The taxi slowed and Oliver peered out to see a small mob of reporters camped outside Marsali's house. So much for sneaking in quietly. "No. Keep driving. Take me a block over."
The driver kept going and made a turn onto the next street. Oliver hoped he wouldn't have the cops after him if her neighbors saw him skulking about. That is, if he recognized her house from the back. He should've paid closer attention, but when Marsali was around, he wasn't focused on the surroundings.
Oliver paid the driver and got out, shouldering his backpack. Marsali lived in a quiet neighborhood of older homes, most with fenced yards. Dressed as he was in hat and sunglasses, with his bag, he'd probably get pegged as an intruder. His agent wouldn't appreciate him getting shot, but then Rikki didn't appreciate anything that might damage the goods she worked so hard to peddle.
Oliver turned to face the house he guessed was behind Marsali's being that it was midway down the street like hers. An older man was outside getting his mail. He eyed Oliver's exit from the taxi and watched as Oliver approached. "Excuse me, sir. Beautiful day, isn't it?"
"I don't want any."
"I'm not selling anything, sir. I believe my taxi let me out on the wrong street. I'm trying to get to Seashell Lane. Would it be okay if I cut through your yard?"
The man eyed him once again, and because Oliver felt the man trying to get a gauge on him, Oliver removed his sunglasses and wished he'd taken the time to get a haircut and shave before boarding the flight from New York City. Maybe then he wouldn't look so shaggy.
"I suppose it would be all right if you did."
"Thank you, sir."
The older man led the way to the gate at the side of his garage and opened it, holding it for Oliver to walk through before shutting it behind him.
"You know, I know the neighbor behind me," the man said casually as they crossed the yard in the back. "She brought me meals when she found out my wife had cancer."
That sounded like something Marsali would do, and Oliver hoped it meant he'd guessed correctly. "That's nice."
"Saw her on the local news last night and this morning. Saw you, too."
Oliver winced at the man's statement, but at least it confirmed his navigation skills. "I see. I'm, uh, sorry for misleading you, sir, but her house has reporters out front."
"Yup. Been there all day. Spotted them when I went to the store early this morning. Son, Marsali's a nice girl and a good neighbor. I wouldn't think much of a man who'd take advantage of that goodness."
"I understand, sir."
"I suppose what I'm asking is if you plan on breaking that girl's heart?"
Oliver felt the words like a punch to the gut and shook his head. "I'm hoping she won't break mine, sir. I've known Marsali a long time. Sixteen years," he added when the man looked skeptical. "Her brother is my best friend and Marsali… I'd never do anything to deliberately hurt her."
"Well, I suppose that's fair." The old man opened the back gate. "I'll leave this unlocked. In case you find yourself needing a way out undetected."
Oliver held out his hand and shook the old man's. "Thank you, sir. I appreciate it."
The old man nodded.
"One of her lasagnas wouldn't go unappreciated, either."
Oliver chuckled. "I'll relay that message—I'm sorry, I didn't ask your name."
"Paul."
"Paul. I appreciate your help. I'm Oliver but… I suppose you already knew that."
"You'll have to jump her fence. She doesn't have a back gate, only one on the front side, where those reporters could see you. Might want to watch out for her dog, though."
"Dog?" When had she gotten a dog? It hadn't been that long since he'd talked to her.
Paul grinned. "You can run fast, right?"
Oliver wasn't sure if the man was teasing him or not, but Oliver squeezed through the tight opening of the fence abutting Marsali's and eyed her metal one, thankful it was only about four feet high. He tossed his backpack over the top and swung himself up and over.
Paul watched from his property while Oliver picked up his bag and quickly made his way across Marsali's backyard and patio to her door. He knocked and heard barking on the other side. Apparently Paul hadn't lied about the dog.
"I said no comment. Go away!" Marsali called from inside.
Oliver lifted his hand and knocked again, rapping the coded knock he and Marsali's brother had used in college when they'd come to Mac and Marsali's parents' house on long weekends. The knock was to alert Marsali when Mac and Oliver needed her to let them inside after a night out on the town.
"Mac?"
"No." Oliver waited, staring hard at the door's curtained window. After a long pause, he saw the curtain move and Marsali's beautiful freckled face appeared, eyes wide as saucers. "Let me in."
She blinked and he could almost see the wheels cranking in her brain as to whether or not that was a good idea.
"I'm sorry, Ollie. Really, I am."
Her words were muffled through the glass but emotionally charged and full of regret. "Let me in, Marsali."
"Are you terribly angry?"
"Open the door and find out."
The curtain fluttered back into place, and several more seconds went by while the barking continued. Finally a click sounded and the door opened. Oliver slipped his foot inside before she could change her mind and entered her home, watching as she grabbed her dog by its harness.
"I can't believe you came all the way here. How did you get in my backyard?"
"Your neighbor, Paul. He'd like a lasagna, by the way."
A near-hysterical laugh bubbled out of her chest. She turned to face him, all wild brown curls that could never quite be tamed. Marsali had that beach-girl-next-door look about her. The curls and freckles and year-round tan.
"Ollie, I am so, so sorry. I didn't mean for this to happen. Your name just slipped out and then I couldn't take it back and she had that photo and everyone was yelling and things got out of control before I could even—"
"When did you get a dog?" he asked, interrupting her rambling. He eyed the oversized puppy that appeared to be a golden retriever mix.
"What? Oh, um, she's a foster. I've only had her a week," she said as she took the puppy toward a wire kennel. "Ginger is afraid of people and gets snippy."
"Let me see her."
"Really? You want a dog bite on top of everything I've already done to you?"
The dog began growling as Marsali carried it closer to Oliver, but once Marsali stood within reach, Oliver slowly lifted his hand for the dog to take a few cautious sniffs. That done, he opened his fingers and lightly ran them over the dog's head. "You named her Ginger from Gilligan's Island," he said, smiling. "You are seriously obsessed with that show."
Marsali lifted her shoulder in a shrug, still not making eye contact.
"She needed a name. And I like clean comedy."
That was something he admired about her. Marsali lived a sheltered life. The sweet kind that made him think of old TV reruns and a time when the world wasn't as crazy and debauched as it was today. It might seem unrealistic to some, but he found her choices and sweetness appealing.
"Ollie, will you please forgive me? I've ruined our lives but I swear it wasn't on purpose."
Oliver dumped his bag on the couch while Marsali lowered Ginger to the floor. Oliver waited for her to straighten and lifted his hands to Marsali's upper arms and gently gripped, then pulled her against his chest for a hug like he had a hundred times before over the years. "Breathe."
She stilled for a moment then inhaled shakily.
"There you go," he murmured. "Hi."
"Hi."
"It's going to be fine."
"Nothing about this mess is fine."
"It will be." She gave a very unladylike snort she probably wouldn't recommend for the female clients of Marsali's Matches and smiled. "I have to ask you something, though."
"What?"
The word came out muffled because she'd pressed her face into his
chest. "Why me? When the reporter asked for a name, you could've said any name, but you said mine."
"I-I— It just came out."
"Mm. I'm pretty sure you know a lot of single men. Especially with that database of yours," he said, not allowing himself to think too long on the fact that she went to mixers and networking events all over the country to recruit new clients too busy to date on their own.
He didn't doubt most of the men agreed to sign up because it meant talking to Marsali and getting some one-on-one time during their personal interview that they hoped would turn into more. "Why not name one of them?"
"I know I should have but when she was describing who… You came to mind and your name came out. I didn't mean for it to."
"Marsali, I believe the host's words were perfect match. You think of me as your perfect match?" he asked.
He felt Marsali stiffen, and she broke the embrace and started backstepping away from him.
"It just happened so fast. I'm sorry, Ollie. I'll fix it. I will. I just need time to gather my thoughts and prepare a statement. Your Hollywood hunk status will not be in danger any longer than necessary."
"You didn't answer my question."
"Ollie, come on. It's obvious you'd make s-some woman a good match. You know that."
"So why didn't you set Gwen straight?"
"I should've. And I know right now you're either highly amused or ticked off or both," she said, "but it was an innocent slip of the tongue."
"Are you sure about that?" He matched her steps, closing the distance between them once more with his longer stride.
Her back hit the dining room wall behind her, and her eyes widened when he braced his forearm by her head, letting his fingers tangle in her wild mane of curls atop her head. He held her gaze, letting her see everything he'd held in check for sixteen agonizing years. "You're sure that's all it was?"
Her full lips parted to drag in a ragged breath, and he fought back the urge to kiss her like he'd wanted to for so long.
"Wh-what?"
She had the most amazing eyes he'd ever seen. They were a mix of golden brown and forest green swirled together and surrounded by dark blue. No one had eyes like her. They were as unique as she was, and he'd often found himself drowning in the depths. Like now. "Are you sure that's all it was? A slip"—he let his gaze lower to her mouth, just as drawn by her full lips—"of the tongue?"
The Matchmaker’s Secret: Chapter 3
Marsali felt the intensity of Oliver's stare like a physical caress. "Stop messing with me," she said, an uncomfortable laugh bubbling out of her chest. Her heart pounded hard and she fought back the seemingly ever-present flush of heat she felt whenever he was around.
Now having him look at her the way he was, stand so close… Gah, he gave a girl a head rush just from being near him, and when he turned on that Hollywood sexiest-man stuff, her insides melted to goo.
But she knew it was all a show. A performance. Because the one thing she and Oliver Beck weren't was that.
Ollie smiled that beautiful smile that had captured the attention of the modeling company and launched his rising star after they'd spotted a photo of him online soaked to the skin. Oliver had jumped into the Intercoastal to save two puppies that had fallen off of a dock. Between the heart-wrenching photo, his shredded build, and that blinding smile, he'd skyrocketed into fame, moving from modeling into acting in the blink of an eye. He was considered a natural, full of charm and charisma. A man's man and a woman's dream.
Right now Oliver's famous smile sent a bolt of heat zapping through her body, bringing tingles and sparks and awareness that only Ollie could create.
Oh, she'd had a crush on him as a teenager, sure. What girl wouldn't have? But she'd grown out of it.
At least, she thought she had until that televised blunder.
Freudian slip?
It had to be.
"Why do you think I'm messing with you?"
"Oh, get real. You've always messed with me, teased me. And I know I deserve whatever revenge you dish out after the trouble I've caused you, but please… Now is not the time. I have to think."
"Fine," he said, taking a step back. "Revenge can wait."
She inhaled a ragged breath now that she actually could breathe again and hoped he couldn't tell how shaky it sounded.
She and Oliver were friends, had always been friends, would only be friends, because that's the way they worked. He was… her second big brother. And even she knew it would be twisted to feel that way about someone she considered brotherly, if only because it helped her keep her mind off things she shouldn't be thinking.
"But remember you started it."
Her uncomfortable laugh turned into a groan. "Trust me, I am well aware of that mistake. And I will fix it—as soon as I get my nerve up to face the group out front."
"Have you talked to your parents?"
Marsali winced and shook her head. "No. I was so mortified I've avoided them. I was going to call you and try to explain but… here you are."
"You can only avoid people for so long, Marsali. Those reporters aren't going away anytime soon."
"I know. I've been working on a statement but… I can't find the words," she said, motioning toward the desk just off of the kitchen, surrounded by her dozen or so attempts wadded up on the floor because she'd missed the trash bin more often than not.
Oliver moved across her house with the ease of a man confident in his own skin and made himself comfortable on the floor near Ginger. The puppy stopped playing and stared at Ollie as though unsure of whether he could be trusted, but the dog cautiously moved toward Oliver after a moment.
Marsali watched as Oliver gave Ginger the time she needed to get comfortable before lifting a finger to initiate contact. Once the puppy deemed that okay, Oliver added a few more fingers until he was able to pet the dog without her rearing back and scrambling away in fear. The man was irresistible, even to people-wary dogs.
"What's her story?"
"Dog hoarder that was probably a fighter. She was one of forty-seven dogs taken from a home. Ollie, why did you come? I mean, I'm glad you're here. You're always welcome. But why not just call? Are you that angry with me?"
He looked up at her from his prone position on the floor, and once more she was treated to a smile. The man seriously didn't know how dangerous he was to females. Or maybe he did? How could he not know after all these years and the success he'd had?
Since he’d been discovered by Hollywood, they'd spent less time together in person. Short visits here and there every year, with Mac and her parents around. They were rarely alone, though they did text quite often. Ollie would share news of his travels and pics of film stars he knew she liked, ask about her day, and she would tell him funny stories about her clients.
"I wanted to check on you in person. It's not easy dealing with that kind of media."
"You've got that right."
"What did Mac have to say?"
She silently groaned at the thought of her brother's reaction. She'd avoided all calls last night.
Thankfully Mac was out of town on business, and her parents were now snowbirds who stayed in Florida over the winter months, but she knew it was only a matter of time before she could no longer hide from the inevitable. "I haven't talked to him yet either. I needed time to recover from my embarrassment. I'll come up with a statement or post a video telling everyone it was a misunderstanding and we're just friends. I will, I just…"
"You just what?"
Was she a horrible person? She had to be to be so selfish. "Dread the fallout. Since that aired, my part-time assistant said she's scheduled three months' worth of interviews for potential clients, and my editor called and left a message stating that they want my idea for another book on navigating relationships in the modern age. Once I tell them the truth…"
"All that could disappear."
"Yup. My credibility will be ruined. Yay, me."
"So, don't tell them."
She shi
fted her gaze back to him and found Oliver staring at her. "What?"
"You could do what you said, issue a statement and such. But there is an alternative."
Marsali wondered if she'd heard him correctly. Because surely he hadn't just said—and in his actor's bedroom voice no less— "An alternative?"
After the disaster of an interview last evening, she'd come home and shuttered her windows, drowning her embarrassment in a half bottle of wine and snuggle time with Ginger. This morning she'd woken up to a headache, a mob of reporters out front, and no other choices.
"Marsali?"
She startled at Oliver's voice and forced herself to focus. Now was not the time for her brain to be wandering off into La-La Land. "You didn't have to fly coast-to-coast, Ollie."
He looked confused by the change in topic.
"I wasn't on the West Coast. I was in New York and heading back to Cali when my agent appeared at my hotel wanting answers about my girlfriend status. Don't say you're sorry again," he said when she opened her mouth to do just that. "I'm here because I want to be. I'm… curious."
Curious? "I've embarrassed us both and ruined our lives."
"Hardly."
He slowly shoved himself upright and got to his feet in a graceful surge, moving toward her with his long-legged stride. She realized then the movie companies did that a lot, filmed Ollie walking, running, moving. Probably because he looked so good doing it.
Focus, for pity's sake.
He stopped in front of her and took her hands in his.
"This isn't the end of the world, you know."
"Not for you. You'll be fine. You're you whereas I'm the crazy woman who dropped your name in an interview on a show that hindsight says I shouldn't have been on in the first place, because unlike you, I don't have an agent to guide me, and now I won't ever need one. Oh, Ollie, how could I be so stupid? Why did I go? I knew better than to—"
"Breathe, Marsali."
"I can't! Because even though it was a-an honest mistake, who's going to believe me? Huh? They'll think I tried to use your name to get attention and ride your coattails. That I'm a-a gold digger of a friend. I'm ruined," she said, the words ending on a groan as she yanked her hands from his so she could bury her face in her palms before raking her fingers through her mop of unruly hair. "My credibility as a dating coach. My business as a matchmaker. The future book deal? Gwen was right. A single matchmaker doesn't make a good impression, which is something my editor has said to me before, but to panic like that and-and… Once the truth is out, no one is going to want to hire me or read my book. I'm a joke, and I have no one to blame but myself."
Cupid to the Rescue: A Tail-Wagging Valentine's Day Anthology Page 48
