Kitabı oxu: «Dating for Two»

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Extract

Copyright

Prologue

That was the third time Maizie Sommers had caught her client staring off into space in the past half hour.

Eleanor O’Brien had come to the real-estate agency that Maizie owned several weeks ago. The middle-aged, sweet-faced woman wanted to downsize her lifestyle, replacing her thirty-year-old two-story house with a more space-efficient condominium. Maizie had given her the benefit of her expertise, instructing her on how to present her home to its best advantage. The crash course had definitely paid off. There were already several buyers not just interested in Eleanor’s house but ready to make an offer.

Eleanor had decided to hold off accepting one until after she’d found a condo that caught her attention.

But today, apparently, her attention was elsewhere. Maizie had taken her to three different condominiums today and she had the impression that her client was there in body, but her mind seemed to be a hundred miles away.

Initially, she had politely ignored Eleanor’s preoccupation. But there was no sense in showing her these homes if she wasn’t really seeing them.

“If you don’t mind my saying so, you seem rather lost in thought,” Maizie told the petite woman with the frosted blond hair. “You know,” she went on tactfully, “we don’t have to see these condos right now.”

Maizie wasn’t just pretending to be thoughtful of her client’s sensibilities—she really was concerned. She’d taken to Eleanor in these past few weeks and she prided herself on being a people person first, a Realtor—something she was exceedingly successful at—second. Or third if she counted the vocation she really had a passion for—matchmaking.

While she made her money being a Realtor with a very successful track record of matching the right person to the right home, her heart was even more firmly entrenched in her matchmaking endeavors, something she did on a joint basis with her two very best friends, Cecilia and Theresa, both accomplished businesswomen in their own chosen fields. Friends since third grade, the women enjoyed bringing happiness into people’s lives by matching them up with their soul mates. So far, that track record was stellar.

“If there’s anything I’ve learned in my years of selling homes,” Maizie went on as her client looked at her quizzically, “if you miss out on one, no matter how perfect it might seem, another one will be by soon enough—sometimes when you least expect it.”

Eleanor O’Brien laughed softly to herself. “That sounds like a slogan for a dating service, not a real-estate office.”

Maizie found it interesting that the first thing on her client’s mind was a reference to dating. Was that what was bothering the woman? Something to do with dating? Maizie’s radar was instantly engaged.

She linked her arm through Eleanor’s, subtly guiding the woman back to the condo’s front door. “Why don’t we take a break and go somewhere for a cup of coffee—or tea if you prefer—and you can tell me what’s really on your mind.”

For a moment, Eleanor looked torn between thanking her—coupling it with a protest that she was fine—and taking her up on her offer.

As it turned out, it was a very short internal debate. The woman’s need for a friendly ear to talk to won out.

“Well, if you’re sure that I’m not taking you away from anything else—”

Maizie flashed what one of her friends had referred to as her “disarming” smile. “You’re not,” Maizie assured the other woman.

Eleanor nodded just as they reached the door. “Then yes, I think I’d like that.”

Maizie smiled. “I know just the place.”

* * *

Ten minutes later, seated at a table for two in a family-friendly restaurant near Maizie’s office, Eleanor leaned in and asked her, “Do you have any children, Maizie?”

Maizie felt a sudden rush of maternal pride, the way she always did when she thought of her only child, Nikki. “As a matter of fact, I do,” she replied. “I have a daughter.”

Eleanor’s eyes met hers as she asked, “Is she married?”

Maizie smiled. She liked to think that her daughter was her very first real success story. Because Nikki had been so very caught up in her career—she was a pediatrician—her daughter had had no private life she could call her own. That was, until inspiration hit and Maizie had deliberately sent one of her clients, a widower with a toddler, her way. The rest, as people like to say, was history—and the beginning of a very gratifying matchmaking sideline.

Maizie never brought up what she thought of as her “true calling” unless the situation warranted it. However, she was beginning to get some very specific vibes from the woman sitting across from her that this just might be the case.

“Yes,” she told Eleanor, “as a matter of fact, she is.”

Eleanor sighed wistfully. “You don’t know how lucky you are. I have a daughter—Erin—and I don’t think she is ever going to get married.”

“By choice?” Maizie asked as she studied her client. After all, there were women who were quite happy not having to take a husband’s choices into consideration whenever they wanted to go somewhere or do something.

“By attrition,” Eleanor replied sadly, then attempted to backtrack. “I suppose I’m being selfish. I should just be grateful that I still have her.” Seeing Maizie’s questioning look, Eleanor realized how enigmatic that had to sound. She was quick to explain. “When Erin was seven years old, she came down with a form of cancer.” She closed her eyes, revisiting that painful time. “We came very close to losing her a number of times. She lived close to two years at that wonderful, groundbreaking children’s hospital in Memphis. During that time I almost wore out my knees praying.

“And then one day, all traces of her cancer miraculously disappeared and I got my little girl back. I can’t describe the joy her father and I felt.” Tears shimmered in her eyes as she relived what she was saying. “That’s why I feel so guilty wanting more.”

“But?” Maizie prodded, sensing the woman needed just a little encouragement to continue.

Eleanor inclined her head. “But I would love to see her married with children of her own.”

“She doesn’t have a steady boyfriend?” Maizie guessed, just to make sure that wasn’t the problem.

“She doesn’t have any boyfriend,” Eleanor answered with a heartfelt sigh. “She’s too busy.” Maizie’s client pressed her lips together. “Even her choice of careers is selfless and I know I should be happy she turned out this well—”

Maizie had been in the same place herself once, so she felt justified in interrupting her client. “You have nothing to feel guilty about. It’s only natural to want to see your daughter with someone special in her life, someone she can lean on.” Inspired, Maizie’s mind began going in several different directions at once. “What does your daughter do for a living?”

“She owns a toy company called Imagine That,” Eleanor said with no small pride. “She sells the kind of toys that you and I had as children—the kind that need imagination instead of batteries to make them come alive. Twice a year she takes a whole truckload of toys and brings them to the local children’s hospital. Erin says it’s her way of ‘giving back.’”

Maizie nodded her head, impressed—as well as eager to help. “She sounds like a wonderful person.”

“Oh, she is,” Eleanor said with feeling. “And I desperately want her to know the joy of holding her own child in her arms.” Again guilt rose its head within her. “I suppose I’m being selfish....”

“Not at all.” Maizie waved away the sentiment. “I’ve been exactly where you are.”

Eleanor looked at her with surprise. “You have?”

Maizie nodded her head. “Absolutely.”

“Did you do anything about it?” Eleanor asked, lowering her voice as if they were discussing a possible conspiracy. It was obvious that she was searching for some sort of advice or at least encouragement.

Maizie smiled over her cup of coffee. “Funny you should ask,” she began. She saw the hopeful expression that came into the other woman’s brown eyes. She signaled the waitress, and she told the young woman when she approached, “We’ll need to see two menus, please.” This was going to take some time, she decided. Then, turning back to Eleanor, Maizie got down to business. “Have I got a story for you.”

Chapter One

“There you go,” Steven Kendall said as he handed Cecilia Parnell the monthly check he had just written out to her company. “And it was worth every penny,” he freely admitted to her. “The job done by your house-cleaning service would even pass my mother’s stringent inspection, and trust me, my mother has always been a very tough little lady to please,” Steve attested.

Time and distance gave him the ability to look back at that part of his life fondly, although at the time, living through it as a teenager had been exceedingly difficult for him.

Cecilia smiled at the young business-litigation lawyer. He’d been a client of hers for a little more than a year now and she had never known him to be anything but cheerful. It was literally a pleasure doing business with the man, especially since he took no exception with what could be seen as an idiosyncrasy: she liked to be paid in person.

Cecilia laughed softly. “All my clients should be as difficult to clean up after as you and your son,” she told him. “And just because I don’t mention it, don’t think I’m not grateful that you don’t mind indulging me and maintaining this personal aspect of the process.” She tucked the check away into one of the many zippered compartments within her rather large hobo purse. “I know most young people your age prefer going the digital route—your internet bank account communing with my company’s internet bank account—but I must say that I really do like the personal touch.” She flashed a self-depreciating smile at Steve. “I know that must seem hopelessly old-fashioned to you.”

The woman’s words struck a familiar chord. “To tell you the truth, Cecilia, I could do with a little more ‘old-fashioned’ these days.”

Something in his voice caught her attention. “Oh?” Cecilia gave him her best motherly smile as she set down her purse again. “You are my last stop of the day, which means I’m free after this, so if you need a friendly ear to talk to, I can certainly stay awhile.”

Her maternal smile took in Jason, Steve’s seven-year-old, as well. The boy spared her a marginal glance before getting back to what had become his main focus during his waking hours when he was home: killing aliens that popped up on the family-room TV monitor.

“It’s not often that I find myself in the company of two such handsome young men,” she went on to say.

For a moment, Jason’s attention was diverted—an unusual occurrence these days, Steve noted. “Is Mrs. Parnell talking about us, Dad?” he asked.

A sliver of hope went through Steve. Maybe Jason was finally coming around. Mentally, he crossed his fingers even as the boy went back to vigilantly guarding humanity against the alien threat.

“Well, you, at least,” he told his son. He doubted that Jason even heard him. He was back to playing his video game.

“Oh, don’t sell yourself short, now, Steven,” Cecilia told him. At her age, her words could be seen as complimentary rather than flirtatious, which allowed her the freedom of not having to watch every word she said. “You are a very good-looking young man—which leads me to wonder why you’re here, talking to me, instead of going out. It is Friday night and unless my memory fails me, this is considered prime dating time for unattached men of your age bracket.” She glanced at Jason. “If you need a sitter, as I’ve already said, I am available,” she offered, knowing that the woman who watched Jason until Steve came home from the office had just left for the day.

“No, thank you. I don’t need a sitter and your memory is very sharp, Cecilia.” He knew that the woman was aware of his particular situation. Rather than feeling as if she were invading his privacy, he was touched that she cared enough to be concerned about him. “I’ve decided to back away from the dating scene for a while.”

Cecilia frowned slightly. She’d taken a personal interest in the young widower and his son. She couldn’t help herself—he seemed as if he needed just a touch of mothering since his own mother lived some distance away in another state.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, Steven, but didn’t you just reenter the dating world a couple of months ago?”

Cecilia formed it as a question, but she knew perfectly well what his answer to that was. After two years of doing nothing but working and spending time with his son in an effort to shut down the sharp pain he’d felt over losing his wife, Julia, to uterine cancer, the personable lawyer had given in to his friends’ entreaties and started dating again.

What had gone wrong? she wondered.

And how could she help?

“Technically, you’re not wrong,” Steve told her. He walked into the kitchen and opened his refrigerator. He took out a bottle of orange juice and poured himself a small glassful. “I did reenter the dating world, although it was more like four months ago than just a couple. In any case, now I’ve decided to un-reenter it.”

Of the three lifelong friends, Cecilia had always been the most soft-spoken one. But being around Maizie and Theresa had caused her to be a little more aggressive in her approach toward people, a little bolder when it came to speaking her mind. Prior to their foray into the matchmaking world, she would have never had the nerve to say what she said now.

“If you don’t mind my asking, why would you do that? You’re in the prime of your life and heaven knows, a good, solid man like you would be the answer to many a lady’s prayer.” When he looked at her in surprise, she quickly added, “I have a couple of good friends who bend my ear about their children’s inability to connect with the right person.”

Although accurate, her explanation was a little dated. Up until several years ago, she, Maizie and Theresa would get together at least once a week for a friendly card game and a session of seeking mutual comfort regarding what they all viewed as the plight of their unmarried daughters. It was at one of these sessions that Maizie first decided that they needed to do more than just talk, lament and worry. They needed to take a proactive approach to their daughters’ situations.

Since all three of them had businesses that allowed them to interact with a broad spectrum of people, they decided to make use of that and find husbands for their daughters, setting them up without either parties involved realizing that they were being set up.

They succeeded so well that they just continued dabbling in the matchmaking business even after they ran out of their own offspring.

Now every time she or one of her friends came across a single person without a significant other at least in the wings, the wheels in their heads began turning.

The way they were doing right now.

About to walk out of the kitchen, Steve remained where he was and lowered his voice. He didn’t want Jason to overhear.

Once he began talking, Cecilia understood why.

“I’m not cut out for this anymore,” Steve confided in her.

The man was handsome, intelligent and sensitive. If ever a man belonged out in the dating world, looking for his soul mate, it was Steve.

“But why?” she asked sympathetically, her manner quietly urging him to unburden himself.

“All the women I’ve gone out with in these past few months have been very attractive. Not only that, but for the most part, they were also smart, funny, motivated career women,” Steve told her.

So far, there seemed to be no problem. However, she was well aware that life was seldom just smooth, untroubled sailing.

“But?” Cecilia supplied the missing word she could hear in his voice.

Steve flashed a weary smile. “But as soon as they knew I had a son, they all reacted in one of three ways. Some were upset that I even had a son and ended the evening, saying there was no future for us. Others equated having children with being fitted with chains, something they made clear they wanted no part of. And the ones who were open to the idea of kids equated having a child with having a cute pet—not the way I view Jason,” he told her with feeling.

Steve sighed and confessed, “Absolutely none of these women were even remotely what I’d consider to be ‘mother material.’ I guess when I entered the dating arena, my situation was rather unique.” Before she could ask him what he meant by that, he told her. “I’m not just dating to date—I’m actually dating for two. Any woman I see socially has to be willing to not just see me but to take Jason into consideration, as well. He’s part of my life. A very big part of my life,” he said, looking over his shoulder at the boy, who was now deeply engrossed in his game. “Since none of the women seemed willing to see it that way, I’ve decided to take an indefinite break from dating.” And then a smile filtered into his eyes and he said, “Unless, of course, you’d like to go out with me. Tell me, Cecilia, what are you doing for the rest of your life?”

Cecilia laughed and shook her head. “Getting older, dear,” she replied, patting his cheek, “but that was a very sweet, ego-boosting thought on your part and I’m flattered.”

She paused for a moment, debating something. She looked over toward Jason. The boy was lying on his stomach, ignoring everything around him and focused completely on the learning video on the monitor. His thumbs were all but flying across the controller in his hands.

When Steve had opened the refrigerator, she’d had occasion to look in. It hadn’t been a promising picture. Which was what prompted her now to ask, “When was the last time you had a home-cooked meal?”

“That all depends,” he replied.

That was a strange answer, Cecilia thought. “On what?”

Steve grinned. He would have been the first to admit that while he was very successful in his chosen field and liked to dabble in a number of different “hobbies,” cooking was definitely not among them, unless burning food could be considered a hobby.

“On how broad a definition of the term home-cooked you mean. If you mean a frozen dinner warmed up in my home microwave, then my answer is yesterday. If, by chance, you mean something out of the oven that didn’t come out of a package from the frozen section of the grocery store, then my answer would have to be the last time my mom came to visit, three months ago.”

Cecilia nodded. “That’s what I thought. Let me see what I can come up with,” she told him. She pushed up the sleeves of her blouse and opened the refrigerator again.

Granted, he was hungry, but there was such a thing as imposing and he didn’t want to ruin the relationship he had with this woman. He liked talking to her.

“I can’t have you do that,” Steve protested, stepping in front of her and attempting to close the refrigerator again.

She cheerfully moved him aside and got back to foraging. “Consider it a bonus for being such a good client.”

Maizie, Cecilia thought as she got down to business, was going to love this guy.

* * *

“What’s his name again?” Maizie asked that evening as she, Cecilia and Theresa got together.

It was an impromptu meeting. Cecilia had called both of her best friends the second she had gotten into her car. She’d just left Steve raving about the casserole she had made out of the odds and ends that she had found in his refrigerator and his pantry. Even Jason had been moved to say something positive after being made to pause his game and come to the table to eat.

At that point she was feeling particularly good about the plan forming in her head.

All she needed was help from “the girls.”

They met at Maizie’s house within the hour.

Maizie was currently sitting in front of her laptop, ready to try to get as much information as she could about this potential candidate that Cecilia felt seemed overdue to find love again.

“His name is Steven Kendall,” Cecilia told her, then spelled out his name carefully.

“You know him—do you think that Steven might have a page up on Facebook?” Maizie asked, already pulling up the site.

“I don’t know about Facebook,” Cecilia replied. “He seems friendly enough, but he is a rather private person when he’s not working.”

“What does he do?” Theresa asked.

“He’s a lawyer specializing in business litigation and—” Cecilia got no further.

“A lawyer?” Maizie echoed. It wasn’t so much a question as it was a triumphant declaration. “That means he’s probably got a photo and a profile online with his law firm.”

Pulling up a popular search engine, Maizie lost no time rapidly typing in the man’s name. She leaned back in her chair as Steve’s photograph and minibio came up on screen. She was clearly impressed.

She emitted a low whistle and said, “Not bad, Cecilia. Not bad at all.”

Curious, Theresa leaned in over Maizie’s shoulder to get a look at the man. “Not bad? If I were ten years younger, I’d give him a tumble myself.” She glanced up to see the skeptical, amused looks on both of her friends’ faces. “Oh, all right, twenty years,” Theresa corrected.

“Better.” Maizie laughed. “Besides, I’ve already got someone for him,” she told Theresa as well as Cecilia. When Cecilia had called her, she hadn’t had a chance to tell either of her friends about Erin O’Brien yet, but she quickly filled in the details now.

Finishing, she looked back at the lawyer Cecilia had brought to her attention. Her smile was wide and infinitely hopeful. “If you ask me, this seems like a match made in heaven. She’s a toymaker who loves children and he’s a widower with a child who by definition loves toys. It doesn’t get any better than this.”

Neither of her friends disagreed. “But how do you suggest we go about bringing these two made-for-each-other people together without them knowing it was a setup?” Theresa, ever practical, asked.

Maizie chewed on her lower lip for a moment as she gave that little problem her undivided attention. “The difficult we do immediately. The impossible takes a little longer,” she said, reciting an old mantra.

“That’s Maizie-speak for nobody goes home until we come up with a plan for them to meet,” Theresa said with a sigh, bracing herself for a long night.

Maizie patted her friend’s hand as she rose to her feet. “You know me so well. I’ll put up a pot of coffee,” she told her friends before crossing to the kitchen.

* * *

Erin O’Brien hung up her phone, still a little bewildered at exactly how Felicity Robinson had gotten her name, much less her phone number. But then, she supposed in this day and age of rampant nonprivacy, anything was possible for someone with a reasonable amount of tech savvy if they were determined enough. And if there was one thing she had come away with from this conversation, it was that the assistant principal of James Bedford Elementary School certainly sounded extremely determined.

“Guess what,” Erin said to the friendly-looking stuffed T. rex on her desk, one of several that she owned. The T. rex had been the first toy she’d ever made, and the original, now rather shabby for wear, was locked away in a safe. “We’re going back to school. Seems that somebody wants me to talk to a roomful of seven-year-olds about how I got started making toys.”

She cocked her head, giving the T. rex a voice in her head and having him make up excuses for why they couldn’t go. The T. rex embodied her insecurities. He always had. It had been her way of dealing with them as a child.

“Oh, don’t give me that snooty face,” she said, addressing the dinosaur. “You’re a ham and you know it. This’ll be fun, you’ll see,” she promised, using almost the same words that the assistant principal had when she’d called her.

“Yeah, for you,” the high-pitched voice whined. “Because you’ll say anything you want through me.”

Erin leaned over her desk and pulled the stuffed animal to her. Affectionately dubbed Tex the T. rex, the stuffed dinosaur had been her start, her very first venture into the toy world. Imagination—a positive imagination—had been her crutch, her way of dealing with all the things that had been going on in her young world when life had consisted of machines that whirled and made constant noise at different frequencies while they measured every kind of vital sign they possibly could via the countless tubes that seemed to be tied or attached to her little, sick, failing body.

Even back then, though shy, she’d possessed an inner feistiness. She’d done her best to be brave so that her mother wouldn’t cry, but even so, Erin was firmly convinced that if she hadn’t invented Tex—her alter ego as well as her champion—when she had, she would have broken down rather than triumphed over the disease that had threatened to end her life more than once all those years ago.

Tex had started out as a drawing and was, for the most part, a figment of her imagination until she had given him life by utilizing an old green sock her mother had brought her.

Somehow he managed to stay with her—in spirit and in drawings—all the way through school. A while later, she decided to give Tex a better form. Her mother went to a craft store and bought green felt, and Erin had had stuffing. Armed with a needle and thread as well as a black Magic Marker, she brought the dinosaur to “life” one fall afternoon.

From that day forward, in one form or another, Tex had remained with her.

A chance comment from a child in an on-campus day-care center was ultimately responsible for her creating a friend for Tex—Anita. Anita was equally nonmechanical. Equally gifted with a soul via Erin’s imagination.