A Perfectly Imperfect Match (Matchmaking Mamas)

by Marie Ferrarella

  She nodded. “That’s right,” she confirmed, then decided that maybe an explanation was in order. “That way, I can take my time, and then enjoy the season instead of dashing madly about, looking for some picked-over last-minute gifts that people may or may not like.” But there was also a more practical reason for her spreading out her shopping season. “Besides, December is one of my busiest months. People seem to like violin music more when there’s a Christmas tree involved.”

  Her phraseology amused him, but he pretended to take her comment seriously. “Must be the smell of pine,” he quipped.

  Elizabeth nodded, mimicking his overall tone. “Must be.”

  He liked the way her mouth curved ever so slightly as she was trying to keep a straight face. Liked the smile in her brilliant blue eyes. Since they had a ways to go before they reached her car, Jared decided to use that time to find out a few things about this attractive blonde.

  He started with an easy question. “How long have you been playing the violin?” he asked her.

  She knew the exact moment she had started playing in earnest, but for simplicity—and because the story wasn’t one she shared with someone she’d just met—she said flippantly, “Sometimes it feels as if I were born clutching a violin in my hands.”

  “Must have been a really rough delivery for your poor mother,” he deadpanned.

  The mention of her mother—even in jest the way this obviously was intended—always brought a sliver of pain piercing her heart.

  Though her mother was gone by the time she had entered kindergarten, Elizabeth had a handful of memories that she treasured and hung on to for dear life. One of those memories involved listening to her mother playing the violin for her father.

  It was shortly after her mother’s death, in an effort to try to cheer her father up, that she picked up her mother’s violin and began to play it. She managed to miraculously recall the way her mother had stroked the bow over the strings while fingering them. What resulted might not have been ready to be heard in any concert hall, but at least it didn’t sound as if she was scraping her nails against a chalkboard.

  Immensely touched and even more impressed, her father signed her up for violin lessons the very next day. To that end, he also gave her mother’s violin to her to use during her lessons.

  Elizabeth could remember regarding the violin nervously. To attempt to play it once in order to cheer up her father was one thing, to suddenly become the keeper of this precious instrument was quite another. And quite a responsibility.

  She recalled looking up at her father and asking, “Daddy, are you sure?”

  “Very sure,” he’d told her firmly, then added the words that completely won her over. “Your mother would have wanted you to have it.”

  Entrusted with this sacred duty, Elizabeth had taken loving care of it, taking great pains to keep the violin in top playing condition. When it finally had to be restrung, she retained the original strings, putting them carefully into an envelope and tucking the envelope away in her jewelry box, something else that she’d inherited from her mother.

  Jared noticed the serious expression that had crossed her face. Noticed, too, that she had suddenly become very quiet.

  “I’m sorry,” he apologized, thinking this sudden change in her attitude was his fault. “Did I say something wrong?”

  Elizabeth shook her head. He had nothing to do with the thoughts that were going through her head. Her mother had been gone for twenty-one years, but there were times that it felt like only yesterday.

  “No,” she told him softly. “I was just thinking.” That was an open-ended sentence, begging for more of an explanation, and she knew it. But for the moment, she didn’t feel like going into it. She had no desire to either unload, or to make him feel uncomfortable and guilty for raising the subject of her mother, however innocently, since she had passed on.

  “About...?” he prodded.

  “Nothing of importance,” she finally said. “This violin belonged to my mother, and I was just worried that I might have nicked it earlier,” she lied. “I’m sorry, you probably think I’m obsessing.”

  “Not at all. Perfectly normal to want to take care of a beautiful thing,” he said.

  He was being kind, she thought, finding herself more and more drawn to this handsome, likable man.

  “Your mother used to play?” he asked her.

  Elizabeth felt pride swelling within her. “Like an angel.”

  But even as she said it, it occurred to Elizabeth that she was spending too much time talking about her personal life. While friendly, she didn’t usually open up this much about herself. It was definitely time to change topics.

  “So, what’s the occasion?” she asked him brightly.

  She’d switched gears a bit too fast, she realized when he looked at her quizzically and asked, “What do you mean?”

  “I’m assuming that you don’t want to hire me to serenade you outside your bedroom window. So, what’s the occasion?” she repeated.

  For just a second, Jared allowed himself to dwell on the scenario she’d just drawn for him. The very idea of her playing her violin just for him outside his window both amused him and—in an odd sort of way—aroused him.

  He realized he was letting his mind wander while she was waiting for a response. “My parents’ thirty-fifth wedding anniversary is coming up in a little more than three weeks. Why, does that make a difference?”

  “Absolutely. The occasion always makes a difference,” she told him. “There’s a different mind-set involved in playing for a couple who’ve been together for thirty-five years than, say, playing at a wedding where the couple is just starting out. And both require different preparations than setting up to play at a high school graduation party.”

  “Get to play for many of those?” he asked, amused. When he’d graduated high school, he’d hung out all night celebrating with his friends. He didn’t even remember he had parents until the following morning.

  “You’d be surprised at how many indulgent parents live in Beverly Hills,” she answered. And then a question hit her. “Was that my audition?” she asked, seemingly out of the blue. “Back there, in the studio,” she clarified, nodding back toward the building now in the distance.

  It was starting to make sense. “You really should signal when you’re switching lanes like that. Otherwise, a person could get whiplash,” he said drily. “As for your question, I don’t know if I’d call it an audition, but the woman who gave me your name thought it might be a good thing to hear you in action, so to speak. I liked what I heard,” he was quick to add. “I should have realized that I would since Theresa speaks so highly of you.”

  There was that name again, she thought. Who was he talking about?

  “Theresa,” Elizabeth repeated, her tone all but inviting him to add a surname to the woman’s given one.

  But when he did, she was no more enlightened than she’d been before. “Theresa Manetti.”

  Elizabeth did a quick mental run through her client list. The woman’s last name didn’t ring any bells. As far as she knew, she’d never dealt with a Theresa Manetti when it came to making arrangements to play at a party or a gig.

  Moving over to one side in order to avoid stepping on a rather fat wad of bubble gum, she shook her head. “I’m sorry, I just don’t remember this woman.”

  He thought that odd but pressed on. “She was the one who told me where you’d be working this morning and set it up so that I could come down and hear you play for myself.” He shrugged. “Actually, although she didn’t say it in so many words, I got the feeling that she really wanted me to meet you as soon as possible.”

  “Huh,” Elizabeth murmured to herself. She still wasn’t getting an image in her head. “Did this Theresa Manetti happen to tell you where she heard me play? I’m pretty good about remembering the people who hire me, so I’m guessing she might have heard me at one of the little theater groups in the area.”

  For all she knew,
the woman could have just been part of one of the audiences, but if that were the case, how did this Manetti woman know her name or her schedule? This wasn’t making any sense to her.

  Jared, meanwhile, had been sidetracked by something she’d just said. “You play for theater groups, too?”

  She wasn’t sure if he was impressed, or just surprised. In either case, the answer to his question was the same.

  “Yes.”

  He was undoubtedly wondering why she didn’t stick to a single venue. Aside from variety being the spice of life, there was a far more basic reason behind her working all these diverse jobs.

  “It takes a lot of gigs to stitch together a living,” she told him honestly. “Unless you’re a world-class musician who can pretty much write your own ticket, you have to scramble to find work anywhere you can. And I really do love show music,” she confided. “As a matter of fact, I’m playing at the Bedford Theater this weekend. They’re doing Fiddler on the Roof. It’s their final weekend,” she informed him. “I can leave you a ticket at the box office for this Sunday if you’d like to come.”

  He didn’t want to inconvenience her, or ask for special treatment. “You don’t have to do that,” he protested.

  She laughed at his protest. “Are you kidding? The more bodies, the better. It’s a known fact. Musicians always play better to a packed house,” she said with a wink.

  He found the wink incredibly appealing, not to mention sexy. Without realizing it, he glanced down at her hand to see if there was a promise ring, or an engagement ring or, worse yet, a wedding ring on the appropriate finger. When he saw that there wasn’t—and there was no telltale pale line there to indicate a recent removal of said ring—he smiled broadly at her.

  “Then I’ll definitely make it a point to catch the show,” he promised. “Thanks for the ticket.”

  “Hey, my pleasure,” she responded with sincerity before suddenly realizing that she hadn’t been paying the strictest attention while they were walking. They were practically on top of her car and she hadn’t noticed. A few more steps and they would have overshot it. If she had, she was certain he would have thought he was hiring an idiot to play for his parents’ big day.

  “We’re here,” she announced belatedly, gesturing toward her vehicle.

  Jared stopped walking and looked around, scanning the area. This really was the end of the lot, he thought. For the most part, it was almost empty. Except for what looked like an old T-bird, the initial model, which had been all but pocket-size when it came out.

  “Is that your car?” he asked incredulously.

  She couldn’t even begin to guess what was going through the man’s head, except that she was certain that at least a part of him was undoubtedly thinking that a car like that was wasted on a woman.

  “That’s my car,” she said proudly.

  He knew that the car was regarded as vintage, but all that meant to him was that it was old. “Let me guess,” he mused, peering at the vehicle from several different angles. He gave no clue as to what he was looking for. “That belonged to your mother, too, right?”

  She supposed that her beloved car did look old enough to be considered a hand-me-down from one generation to the next.

  “No,” she told him. “That’s the first thing I bought with my earnings as a violinist. I saved up for six months for it,” she said, remembering.

  He heard the affection in her voice. Obviously Elizabeth saw something in the vehicle that he didn’t, Jared thought. He tended to like new things rather than things that had weathered the passage of time. Those needed coddling and he didn’t consider himself the type to do that. Everything in his life was kept on the light, uninvolved side, as per his plan.

  “And it still runs?” he asked, surprised.

  She grinned. “Most of the time,” she allowed. There was no point in dwelling on the times that it hadn’t. That was behind her now. “She does get temperamental every now and then,” she added fondly, “but I can’t stay mad at her. Lola always comes through in a pinch.”

  “Lola?”

  “That’s what I call my car. What do you call your car?” she wanted to know.

  “Reliable,” he answered, then commented on the logistics that were complicating her life. “Sounds like you were describing a grumpy old uncle a minute ago and not a car.”

  “It’s a little bit of both,” she confessed. “But nothing I can’t handle, although I have to admit that the parts for Lola are getting harder and harder for me to find.”

  He made a tactful suggestion. “Has it ever occurred to you to buy a new car?”

  She shook her head. “No. I don’t abandon things just because they’re getting on a little in age,” she said with feeling. It was one of the main principles she lived by: she stuck with things.

  Unlocking the door on the driver’s side, Elizabeth deposited her violin into the backseat, then leaned in to slip open the glove compartment.

  Standing behind her, Jared got a particularly good view of the backs of her shapely legs as her black skirt rode up on her thighs. She was reaching across both seats in order to get at the glove compartment.

  Jared knew he shouldn’t be staring, it wasn’t right. But he had to admit that what he was being privy to was a very appealing sight.

  Getting what she wanted, Elizabeth straightened up and snaked her way out of the vehicle. She found herself bumping up against Jared. When she looked at him questioningly, he muttered a semiexcuse.

  “I thought you might need help taking something out of the car.”

  The look in her eyes told him that she didn’t believe his alibi, and when she grinned, he could have sworn that he could literally feel the impression of her lips on his. The sensation drew out his smile in response.

  “The card’s not all that heavy,” she told him.

  “Card?” he repeated, lost.

  “Card.” She held it up for his perusal. It was a business card for the little theater group performing the musical this weekend. On it was the address, the box office hours and the theater’s telephone number.

  “The final performance is this Sunday,” she repeated, in case he’d already forgotten. “Curtain goes up at seven,” she added.

  “I’ll be there before seven,” he promised. Closing his hand over the card, he slipped it into his pocket. “Looking forward to it.”

  He glanced at his watch out of habit. When Jared saw the time, he frowned. He was far behind schedule and they hadn’t even gotten around to any of the specifics about the gig. “Look, can I call you later on tonight?” he wanted to know.

  For just one isolated moment, she thought Jared was asking to call her on a social basis. But the next second, she knew that wasn’t possible. After all, he’d done nothing to indicate that he would be interested in seeing Elizabeth the woman instead of Elizabeth the violinist.

  “Absolutely,” she told him with a bright smile. “I should be home for most of the evening.”

  “Good, then I won’t get your answering machine again.” He shrugged, ever so slightly self-conscious. “As I mentioned before...I’m not really too keen on talking to machines.”

  She laughed at the footnote he’d just tossed in her direction. He found the sound light, melodious and almost hypnotic.

  “No worries... I’ll be sure to pick up,” she promised him, getting behind the wheel of her vintage car.

  Jared stepped back, allowing her space to swing her door closed. “I’ll talk to you then,” he said.

  Then, turning on his heel, he started retracing his steps to get to his own car, which was parked a good deal closer to the soundstage than Elizabeth’s was.

  The fact that he fully expected to hear her car start up but didn’t had him stopping after about five steps and turning around.

  He could see her frowning from where he stood. Frowning and going through the motions of starting her car up.

  Still nothing.

  Her beloved vintage car was apparently nonresponsive, n
o matter how many times she tried to get it to come back from the dead.

  Chapter Four

  Jared stood watching her for a moment longer, thinking that Elizabeth’s car was just being temperamental. Some older models seemed to take their own sweet time starting up.

  He was still waiting to hear her engine make the proper noises as he made his way back to the uncooperative Thunderbird.

  “Problem?” he asked.

  Elizabeth’s frown deepened as she pumped the gas pedal one more time and turned her key. Still nothing. She was also afraid that she was going to wind up flooding the engine.

  Frustrated, she sank back in her seat. “Not if I don’t mind spending the night in the parking lot,” she responded.

  Moving to the front of her vehicle, Jared looked down at her headlights and said, “Turn on your lights.”

  She had no idea how that was going to help anything, but at this point she was willing to try anything. Shrugging, she did as he instructed.

  “Now what?” she asked.

  There wasn’t so much as a glimmer in either headlight.

  The phrase “dead as a doornail” came to mind as he frowned at the vehicle.

  “Now nothing, I’m afraid,” he told her. “Looks like your battery’s dead.”

  Undaunted, she said hopefully, “Maybe we can jump it.” She slid out from behind the wheel. “I’ve got jumper cables in my trunk.”

  Jared looked at her in surprise. He thought of that as being rather responsible for someone her age. He doubted if his sister even knew what jumper cables were. Experience taught you things like that.

  “I take it this has happened before,” he assumed.

  She inclined her head and made a vague gesture he couldn’t begin to interpret. “Once or twice. Or five,” she muttered under her breath.

  He still heard it. “All right, I’ll go bring my car around and see what I can do.”

  * * *

  But apparently, at least on the outset, he could do nothing—although it certainly wasn’t for lack of trying.

  Jared aligned his vehicle so that the two cars were literally nose to nose in the lot. Elizabeth took it from there. He was amazed at how expertly, not to mention quickly, she managed to hook up her car’s battery to his.