Miracle On 5th Avenue (From Manhattan with Love 3)

“Yes. Anything is f-fine.”

Eva and Paige exchanged glances.

Frankie was stammering?

Lucas signed with a flourish and handed it back. “My price is five minutes alone with Eva.”

Eva felt her insides turn to the same consistency as melted snow, but then she remembered the way they’d parted.

“If this is about The Snowflake Ball at the Plaza—”

“It isn’t. I’m going to call them and explain that it was a mistake.” He breathed deeply. “Is there somewhere we can talk?”

She felt a flash of disappointment. She’d hoped that he would find it easier to turn up at the ball than cancel.

“Whatever you need to say, you can say it here.” Paige’s tone was pleasant but firm. “Don’t mind us.”

He held Paige’s gaze for a moment and then turned back to Eva. “I need you to come back.”

“Excuse me?”

“I need you to come back to my apartment.”

“Why? Has the Christmas tree dropped its needles?” Eva dug her nails into her palms. “Is there some problem with the food I prepared?”

“The food is delicious and the tree was intact last time I looked. It’s a great tree. If you like trees.”

“Which you don’t.”

A ghost of a smile flickered at the corner of his mouth. “I’m growing accustomed to it.”

“So if it’s not the tree and it’s not the food, then what do you need?”

“I need you.” His voice was soft. “I need you to come back.”

Confusion rushed through her. “In what capacity?”

There was a taut silence. A muscle flickered in his lean cheek. “Inspiration.”

“Excuse me?”

He drew in a deep breath. “As you know, I was having some issues writing—”

“I thought you’d fixed that.”

“I thought so, too, but it turned out that the moment you left, I could no longer write.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I don’t understand either.” There was a gleam of frustration in his eyes. “Something about having you there, our conversations, triggered ideas. This time of year is tough for me, and you were a distraction.”

“You’re asking me to come back and distract you? I don’t know anything about writing or the writing process,” she said. “I don’t really see how I could help. Shouldn’t you be talking to your editor? Or your agent? Or if you need another writer, then my friend Matilda is more likely to empathize and understand what you’re going through.”

“Forget it.” Frankie waved a hand. “She and Chase are in the Caribbean making babies.”

Lucas shook his head. “I don’t need empathy, I need creative inspiration. You gave me ideas for a certain character in my book. While you were there, I can clearly see her, imagine her, see her actions. When you left, she disappeared for me.”

“I’m a character in your book?” Warmth spread through her. She couldn’t breathe. “You’ve put me in your book?”