This Matter of Marriage

by Debbie Macomber

  “What about you?” Donnalee asked, apparently reading Hallie’s mind. “Are you ready to go back to Dateline?”

  “Yes. Actually I already have.” She reviewed the name of the applicant she’d been paired up with this time. Larry McDonald. She’d received the information on him the day before. “They sent me another bio this week.”

  Donnalee sat up excitedly. “Let me see.”

  Hallie brought it out, and while Donnalee read over the page of information, Hallie studied her reactions. Nothing. Donnalee didn’t reveal so much as a flicker of emotion—which described her own feelings, too. She’d read the file numerous times, and each time she felt completely… untouched, completely dispassionate about the details of this man’s life. He seemed nice enough—a science professor was sure to impress her family—but unfortunately he also seemed dull.

  “Larry.” Donnalee said the name slowly, as if the sound of it would help her decipher his personality.

  “It’s unfair to judge him without meeting him first, don’t you think?”

  “Absolutely,” Donnalee agreed. “Have you set up a time?”

  Hallie nodded. “We’re meeting in a bookstore. It’s not very original, but we both like to read and, well, it seemed a good idea at the time.”

  “When?”

  “Sunday afternoon.”

  “You’ll call me afterward?”

  Hallie agreed, but frankly, she didn’t hold out any great hope for Larry McDonald.

  But then, she reminded herself, she was certainly willing to be surprised.

  “What are you doing?” Meagan asked. The eleven-year-old stood behind Hallie at the drafting table in the large workroom at Artistic License. The front office was staffed by two employees, Liz and Evie, who handled walk-in traffic, took orders and answered the phone. Four copy machines of various sizes hummed, while the largest of the printing presses droned like a snoring troll in the room next door to Hallie.

  “You’re done helping Bonnie?” Hallie asked. It had taken her a moment to break her concentration.

  “Yup. It was fun, too.” Meagan maintained a respectful distance from Hallie’s drafting table.

  “I’m working on a logo design,” Hallie told her. She’d been playing with a number of ideas for the better part of an hour. This was often the most difficult aspect of her job. The client had approached her with several ideas, but unfortunately translating those concepts into a viable image was proving difficult.

  “Bonnie let me move things around on the computer screen.”

  Because Hallie was working to deadline with this logo project, she’d had Meagan work with her assistant on the production of a brochure they were creating for the local school district.

  “Did you enjoy that?” Hallie asked.

  Meagan’s eyes lit up. “It was great. I learned a lot.”

  “She did a good job, too,” Bonnie called out from the other side of the room. “Hallie, I’ve got to go over the layout for the Bergman Hardware ad. The newspaper needs it before three.”

  “No problem. I’ll have Meagan work with me.”

  Hallie glanced at her watch. It was another hour until lunch, and she’d hoped to have a couple of designs ready for the Prudhommes by that afternoon. “Pull up a chair, kiddo, and I’ll explain what I’m doing—after I talk to Hank about one of our print jobs.”

  Hank Davis took care of all the print orders, which had steadily increased every month since the first of the year. She jumped up to discuss a question of priorities with him, then stayed a minute to chat about their expanding workload. If her business continued to grow at this rate, she’d need new equipment, more staff and either another building or an addition to the existing place. The prospect delighted her. Her reputation for quality had been earned, one customer at a time.

  She rejoined Meagan, who’d dragged a chair next to Hallie’s. “I don’t draw very good,” Meagan said, sounding worried, “but I’ll try if you want.”

  “What I’m looking for now are ideas to advertise a French bakery,” Hallie told her. “The logo will be printed on the front window, takeout boxes, napkins, letterhead and so on. The logo is an important promotional tool for any business.”

  “It’s going to be on everything then?”

  “Just about. Mr. and Mrs. Prudhomme have specific ideas about the kind of image they want—something clever and cute. They serve coffee and pastries, but their specialty is petit fours.”

  “What’re those?”

  “Small frosted cakes a little larger than chocolates.” Hallie’s mind refused to stop spinning and she deftly sketched a picture of the Eiffel Tower. Next she drew a van with the name of the bakery on the side, to show that the Prudhommes also welcomed catering opportunities.

  Meagan sat by her side and watched silently.

  “Do you want to try?” Hallie asked. She was fresh out of ideas herself. While she understood what the Prudhommes wanted, she hadn’t managed to translate it onto paper.

  Meagan picked up the pad and sucked on the end of her pencil the same way Hallie did. Hallie smiled, sliding her arm around Meagan’s shoulders. The girl smiled back. “Being a graphic artist is fun, isn’t it?” Meagan asked.

  “Sometimes.” Also frustrating, challenging and a few other choice adjectives, Hallie mused.

  “It’s a lot different than I thought it would be.”

  “What do you mean?” Hallie asked as she scribbled away at a new concept. She didn’t want to lose the idea.

  Meagan glanced over her shoulder, drew a deep breath and gestured around her. “It’s so big. Dad’s going to be surprised when he picks me up this afternoon. When I asked him what your shop was like, he said he wasn’t sure, but he thought you sat around and drew pictures all day.”

  “Really?” That amused Hallie. Poor Steve hadn’t a clue how involved or complicated her business was. She did everything from letterheads, designs and printing to commercial photography. The list was endless. But then, she didn’t know all that much about machine shops, either. Hallie suspected if she was to visit his workplace, she’d have her eyes opened, too.

  “You know what I thought when you said petit fours?” Meagan asked. “I thought of really short numbers.” She laughed softly to herself.

  “Short 4s?” Hallie asked.

  Meagan nodded.

  Hallie nimbly drew a series of elongated numbers, each with a face and personality. Their only apparel was a French beret, rakishly tilted. A row of short 4s stood in front of their much taller cousins.

  Meagan looked at the drawing and giggled.

  Hallie laughed, too. It wasn’t bad, although the other numbers distracted from the overall effect. She set the 4s dressed in their berets on top of a linen-covered table. The steam from two smiling cups of coffee circled a base with a single red rosebud. Clever and eyecatching, just the effect Hallie had been trying to capture. She needed to work with it, develop the idea further, but she was on to something. Thanks to Meagan.

  Hallie took Meagan to lunch at Lindo’s, her favorite neighborhood restaurant, although it’d been at least a month since she’d gone there. Because she was so often working to deadline, she’d gotten into the habit of ordering her lunch to go and having someone stop by for it. She’d designed and printed the menus for the owner, Mrs. Guillermo, several years earlier and had recently updated them.

  When Hallie arrived nearly a full hour before the heavy lunchtime rush, Mrs. Guillermo welcomed her enthusiastically. “I don’t see you for too long,” she said in her heavily accented English.

  Hallie introduced Meagan, and Mrs. Guillermo’s expressive face broke into a wide smile.

  “Today is Take Your Daughter To Work day,” Hallie explained.

  The older woman nodded. “I read this is special day in newspaper. My granddaughter is here.”

  “That’s wonderful.”

  “Your daughter is as beautiful as you,” she said, and before Hallie could explain that she wasn’t Meagan’s mother, Mrs. Guil
lermo handed the menus to a girl about the same age. “Rosita will see you to your table,” she said proudly.

  Meagan didn’t say anything until after they were seated. “I’m glad you didn’t tell her I’m not really your daughter,” she said, then shook her head sadly. “Sometimes I can’t help wishing you were Dad’s type.”

  Seventeen

  She Bakes

  June 2

  Larry and I have been seeing each other steadily for a month now. Steadily, but not often. Once a week at the most, which, to be honest, is fine with me. Everything was so intense with Mark. He had to know where I was and who I was with every minute of the day. It felt like we were constantly together.

  Larry’s on the quiet side, and that makes me all the more talkative. I don’t know why I feel this need to fill the silences, but I do. Anyway, I suppose you could say he’s your basic nice guy. Once we’re more comfortable with each other, I’ll be able to judge my feelings more accurately. Right now, our relationship is still a bit awkward.

  So far, we’ve gone to a number of museums. These are all places I’ve wanted to see, but have never taken the time to visit. If we aren’t touring museums, we’re in bookstores. The most exciting date so far has been to a Moroccan restaurant. Larry’s a mathematics professor, and I don’t think he has a lot of discretionary income, but then, I’m not interested in a man for his money. He was serious enough about finding a wife to plunk down the two thousand bucks, which is all I need to know.

  He kissed me for the first time last week—on our third date. It was all right. It’s come as something of a shock to realize how wildly romantic I am. I want a man panting with desire for me, one who won’t be able to remove that silk nightgown fast enough. The nightgown that’s lying untouched in my bottom drawer. For reasons I have yet to understand, I can’t imagine Larry panting with desire for anything.

  Speaking of that nightgown, I take it out occasionally and wonder how long it’ll be before I don this masterpiece of silk and lace. Will it be for Larry? Try as I might, it’s difficult to think of Larry getting excited about anything. Nor can I picture him nude. I wonder if he’d wear his glasses to bed.

  Mom always said still waters run deep. If that’s the case, Larry’s deep all right, so deep I wonder if I’ll ever touch bottom.

  On a brighter note—all isn’t wasted. Larry likes my cookies.

  It was well past closing time, but Steve had to finish this paperwork. He left as much of the bookkeeping as he could to his secretary and the accountant, but there were some things he had to handle personally.

  Todd stuck his head in the door. “You staying late again tonight?”

  “I won’t be much longer,” Steve replied without looking up from his desk. He wondered if it was true. “Go ahead, I’ll lock up.”

  “How about a cold beer? I don’t mind waiting. Fact is, I’ve got some stuff I need to clean up, anyway.”

  A cold beer sounded good. It’d been a long day, and with a stack of paperwork looming in front of him, it was going to be longer still. “Sure. That’d be great.”

  Tackling the pile with renewed enthusiasm, Steve finished within an hour. He found Todd and they drove to a local bar, taking their own vehicles. Although Steve considered Todd one of his best friends, they didn’t often socialize. No need to, really, since they saw each other five days a week. Todd had been a good confidant during the divorce proceedings and the days that had followed. If Steve had ever needed a friend it was then.

  He hadn’t heard much from Mary Lynn in a while, and that worried him. Kenny hadn’t said anything about Kip lately, but that didn’t mean Mary Lynn wasn’t seeing the guy—who, he’d recently learned, was a car salesman.

  They arrived at the Sure Shooter separately and parked out front. “It’s been ages since we were here,” Todd said when the waitress, dressed in Western garb, delivered a pitcher of beer and two frosty mugs. Country music blared from the jukebox. A twanging female voice belted out the tale of a man who’d done his woman wrong—and paid the price. A cry-in-your-beer kind of song about a truck-driving, gun-toting, whiskey-guzzling son of a bitch.

  Steve filled the mugs and realized that Todd was right; it’d been damn near seven or eight months since they’d sat across from each other in a tavern. It sometimes shocked Steve to notice how fast the time flew by. Without much trouble he could remember changing Meagan’s diaper. Now, before he knew it, she’d be a teenager.

  Thinking about babies and diapers brought Hallie to mind. He’d gotten a panic call from her the other day. Apparently her six-month-old niece would be in her care for the weekend, and Hallie wanted to make sure Meagan would be around to lend a hand if she needed one. Steve couldn’t even begin to imagine the trouble Hallie could get into with an infant. He planned on sticking around himself, just for the hell of it.

  A few years back Steve had tried to talk Mary Lynn into having another child. She wasn’t interested. It’d been a disappointment at the time, but considering what had happened with them, he was grateful she’d refused.

  “So,” Todd said, gazing at his beer, “how’s it going?”

  “Great,” Steve replied automatically. “What about you?”

  “Good. Damn good. I’ve been spending most weekends at the lake, working on the cabin, remodeling it You ought to stop by with the kids one weekend. You’d be surprised at the changes.”

  “I will.” Todd had inherited the summer home from his grandparents. If Steve remembered correctly, it was out near Key Center on Carr Inlet. Every now and again Todd brought him some fresh oysters. Steve had never tasted any finer.

  “Everything’s going well, then,” Todd said.

  “Great. Say, did I tell you Meagan wants to take art classes? She spent a day at work with my neighbor a few weeks back and has since decided she wants to be a commercial artist.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Apparently she came up with an idea that Hallie used, and now Meagan’s convinced she’s found her career path.” He grinned every time he thought about it. Not that he didn’t believe Meagan could do it. What surprised him was the effect that one day of working with Hallie had had on his daughter. He was genuinely thankful for Hallie’s encouragement.

  Hallie. He smiled just thinking about her. They’d had a confrontation of sorts a couple of weeks back. He’d been minding his own business, washing his car late one Sunday afternoon, when she’d come out of the house, looking dejected and miserable. It’d taken him a while to ferret out the reason. He’d been sure it had to do with the latest character she was dating, but no, that wasn’t it. Seemed she’d stepped on the scale that morning and discovered she’d gained two pounds. Furthermore, she said he was to blame, since he was the one who’d talked her into baking all those cookies.

  Steve told this story to Todd, then laughed until his throat felt raw. Two pounds, and she’d made it sound like fifty.

  “Are you sure you aren’t more than friends?” Todd asked.

  The question caught Steve unawares. “Of course. What makes you ask something like that when you know how I feel about Mary Lynn?”

  “Well…” Todd folded his hands around his mug. “Your eyes light up when you talk about Hallie.”

  Steve digested that and shrugged. His eyes? Todd must have been watching “Oprah” a few too many times. “Hallie makes me laugh,” he said simply. He’d never been friends with a woman the way he was with Hallie.

  “She’s bright and funny,” he continued, “and the thing is, she doesn’t realize how funny she is. She paid this agency two thousand bucks to find her a husband, and I’ll tell you, she’s dated some real screwballs.”

  “You sure you’re not interested in her yourself?”

  Steve shook his head. “No way. You should meet this guy she’s dating now. He’s got ‘nerd’ written all over him. He comes complete with a slide rule and thick glasses. Hallie tells me he teaches math at Green River Community College. Now I’m sure he’s a perfectly okay guy, but him
and Hallie? That matchmaking service has got oatmeal for brains if they think Hallie’d be happy with this joker.”

  Grinning, Todd leaned back and listened.

  “My kids love her, and with good reason. She spends more time with them than Mary Lynn ever did. Plus, I’ve never eaten better since she started those baking classes.”

  “You mean she bakes more than just cookies?”

  “Yeah, homemade bread and cinnamon rolls, for starters. She brought over a huge plate of maple bars last weekend. The kids and I stuffed ’em down before lunch. They were the best I’ve ever tasted.”

  “I can’t remember the last time I tasted homemade anything,” Todd muttered, and it was easy to tell he envied Steve a neighbor who baked. “A man could marry a woman for that alone.”

  Steve straightened and laughed outright. “That’s exactly what I said.”

  “You offered to marry her?” Todd studied him as if he wasn’t sure if this was a joke.

  “Don’t be silly.” The question was ridiculous.

  “Hallie isn’t interested in me, and vice versa. But she is looking for a husband, and I helped.”

  “She got advice from you?”

  Steve decided not to take offense. “Some time ago Hallie asked my opinion on what a man wants in the woman he marries, and I told her.”

  “You told her?” Todd sounded even more incredulous.

  “Damn straight,” Steve announced proudly, although he refrained from repeating his comment about a woman’s physical attributes. “I was honest, and Hallie was smart enough to take my advice seriously.” She wasn’t the only one who’d put on a few pounds since then, either. Steve knew from the way his clothes fit that he’d gained four or five pounds himself, although in his case it didn’t really matter. He’d lost at least that much in two and a half years of making his own dinners.

  Todd reached for the pitcher and refilled their mugs. “The kids are fine? They’ve adjusted to the divorce?”

  “As far as I can tell. Meagan’s turning into quite the young woman. Kenny’s sprouting faster than a weed. They spend most weekends with me—I wish it could be more. I miss having them around all the time.”