An Unlikely Match (The Match Series - Book #1)

by Dunlop, Barbara

  Amelia hopped out of the van and greeted the two men with a smile.

  “Do you need a hand with that?” the taller one offered. He was close to six feet, only slightly shorter than Morgan, broad-shouldered and deep-chested. He was probably in his late thirties, with trimmed hair, cotton shirt, pale khakis.

  “This is a really big van,” she noted, taking in the breadth of the vehicle.

  “I can put it anywhere you want,” offered the shorter guy. He was stocky, wore a baseball cap, blue jeans and a Raiders T-shirt.

  “Everything okay, Amelia?” Morgan questioned as he approached. He wanted them to know he was there, and he wanted to show he knew her name.

  She turned to look at him, and her smiled faltered. “It’s fine. These gentlemen,” she gestured to the two men, “just offered to give me a hand.”

  “I can give you a hand.”

  “I don’t want to impose on your time.”

  “The lady doesn’t want to impose,” the taller man put in, giving Morgan a sweeping once-over.

  “What’s in the van?” Morgan asked Amelia, ignoring the obvious challenge from the tall man. He definitely didn’t want this to deteriorate into an argument.

  “A couch and a kitchen table.” She looked quite proud of herself. “I found some garage sales in town. Really good stuff at really great prices.”

  “Then you can probably use help from all of us. Shall we get out of the way so that...” Morgan looked to the shorter man. “I didn’t catch your name. I’m Morgan Holbrook.”

  “Stan Reynolds,” the man offered.

  “It sounded like you thought you could park the van?”

  “I can park anything,” said Stan.

  “I’m Eddie Sutherland,” the tall man put in, even as he stepped to one side of the driveway to clear the way.

  “This is Amelia Camden,” Morgan told them both, pretending she was his to introduce, even while he hated himself for making the move. He then compounded his ridiculous behavior by gently taking her arm and urging her onto the strip of lawn.

  Stan maneuvered the van to the front of Amelia’s condo. He put it in park and set the brake while Eddie swung open the back doors.

  “Wow,” said Eddie, staring at the contents.

  Stan rounded the end of the vehicle, surprise registering on his face. “I bet you got it for a good price,” he noted.

  Morgan couldn’t bring himself to lie. “That’s the ugliest couch I have ever seen.”

  The base was bright red, while the cushions and back were a patchwork of black, white, orange and neon green.

  “It’s leather,” Amelia stated.

  “That’s not leather,” Morgan countered.

  “Okay, small ‘L’ leather,” she conceded. “It’s practically new, from a designer shop in Beverly Hills. The owners didn’t want to keep it.”

  “I guess they could only stand the glare for so long,” Morgan muttered.

  “More like, the wife caught him on it with the babysitter,” said Amelia.

  All three men took a precautionary step back.

  “Relax. They were only kissing. And, well, apparently he had her blouse undone.”

  “You can probably steam-clean it,” Stan said, reaching out to press his finger experimentally against the stiff fabric. “It looks indestructible.”

  “Want us to put it in the backyard?” Morgan asked. “So we can hose it down?”

  She turned to look at him. “Seriously?”

  He was completely serious. That couch shouldn’t go anywhere near her living room without some serious soap and water.

  She threw her arms up in defeat. “Okay, now you’ve all got me freaked out about babysitter cooties.”

  “You should be freaked out,” said Morgan.

  “Go ahead,” she continued. “Put it in the backyard. I’ll buy some industrial-strength vinyl cleaner.”

  “Good decision,” Eddie approved with a nod.

  He grasped one end, dragging it out through the door of the van. Stan quickly stepped up and took the other end.

  “They threw in the ottoman for free,” Amelia told them.

  “Backyard for that, too,” said Morgan, leaning into the van to lift it out.

  “You do strike me as the germaphobe type,” she said.

  “Nobody ever died from good hygiene.”

  “Nobody ever died from couch cooties, either.”

  “I wouldn’t be too quick to say that.”

  She surprised him by hauling out one of the kitchen chairs.

  “I can come back for those,” he offered.

  “It’s not very heavy.” She followed behind him on the walkway to the front door. “Are you trying to tell me you’ve never slept on a friend’s couch?” she challenged.

  Not that he could remember. Though, he probably had as a child. “I’ve never slept on a stranger’s couch.”

  “Commendable.”

  “You?” he asked.

  “Men don’t usually invite me to sleep on their couches.” She paused. “I mean... Okay, that obviously didn’t come out the way I intended.”

  “You don’t owe me an explanation.”

  The woman was in her early twenties. It was ridiculous to think she hadn’t had a personal life in college. Not that he wanted to think about her personal life. He shook his head to clear it.

  “Obviously, I’ve had boyfriends.” She followed him through the living room.

  “It’s really none of my business,” Morgan tossed over his shoulder.

  “I don’t want you to think I randomly sleep around.”

  “I don’t.”

  “I’ve had offers.”

  “No kidding.”

  “Hey.”

  “That wasn’t an observation about you. It was an observation about men in general.”

  “What I meant to say was that I’ve had offers, and I’ve turned them down. I don’t sleep on couches, but I don’t sleep in beds, either. Other than my own. You know, once I get one. And other than my boyfriends’, and we’re talking long-term, monogamous relationships here, not one-night stands.”

  Morgan stopped just inside the sliding door to the patio. He turned. “Amelia?”

  “What?”

  “The more you talk, the worse you make it.”

  She looked crestfallen, and he felt that damn guilt again.

  “I’m explaining,” she said in a small voice.

  “You don’t have to explain. I never assumed you slept around.”

  “People do,” she told him with an air of fatigue.

  The answer gave him pause. “Well, they shouldn’t. And if they do, it’s their problem, not yours.”

  “Where do you want it?” Eddie called from the yard. “It fits on the patio, but you’ll have runoff into the pool.”

  “On the lawn,” Morgan found himself answering on Amelia’s behalf. “Close to the hillside.” He looked at her again, trying to ignore the sudden vulnerability in her jade eyes. “We can pick up some organic cleaner.”

  “Okay,” she agreed.

  Something squeezed against his chest, and he felt a ridiculous urge to draw her into his arms. Of course, that was impossible with the ottoman and kitchen chair between them, and for a whole host of other reasons as well.

  “Are you bringing the chair outside?” he asked her instead.

  She glanced down at it. “Might as well clean it all.”

  He gave a nod of agreement then proceeded into the yard.

  They unloaded the rest of the furniture, and Amelia offered them each a can of beer. They stood in the living room drinking and chatting about general topics, but it wasn’t long before Stan’s cell phone rang. His wife was looking for him, wondering why he and Eddie had stopped working on the garden retaining wall. Eddie made a big show of pointing out that he wasn’t married, but he polished off his beer and left with Stan.

  “Where did you get the van?” Morgan asked, glancing around for a recycling container.

  “A disc
ount rental on Mondavi Drive. East end of town.”

  “I can follow you back there to drop it off.” He moved to where he had a better view of her kitchen.

  “Do you need something?”

  “A place for the cans.”

  She looked blank.

  “A blue bin?” he elaborated.

  “Oh, recycling.”

  “You don’t do that in Arizona?”

  “Well, you can save them up and turn them in, but there’s no organized pickup or anything.”

  “I’ve got a bin in my condo. So, are you ready to go?”

  She shook her head. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your day. I can find my own way back.”

  “Pay for a cab?” he asked doubtfully. It was obvious how closely she was watching her budget.

  “Or catch the bus. That’s how I’ve been getting to work.”

  “You found a job?” He was surprised she’d accomplished that so fast. And he was impressed with her initiative.

  “They took me on at Sapphire Sunday. My tips paid for my garage sale hopping.”

  “Is that the place near Caltech?”

  She nodded. “Down California Boulevard.”

  “I’ve seen the sign.” He canted his head toward the stash of furniture in her yard, recognizing that she’d only had a few days to work. “You must have made good tips.”

  She gave a shrug of her slim shoulders. “Helps that it’s a cheap, ugly sofa.”

  “It’s still pretty impressive.” He hesitated for a moment. “So, you think it’s ugly, too?”

  “It’s hideous. But it’s in good shape, and I only had so much money to play with.”

  Again, he found himself admiring the way she was solving her own problems. He probably owed her an apology for the Pavlovian blonde crack. She seemed like a perfectly nice woman, and it was sure easy to warm up to her.

  He glanced at the sky. “They say it’s going to rain tonight. We better pick up some cleaner on the way home and get that stuff washed and inside.”

  She looked worried. “Morgan, you really don’t have to—”

  “Don’t worry about it.” He cut off her protest.

  “I’m not trying to persuade you,” she parroted his words from the first night.

  He found himself gazing into her eyes. “I’m sorry about that. I was out of line.”

  She gave a small, self-conscious smile. “I do get free drinks in bars.”

  “That’s not your fault. I’m sure it’s the men hitting on you.”

  “Sometimes I bat my eyelashes.” She gave him a demo.

  Okay, he could so see how that would work. “I’m being neighborly, that’s all,” he assured her.

  But there wasn’t much he could say to reassure himself. He knew full well his libido was messing with his logic. But hormones were a formidable thing, and he couldn’t seem to control the impulse to take care of her.

  Anthropology was a bitch.

  o o o o

  Amelia and Morgan muscled the sofa into the condo just as the first fat raindrops splatted down on the deck outside. The sun had disappeared an hour ago, and the cloudy evening was quickly turning into a very dark night. Amelia’s T-shirt and shorts were sweat-stained from their vigorous scrubbing and damp from the overspray of the hose. Morgan didn’t seem to have fared much better.

  “You probably should have changed into something more casual,” she noted, taking in his gold plaid shirt and pleated navy shorts.

  He glanced down. “These are as casual as it gets.”

  “You don’t have a faded Angels T-shirt? A pair of sweat shorts or cutoffs?”

  “Not really. Why?”

  “No reason.”

  His wardrobe was none of her business.

  To change the subject, she glanced around at her new furniture. It didn’t completely ruin the room. And at least she’d finally have something to sit on.

  “I’d like to offer you a glass of wine as a thank-you,” she told him, making her way to the breakfast bar that separated the dining area from the kitchen nook. She lifted the low-price bottle of California merlot she’d picked up this morning. “But I realize I don’t have a corkscrew.”

  “Maybe we can get creative.” Morgan followed behind her. “What else do you have?”

  “Other than wine?”

  “I was thinking kitchen implements other than a corkscrew.”

  She didn’t have much. She gestured to her kitchen drawers, inviting him to have a look.

  He pulled open a top drawer. She knew it was empty. Then he pulled open another and another. He gave her a look of amazement as he started on the cupboards. They were mostly empty, too.

  “How do you cook?” he asked, obviously giving up on the mission.

  “I have a blender. I make a great smoothie.”

  “Don’t tell me you’ve been living on smoothies the entire week.”

  “Okay. I won’t tell you that. But they are packed with nutrition.”

  In response he snagged the wine from the counter and headed for the patio door. “Change your clothes and come on over to my house, where I live like an adult.”

  “Hey,” she protested to his retreating back. “That was a low blow.”

  “You have no forks, Amelia,” he called over his shoulder. “This may sound like I’m bragging, but I have cutlery, plates and glasses.”

  “How old are you?” she demanded.

  He stopped and turned. “I’m twenty-seven.”

  “Yeah? Well, I’m twenty-two. Come and talk to me in five years about my kitchen utensils.”

  He cracked a grin, and she couldn’t help noticing the way it lit up his blue eyes, even hidden as they were behind his outdated glasses. “You’re planning to get more organized with age.”

  “I am,” she said. She’d only been out of college for a week. These things took time.

  He waggled the bottle. “I have crystal stemware. And I’ll grill you a burger. The buns are fresh, the lettuce crisp.”

  Her stomach rumbled to life. She did not have the power to say no to his offer.

  “I picked up some cupcakes at Earl’s Bakery this morning,” he added, naming a legendary, high-end establishment.

  “Chocolate?” she couldn’t stop herself from asking.

  “Red velvet, with buttercream icing.”

  She swallowed in anticipation. “I’m in.”

  “Put on something dry and come on over. The door will be open.”

  Before he’d even left, she was scampering up the stairs. She knew she should have been the one feeding him after all his help today, but the prospect of a burger and a cupcake obliterated her guilt. And at least she was providing the wine. Though perhaps, under the circumstances, she should have spent more than eight dollars on the bottle.

  She stripped off her wet clothes and washed her face and hands. She pulled on a fresh pair of panties. Then she dropped a slim, aqua T-shirt dress over her head, topping it with a cropped white cardigan. She combed out her hair and pushed up the sleeves of the sweater.

  When she paused at the mirror, her eyes looked peculiar. They had an unusual glow, reflecting the light, giving her the urge to stroke on a little mascara, maybe add some lipstick. She was reaching for her makeup drawer when she stopped herself. What was she thinking? This wasn’t a date. Good grief, this was two neighbors grilling up burgers after scrubbing the cooties off a butt-ugly couch. It didn’t get any less romantic than that.

  She marched out of the bathroom without changing a thing, crossing the small yard and stepping over the fence.

  She slid open the glass door to find Morgan’s living room and kitchen empty. Almost immediately, she heard his footsteps on the staircase as he came down to join her.

  In the few seconds she was alone, she glanced around the unfamiliar rooms. The floor plan was the exact opposite of her own, a little disorienting at first. But the living room was warm and welcoming, decked out with a big leather couch and a matching armchair.

  Low, o
ak tables held ceramic lamps, textbooks and stacks of coasters. Behind the sofa, he’d hung a painting of a yellow floatplane landing on a wilderness lake at sunset. The other decorations were family photographs on a small bookshelf beside the dining table, which held a laptop and stacks of paper. She couldn’t help thinking he really was a grownup.

  “Got the wine opened,” Morgan announced as he entered the room.

  He was dressed in a pair of navy slacks. He’d switched to a long-sleeved cotton shirt. This one was gray and white checkerboard plaid. Not quite as bad as some of his outfits. His glasses were perched on his nose as usual, and that shaggy, unstyled hair made him look like a wacky professor.

  “That’s great news,” she said. “What can I do to help?”

  “If you pour the wine, I’ll light the barbecue. Glasses are above the fruit basket.”

  Amelia located a pair of long-stemmed glasses and poured a measure of wine into each of them. Then she carried her drink into the living room, sipping while she gazed at Morgan’s family pictures.

  “My mom and sisters,” he explained as he retrieved his own glass.

  “You were the youngest,” she said, looking at a formal portrait of the four.

  His mother was beautiful, with long dark hair and a big smile. His older sisters were both blonde. They looked to be nine or ten, while Morgan looked about four.

  “They’re my step-sisters. When my mom got married, I was two. Terri and Carmen were six and eight.”

  “Where’s your step-dad?”

  “He died six months after the wedding. They knew he had cancer when they got married.”

  Amelia’s eyes tingled, and she blew out a breath. “That’s so incredibly sad.”

  “I was too young to remember anything. But, yeah, I can only imagine how difficult it was for Mom. But she was great with all of us.”

  “How’s she doing now?”

  Morgan paused to sip his wine. “Good. She’s closer with the girls than she is with me. She was also raised by a single mother. But she tracked down her father a couple of months ago, a military man who had a one-night stand with her mother.”

  Amelia was intrigued. “She never knew him?”

  “Never knew him at all.”

  She smiled. “What about your biological father?”

  Morgan reached out and straightened the picture. “I don’t hold it against her. It was spring break in Big Sur, and she forgot to get his last name.”