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

by Dunlop, Barbara

  “You ever look for him?”

  “I used to think about it when I was a kid. But if Mom doesn’t want to find him, I’m fine with that.”

  Amelia wasn’t sure what to make of that answer. “You don’t find yourself curious?”

  Morgan gave a thoughtful shake of his head. “She went to a lot of trouble to find her grandfather, but she never seemed to want to look for my biological father. I think he might not be the greatest of guys.”

  “Bad boy on a Harley?” After all, it had been spring break.

  “Or a slimy little thief.”

  “Morgan, did you take a good look at your mom?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She didn’t sleep with some slimy, little thief on spring break. I’m goin’ with a sexy bad boy on a Harley.”

  “Probably a stolen Harley.”

  Amelia couldn’t help but grin. “I guess no family is perfect.”

  “Tell me about your imperfect family?” Morgan gestured toward the sofa.

  Accepting his invitation, she sat down at one end. She kicked off her flat sandals and curled into its inviting softness.

  “I have an older brother, Devlin,” she began. “He’s twenty-eight, restores and sells vintage cars. He has a big shop in Arizona. My dad is in real estate. And my mom owns a flower shop. Chocolates and gifts too, but mostly flowers.”

  Morgan settled into the big armchair. “Did you have a dog?”

  “A golden retriever. Bubbles. We lost her two years ago while I was at school.” It was hard for Amelia to get used to Bubbles being gone. She still half expected to see the old girl whenever she went home.

  “Bubbles?” Morgan asked on a chuckle.

  “They let me name her. I was only seven.”

  “Remind me not to let you name anything of mine.”

  “I’m much better at it now.”

  “You must be aware that your family sounds perfect.”

  She shook her head in denial. “We’re not. Well, I’m not, anyway. I’m flighty and impractical.”

  He didn’t argue with the statement, and she found herself giving an inward sigh.

  “Take my education,” she continued. “My family would have preferred I become a teacher, or a pharmacist, or maybe an architect. Nobody’s thrilled that I want to go into acting.”

  “How exactly does one go into acting?” He might think she was flighty, but he seemed genuinely interested in her career choice.

  “There are a lot of different ways to approach it,” she told him. “You do up a résumé, list yourself on websites, try to get an agent, go to open casting calls. I dance and do gymnastics, and I did quite a lot of acting while I was at college. I even did a commercial once. All of those things help set me apart.”

  “What was the commercial?”

  “Honey.” She couldn’t help but smile as she remembered the kitschy set. “I wore a gingham dress and sat at a picnic table, blissfully enjoying Sunnybrook Beehive Honey, made from organic fireweed and clover.”

  “I’d like to see that. Can I find it online?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never tried. But it’s probably out there somewhere.”

  His phone rang from the table beside him, and he glanced at the screen.

  “Go ahead and answer it,” she encouraged.

  “It’s my mother.”

  “Do you need privacy?”

  “Not at all.” He lifted the phone. “I’ll just be a minute.”

  She sat back to sip her wine. There was something admirable in his attitude toward his mother. He was clearly respectful when he spoke of her. And just now there’d been a warm expression on his face when he’d seen her number displayed. A lot of Amelia’s friends from college were dismissive and disdainful of their parents.

  “Hi, Mom,” Morgan said into the phone. “No, not at all. I was just about to grill some burgers.”

  While he listened, Amelia turned her attention to the backyard. The rain was pounding down once again, drumming off the small awning outside the door and splashing into the pool. She rose from the couch and wandered to the glass door, looking for the same switch she’d located in her condo on the first night.

  “They forwarded it from our old house?” Morgan was asking behind her.

  She switched on the light, illuminating the pool and the splash of raindrops on the surface. The city was a hazy glow in the distance, and the storm made the living room feel particularly cozy.

  “Sure,” he continued. “Just send it to me.” There was another pause. “I don’t know.” Silence. “I’ll decide.” More silence.

  This time, there was a slight edge to his voice. “I know you do.”

  Amelia told herself to stop listening. But it really was impossible. She was about to excuse herself into the bathroom to give him some privacy, when he ended the call.

  “Sorry about that,” he told her, coming to his feet.

  He moved straight to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator.

  “Everything okay?” she asked.

  “It’s fine. Cheeseburger?”

  “Cheeseburger works for me.” She was curious but forced herself to keep her mouth shut.

  “They’ll only take a few minutes to cook.”

  “Sounds great. I’m starving.”

  He set a tray of burgers on the counter, then stacked cheese slices, lettuce and mayonnaise beside them.

  “Can I help?” she asked, retrieving his glass of wine from the side table and bringing it to him.

  The phone call had clearly altered his mood. But it was none of her business.

  “I’ve got it.”

  “Are you sure everything’s okay?”

  He pushed the fridge door closed. “You mean my mom?”

  She gave in to curiosity. “You seem a little tense.”

  He gazed at her but didn’t respond.

  “I’m being hopelessly nosy,” she admitted. Then she rounded the breakfast bar and held out his glass of wine.

  He took it. “You think if you get me drunk I’ll talk?”

  “It’s worked before.”

  “I’ll bet it has.”

  “Are you going to remind me that I’m a Pavlovian blonde?”

  His jaw tightened. “I’m really sorry about saying that. It was rude and uncalled for.”

  “I thought it was pretty funny.” She leaned her hip against the breakfast bar. “In my sorority, we’d have called you a FE-PWAPP.”

  He seemed to relax a little. “You do know I’ll have to bite on that.”

  “I’m counting on it.”

  “What’s a fee-pwap?”

  “It’s an acronym. Stands for Four-Eyes, Probably-Wears-a-Pocket-Protector.”

  “I don’t wear a pocket protector.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not blonde.”

  His eyes softened to smoke. “I guess we could call it even.”

  “You feed me a burger, you can call me anything you want.”

  Something smoldered in the depths of his eyes. Before she could identify it, he lifted the tray of patties in one hand. “Coming right up.”

  She took the stack of cheese and followed him outside under the patio awning.

  There, he flipped open the lid on the gas barbecue. Smoke wafted up as he brushed off the grates. Then he laid out a row of four patties and adjusted the temperature.

  “I’ve been invited to a high school reunion,” he unexpectedly told her.

  It took Amelia a moment to put his words in context. “That was your mom’s phone call.”

  “That’s what it was.”

  “Well, that’s good news. Ten years?”

  “Ten years.”

  “When is it? Where is it?”

  He pulled down the heavy lid and set the cheese slices on the side shelf next to the barbecue utensils. “Pine Valley Collegiate, Sacramento, California.”

  “That’s doable. When? I assume it’s on a weekend?”

  “It’s on a weekend. Three weeks from now.�
� He reached over-top of her and pushed the door open.

  “So, what’s the problem?” she asked as they moved inside. She tried to figure out how a reunion invitation could possibly have sparked tension between him and his mother, whom he obviously adored.

  “No problem.”

  “Good.” Though the answer didn’t explain why he’d been upset.

  She took up the same spot on the sofa. “You’re going to impress the heck out of your old friends.”

  He took a drink of his merlot. “What makes you say that?”

  “For starters, you’re a rocket scientist.”

  He choked on a laugh. “Nobody calls themselves a rocket scientist.”

  “But you really are a rocket scientist.” When Eddie had asked today, Morgan had told them he was a researcher in the aerospace department at Caltech. His job sounded very impressive.

  “It’s still a bloody pompous thing to say.”

  “You don’t have to be quite that blunt. But they’ve got to be impressed by what you’ve accomplished.”

  He gave her a look that questioned her intelligence. “Impressed? It’s high school, Amelia.”

  “It’s real life now, Morgan. High school was ten years ago.”

  “I don’t think they’ll be remotely impressed.”

  “Well, I do. We should make a bet. If they’re impressed, you cook me another dinner. If they’re not, I’ll bake you a batch of my famous button cookies.” She raised her wineglass in a mock salute. “I trust you to be honest about what happens.”

  “That’s very magnanimous of you.”

  “You will let me know how it goes?” she asked.

  “No problem.”

  She smiled, her gaze going past him. “There’s a lot of smoke coming from that barbecue.”

  “Damn.” Morgan jumped to his feet.

  He rescued the patties just in time, and they laughed their way through building their burgers. Since the table was cluttered with work, they perched on two padded, rattan chairs at the breakfast bar. Amelia moaned in satisfaction at the first bite, then they both ate in silence for a few minutes.

  “So, this job you have,” she opened.

  He nodded for her to continue.

  “Was it hard to get?” She had figured out he was in a very prestigious position at a top-notch school. It made her feel slightly insecure about her own career path.

  “Normally, yes. But the department head said he’d heard about me, so he called up to offer it.”

  “They head-hunted you?”

  “They did.”

  “You must be a bona fide genius.”

  “Technically, yeah, sure.” His tone was matter-of-fact. “But ‘genius’ is a bizarre label. My brain just happens to work in a way that lends itself to understanding science and technology. And, right now, in adult America, that’s something some people admire. A few hundred years ago, I would have been judged solely on my ability to forge weapons or handle a broadsword. And don’t get me started on what impresses the girls and the jocks in high school.”

  “Are you telling me you can’t handle a broadsword?”

  “Afraid not.” He played along with her joke. “Luckily for me, I don’t live in the fifteenth century.”

  “So, you’re not one of those geniuses who’s trying to invent a time machine?”

  He shook his head. “Life’s confusing enough in the here and now.”

  “Confusing how?” She found herself curious at his choice of words. “What is it that a genius like you can’t figure out?”

  “Reality TV.”

  She laughed. “I have a theory about reality TV.”

  “You have a theory?”

  “Are you saying cheerleaders can’t have theories?”

  “No.” He seemed to stumble. “I just thought you spent all your time perfecting things like in-the-air splits. Don’t get me wrong,” he hastily added, “I have nothing but admiration and respect for people who can execute in-the-air splits. I could never do them. Not that I’ve tried.” He paused. “I’m sorry. I know how I’m making this sound.”

  “Not at all,” she mocked airily, even though she wasn’t remotely offended. It was obvious he was being awkward rather than mean-spirited.

  He took a drink of his wine. “Please. Do tell me your theory.”

  She wanted to tease him a little longer, so she pretended to be annoyed. “If you’d prefer, I could show you a few cheerleading moves instead.”

  “I deserved that,” he told her seriously.

  “You did,” she agreed, gazing at his profile, thinking guilt made him look attractive, kind of brooding and inaccessible, but in a very intriguing way.

  “Are you going to tell me your theory?” he asked.

  “Sure. Though it’s going to be a letdown after all that buildup.”

  “Try me.”

  “Reality TV contestants are the gladiators of the twenty-first century. It’s no longer morally acceptable to have people physically hack each other to death for our entertainment. But it’s fine to let them do it emotionally.”

  He seemed to consider her words. “Is that what you think they’re doing? Emotionally hacking each other to death?”

  “I do,” she asserted.

  “You watch reality shows?”

  She couldn’t help but quirk a smile. “Some. I have a lot of time to kill while jogging on the treadmill. You know, keeping in shape for those in-the-air splits.”

  He nodded sagely. “I knew they factored in somehow.”

  She threw him an elbow. As soon as it connected, she felt a surge of sexual awareness. It stunned her for a moment.

  “It’s actually not a bad theory,” said Morgan.

  She blinked past his glasses, the ugly shirt and the shaggy hair. When had he gotten hot?

  “Amelia?” he prompted.

  She shook herself back to reality. “Yes?”

  “I said I liked your theory.”

  “Thanks. That’s good.”

  She bit into her burger, forcing herself to focus on reality. This was her nerdy neighbor. She had absolutely no business thinking about anything other than his genius IQ and his ability to clean sofas.

  She put a teasing note back into her voice. “But you should see me do the splits.”

  Chapter Four

  Morgan came to a halt in the bright white hallway near his computer lab, staring with surprise at the bulletin board poster.

  “Impressive,” noted Ryder McKinley, an electrical engineer with lab space close to Morgan’s. The two men had met and hit it off on Morgan’s first day. “They just announced the lecture series.”

  “Is Dr. Finnegan alumni?” Morgan asked, gazing at the black-and-white headshot of a slightly younger-looking Sam Finnegan.

  “He is. He’s practically a legend here. I hope there’s registration preference for post-doctoral researchers.”

  “You’re planning on going?”

  “Absolutely,” Ryder answered. “He hasn’t spoken at an academic institution for years, and he’s getting up there in age. This may be my last chance.”

  “He sure hasn’t lost his edge.” Morgan remembered their conversation on problems with the inertial sensor algorithm on the early prototypes of the Mars rovers.

  Ryder looked surprised. “Where did you hear him speak?”

  “Florida. It wasn’t formal,” Morgan quickly put in. “He’s my grandfather’s neighbor. It was at a barbecue.”

  “No shit?”

  “No shit,” said Morgan, thinking he’d also sign up for the series if he could.

  “Could you introduce me?”

  “If there’s an opportunity, I don’t see why not.” Sam had struck Morgan as being incredibly down to earth and approachable.

  “Thanks, man. You done for the day?”

  “I am.” Morgan had been stuck on a problem for a couple of hours now, and he knew enough to let it sit over the weekend before recompiling the data.

  “I’m meeting Herb and Cole f
or a drink on the way home. You have time to join us?” Ryder asked as he backed away.

  “Sure.” Morgan wasn’t crazy about crowded bars, but he’d promised himself to be social with his colleagues at Caltech. He’d had a small, built-in circle of friends who had moved from Sacramento to Berkeley. But he couldn’t depend on them anymore.

  Not that he was looking for a particularly active social life. But some of the guys at Caltech seemed interesting, so he was going to stretch his wings a little.

  “We’re going to Sapphire Sunday,” Ryder called. “Meet you there.”

  Morgan couldn’t stop a flash of anticipation at the thought of seeing Amelia. She’d been working at Sapphire Sunday for a while now. He heard her come home late most nights, the front door bang, the shower go on, her soft background music just barely wafting through the walls as she got ready for bed.

  He’d discovered that she listened to white noise while she slept. It had taken him awhile to figure out where the sound of the waves had been coming from. He liked it. In fact, the one night she’d kept her patio door closed, he’d missed it.

  As he made his way to the parking lot, he couldn’t help but wonder what she’d think of him showing up at Sapphire Sunday. Then he realized he was being ridiculous. She wouldn’t think anything of him showing up. She likely didn’t think about him at all. He hadn’t even spoken to her since they’d barbecued burgers last Sunday, when he’d watched her dive into the red velvet cupcake with such gusto.

  There’d been two cupcakes left at the end. So, for the next two days, he’d gotten turned on eating dessert. It was pathetic. But the second he tasted the butter cream icing, he’d picture her in that thin, pale blue dress, the soft sweater delineating her slim shoulders and rounded breasts.

  Her eyes were moss-soft when she laughed. The sound was enthralling. Her cheeks would flush, and those perfect red lips would grin across sparkling white teeth. He knew she’d never be anything more than a fantasy. But logic and reason were no match for hormones, so he’d been letting his imagination run with it for the past few nights.

  When he walked through the front door of Sapphire Sunday, he spotted her right away. God help him, she was even more perfect in real life. Tonight, she wore a simple, black cocktail dress. It was sleeveless, with a scooped neckline and a slim silhouette. The hemline was at mid-thigh, showing shapely legs that were elongated by a pair of strappy, spiky, black sandals.