

“He cut you loose?”

“He proposed.”

Gracie’s gaze cut to Sydney’s left hand. “I don’t see a ring.”

“That’s because I didn’t take it.” Sydney lifted her ringless left hand and made a show of checking the time. “Nick is now officially late.”

Gracie clamped her hand over Sydney’s watch and shoved her arm back to her side. “What was wrong with the ring?”

“Nothing.”

“Then what’s wrong with him? Besides the obvious.”

“Nothing,” said Sydney with an exasperated sigh. She couldn’t understand Gracie’s disapproval. Henry had never been anything but flawlessy polite to all her friends. “There’s nothing wrong with him.”

And these days in Europe would help emphasize that fact. Absence made the heart grow fonder, after all. She was certain she’d gain a fresh perspective on the situation and renew her appreciation for all of his wonderful qualities. He was perfect husband material, after all. “He’s not what you think. He’s…”

She paused, waiting for inspiration. It didn’t strike. “He’s a very nice man.”