“It’s still delicious.”
“Does your mother bake?” she asked him, falling into step along the hallway toward the living room.
“Only with the cookie dough you buy in a refrigerated package.” Morgan remembered the Halloween and Christmas cookies from his childhood.
“That’s too bad.”
“They tasted just fine.”
“So, you were third in the birth order?” she asked as they crossed the living room toward the back entrance to the patio.
“Two older sisters,” Morgan said. “Step-sisters, actually. My mother married a widower when I was two.”
Daisy nodded her understanding. “I used to ride a bike. Growing up in west Texas, we rode all over the place. Then I turned sixteen and got a driver’s license. We had a Ford, a pickup. Do you have a car, or just the bike?”
“I have a car,” Morgan confirmed. It was hard to beat a bike for getting around campus and town, but he liked to venture farther afield, and it helped when you were picking up groceries.
“What kind?”
“Aston Martin.”
“Coupe? Convertible?”
He followed her through the kitchen. “Coupe. A little silver one. It’s ten years old. Why?”
“Just curious.” She stopped and peered at him for a long moment. “Would you like a glass of lemonade?”
He’d rather have a beer. “Sure.”
She pulled open JW’s fridge. “And you’re a teacher?”
“A researcher.” What was with the third degree?
“With a PhD.” She extracted a glass pitcher of pink lemonade.
“Seriously?” came JW’s challenging voice as he entered through the open doorway from the deck.
“I told you I’d successfully defended my thesis,” Morgan responded to JW.
But JW was frowning at the lemonade. “Give the man a brew.”
Daisy appeared to stifle a grin. She lowered her voice to a gravelly level. “Would you like a brew, Morgan?”
“Sure,” said Morgan. “Love one.” He couldn’t help but glance curiously at JW.
JW rolled his eyes. “Pink lemonade. What are we? Six-year-old girls?”
“Morgan drives an Aston Martin,” Daisy announced, setting the pitcher of lemonade back in the fridge and extracting a couple of cans of Budweiser from the door.
For some reason, Morgan found himself waiting for JW’s approval.
“I guess that company’s partly American owned,” JW allowed.
Morgan let the quasi-insult slide. “So, you like American cars?”
“Mustangs, Corvettes, what’s not to like?”
Daisy handed JW a beer then handed one to Morgan.
Morgan popped the top on the can. “Ever played Metal Battle? It’s a video game. Overseas war-based.”
“You like video games, Morgan?” asked Daisy.
“I do,” said Morgan, keeping his attention on JW.
“Is that where kids pretend to shoot people on a computer screen?” asked JW. He didn’t sound impressed.
“Or aliens,” Morgan elaborated. “Or zombies. In some of the games, you build things, like robots.”
“On a computer screen?” JW asked.
“Yes.”
“So, none of these things really exist.”
“In the case of zombies, I’ve always considered that a plus.”
“And people think that’s fun?” JW looked doubtful.
“Some people do,” said Morgan, realizing he’d made a tactical error. JW didn’t want to play video battle games. He’d already done the real thing.
“Or we could take in a baseball game,” Morgan offered. “Or football. I’m assuming you like football.”
“Do you like football?” Daisy chimed in.
“Sure,” said Morgan, determined to be agreeable. “I love football.”
“There’s a college game tonight,” JW offered. “Junior college, but the local team is doing well in their division.”
“Sounds terrific,” said Morgan. “I’d love to go.”
“What are your favorite foods?” asked Daisy.
Morgan was confused. “Excuse me?”
“I thought we could all go out for dinner after the game. What do you like to eat?”
“Anything,” said Morgan. He’d spent most of the last ten years on a college campus. If you could heat it up in a dorm room, he could eat it.
“Burgers and brats?” asked Daisy. “Or are you more steak and seafood? Or, maybe you like ethnic food. Italian? sushi?”
“He doesn’t want sushi,” said JW.
“Burgers and brats,” said Morgan. That seemed like good all-around football food.
“Okay,” said Daisy, looking satisfied.
JW looked happy, too. Good enough for Morgan. All he had to do was keep this up for another thirty-six hours.
o o o o
When JW walked into Sam’s garage three days later, his four friends were clustered in a group, their rapt attention on a pair of computer screens.
Sam had always filled his double garage with an array of electronic gizmos and gadgets. But since they’d started Operation Matchmaker, as JW had dubbed it, the quantity and variety of gear had increased exponentially.
Hannah was shaking her head in obvious disappointment. “I truly don’t know where we go from here.”
“And after all our hard work,” Daisy groaned with exasperation.
“What happened?” JW asked, closing the door behind him, glancing from Daisy to Lizbet to Hannah, ending on Sam. The women were standing in a semi-circle, while Sam was perched on a folding metal chair directly in front of the computer screens.
“There’s absolutely nothing wrong with the algorithm,” Sam stated with conviction.
“Except that it doesn’t work,” said Hannah.
“We don’t know it doesn’t work,” said Lizbet.
“What happened?” JW repeated, perching himself against a work bench nearby.
He still had reservations about the operation, but during the final day of Morgan’s visit, he’d become convinced the man needed assistance in meeting women. And Hannah in particular had worked really hard, gathering and logging information about her many granddaughters and great-nieces. JW now found himself rooting for success.
Hannah fluttered her hand in the direction of the screen. “That thing matched Morgan with Amelia Airhead.”
“Airhead?” JW rose to move closer, immediately worried by the nickname.
“That’s what her brother calls her,” Hannah explained. “And her mom, my niece Georgia.” Her eyes narrowed at Sam. “Amelia’s a cheerleader. And a ridiculous match for a genius.”
“The algorithm is solid,” Sam stated. “Better than anything you’re going to find anywhere else in the world.”
“We’ve only got thirty names in the database,” Lizbet offered in a conciliatory tone. “Maybe there’s not enough to choose from.”
JW knew he hadn’t done his part in populating the database. But he had no grandchildren other than Morgan, and no nieces or nephews to draw on, either. He’d tried to make up for it in other ways, making a hefty donation to the equipment fund, for example, and helping Sam move it all in and set it up.
“It’s a ninety-three-point-seven percent match,” said Sam. “I don’t care how many or how few are in the database, you’re not going to get much better than that.”
“What’s the next highest?” Lizbet asked.
Sam clicked a few keys. “Seventy-two even. Not even close.”
Everyone went silent.
Finally, Daisy looked to JW. “On the bright side, if the program works as well as Sam claims, you already know he’s not gay. Amelia’s definitely a girl.”
Looking in to her eyes, JW felt a pang of guilt. He could pretend to be open-minded, but he’d only be lying to himself and everyone else. Life was easier if you were a heterosexual. At the very least, it was complicated if you were gay, and sometimes it was downright dangerous.
“I wish I could say I didn’t care,” JW offered in a contrite tone.
For some reason, the words earned a smile from Daisy. “You’re an honest man, JW. I like that about you.”
“We’re not going to give up now,” Lizbet declared.
“Do we start from scratch?” asked Daisy.
“There’s nothing wrong with the algorithm,” Sam repeated, clearly growing offended by their lack of faith.
“I’m not saying we start over,” Lizbet clarified. “I’m saying we test it out.”
“Test it out how?” asked JW, not seeing a way to undertake it.
“You mean use these two as guinea pigs? Go ahead and match them up?” asked Hannah.
Lizbet gave an enthusiastic nod. “That’s exactly what I mean.”
Sam grinned and clicked a few keys.
“We carry on with the plan,” Lizbet continued. “Where’s Amelia living now, and what’s she doing?”
“She just graduated from U of Arizona.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad,” JW couldn’t help noting.
“Fine arts,” said Hannah. “I think she just squeaked through her classes. She cheers for the Wildcats.”
“They’re a fine team.”
“And she’s a beautiful girl.” Hannah sighed. “Last I heard she was planning to go to Hollywood and become an actress.”
“Hollywood is an awfully long way from Berkeley,” Daisy noted.
JW agreed with Daisy on that being a problem.
“But it’s right next door to Caltech,” said Sam.
“How is that relevant?” asked Lizbet.
Sam picked up the telephone receiver, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “We move the mountain to Mohammed.”
“Which one’s the mountain?” asked Hannah, glancing at the others.
“Hank?” Sam spoke heartily into the receiver. “Sam Finnegan here. Are you still interested in having me lecture this summer?” There was a pause. “I will. Yes. But I need a favor.”
Chapter Two
Amelia Camden didn’t think she’d heard her mother correctly. “Auntie Hannah has a what?” she asked into the phone while she squeezed a single-serving box of pineapple juice into the blender with her yogurt and fresh strawberries.
“An empty condo in Pasadena,” her mother Georgia confirmed.
Amelia’s door was open to the hallway of Epsilon Omega house. The place buzzed with activity now that exams had ended, shrieks, bangs and loud male voices echoing through the building as buff, eager boyfriends helped move the girls’ belongings and furniture.
“I didn’t know Auntie Hannah was rich.”
“I wouldn’t have thought rich,” said Georgia, “but Uncle Max did do pretty well in real estate.”
“So, has she always had this place?” Amelia moved to arm’s length from the blender, hitting the on button then quickly ducking to the far side of the room.
“What’s that noise?” asked Georgia.
“Blender. I’m making lunch.”
“I thought you were moving out today.”
“I was. I am.” Amelia glanced guiltily around the room. She’d meant to pack last night, but her friend Sammy, had introduced her to a stuntman from LA who knew several producers from NBC. You couldn’t plan those kinds of connections, and you had to jump right on them when they appeared in front of you.
“They’ll give you an extra day if you make a written request,” she told her mother.
“Did you make a written request?”
Amelia rolled her eyes at her mother’s near-anal attention to detail. “No. But there’ll be a dozen people staying over until tomorrow. Nobody’s going to notice one extra.”
“Amelia.” The familiar ring of exasperation was clear in Georgia’s tone.
Amelia moved closer to the blender to drown out the tone. She hit the off button and started to hunt around for a clean glass.
“I think you should take the condo,” Georgia added.
“Of course I should take the condo,” Amelia agreed. When a relative offered a free place to stay within an hour of LA, it was definitely a sign.
She had made the cut for final tryouts with a Seattle football team. But she wasn’t sure she wanted to live in the Pacific Northwest. It was cold up there, and rainy, and an acting career would certainly have more longevity than a cheerleading career. She couldn’t help feeling a little smug about the decision. Her family was wrong when they told her she never planned ahead.
“Good.” Her mother sounded relieved. “Hannah’s given me the address in Pasadena and the name of the person with the key. Do you have enough money for a bus ticket?”
“Yes, I have enough money for a bus ticket.”
It was frustrating to have parents who seemed to think she was still twelve. Sure, things always got a little lean at the end of term. But Amelia wasn’t destitute. She could get herself to Pasadena or to Seattle, for that matter.
“I don’t know if it has any furniture. And you’ll definitely have to stock it up with food and find some linens and things.”
“Hey, Amelia,” came Krista’s shout from the hallway outside her door. “You coming to the commons? They’re hosting the big send-off barbecue this afternoon.”
“Sounds great,” Amelia called back.
She’d love a chance to say goodbye to as many people as possible. And it was nice to have an excuse to cut her mother’s fussing short.
“There’s a big barbecue about to start,” she told Georgia as she poured the smoothie into a disposable glass. “Some of the girls want me to come along.”
“Oh. Well, you go have fun, dear.”
“Thanks, Mom. Tell Auntie Hannah thank you.”
“You’ll call her?” Georgia asked.
“When I get there. Can you text me the number? And the address. Text me the address, too.”
“I will. Let me know when you’re safely on the bus.”
“Yes, Mom. Bye.”
Amelia hung up the phone, took a swig of the smoothie and stepped into her flats. It was late May in Tucson, and the weather was as perfect as it got. She’d pulled on a white, lacy T-shirt and a little denim skirt this morning. They would do for a barbecue. Her auburn ponytail was a bit messy, but they’d be outside in the wind. Redoing it now would only be a waste of effort.
“I’m on my way,” she called to Krista, tucking her phone in one pocket and her tiny wallet in the other.
Krista stuck her blonde head in the doorway, a dire expression on her face. “Tad just broke up with Maddie.”
The revelation caused Amelia to miss a step. “Seriously? I thought they were going to law school together.”
“Well, they’re both still going to law school. But it won’t be together.”
“What a pig.”
“I’ll say,” Krista said with a decisive nod. “He tried to hit on me at the spring mixer.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“You didn’t tell her?” Amelia pulled the bedroom door shut behind her.
“He was drunk, and nothing happened, so I gave him a pass. Probably should have ratted him out.”
Amelia had to agree. The two women started for the grand staircase that led from the second floor to the front foyer.
“Well, she’s going to do a hell of a lot better than him anyway,” she stated staunchly. Maddie was smart and beautiful. Men were going to fall all over her when she got to Stanford.
“That’s what I told her.”
“I don’t know about men,” said Amelia, with a sorry shake of her head. She was beginning to think they weren’t worth the trouble. They all seemed to be bull-headed, narrow-minded and incredibly self-centered.
Her most recent boyfriend had wanted her to follow him to U of T so he could get a master’s in supply chain management. Who studied supply chain management? And who wanted to live in Texas? They’d been dating for six months, and the invitation told her he hadn’t listened to a word she’d said a
bout her own future. Either that, or he hadn’t taken anything she’d said seriously. It didn’t matter which. He was out of her life for good.
“What’s to know?” Krista responded cheerfully, linking her arm with Amelia’s. “Men are very simple creatures, susceptible to lipstick and vee-neck sweaters. They provide free drinks on Saturday nights and carry all your heavy stuff. We don’t have to take them seriously at this stage of the game.”
Amelia laughed at her friend’s perspective as they exited the building. Krista made a good point.
“Are you catching the bus tonight?” Krista asked as they crossed the street to the strip of parkland that led to the commons.
“Tomorrow. And I’m not going to Seattle, either.”
“Home to Phoenix?”
“LA. Well, Pasadena.”
Krista stopped and turned to look at her, jaw dropping open. “You’re going to do it? You’re going to be a movie star?”
“I’m going to audition for parts. And wait tables to start off with.” Amelia had spent her last few summers as a cocktail waitress in Phoenix. She was confident she could find a similar job in Pasadena. The wages weren’t very good, but she always managed to do well in tips. Krista was right. Men were astonishingly susceptible to a bit of makeup and a few clingy clothes.
“I can’t believe it,” Krista raved. “I never thought you’d do it. I thought you’d go after the cheerleading gig. What did your mom say?”
“She’s okay with it. My great-aunt has a place where I can stay.”
Krista looked doubtful. “With your great-aunt? How much fun will that be?”
“She lives in Florida. So I think I’ll be there alone. At least, it sounded like I’d be there alone.”
They rounded a corner on the path, and the main commons came into view. A big crowd had gathered in the picnic area. A band was on the stage, the strains of its warm-up music wafting across the lawn.
“You’ll be livin’ your dream,” sang Krista.
Amelia supposed that was true, and she smiled to herself at the thought. Once again, her life had spontaneously worked itself out. Odd, the way that happened to her over and over again.
o o o o
Morgan’s world had turned on a dime. In the space of one phone call, he’d switched from the comfortable path laid out for him for the next ten years at Berkeley to a sweetheart of a deal at Caltech. Out of the blue, he’d been offered a prime position in the aerospace department. It had come with a private lab, a top-notch salary, and no requirement to teach lower-level courses.
An Unlikely Match (The Match Series - Book #1) Page 2
