Through the fog I'm shocked that she's kissing me back. Eagerly, hungrily. Reaching up around my neck, easily in step with me as I push her backwards.
What should be the wall just a few feet from us is the open door of the waiting elevator. We stumble slightly as we crash into the empty car where we both expected to meet solid wall. Finally stopping against the back of the coach where Tiffany's back presses to the cool interior wall while my hands land on either side of her shoulders.
I want to wrap my arms around her. I want to pull the clip out of her hair and run my fingers through the dark locks as they fall over her shoulders. I want to slide my palms along her back, around her waist, over her breasts and finally down till they're filled with the plump roundness of her ass as I pin her against the wall and let her feel just how much I'm looking forward to giving that Mrs. a new name.
The doors close and open again behind us and then voices are headed toward us before I have Tiffany's body pulled tightly against mine.
Stepping out of the elevator, I hold the doors open for the visibly tipsy couple that interrupted the best fucking kiss of my life. Tiffany uses her finger to wipe the corner of her mouth as she gives me an apologetic little smile, but her lipstick is gone.
I'm sure I'm wearing it and the couple's knowing smirks confirm it.
I don't give a fuck what they think.
I start to ask if she wants to meet for breakfast but the interlopers have already pressed the button for their floor and the doors slide shut before I get a chance to say good night.
Maybe I look ridiculous with my hair disheveled and my face smeared with crimson lipstick as I walk proudly past the raised eyebrow of the front desk clerk but I don't care. It's been a long damn time since I ruined a woman's lipstick and if I don't get back to my own room where I can jack off to the memory while I still smell like my future wife, I'm going to turn around and take that elevator to the 6th floor and Raven can go share a room with Helen.
Tiffany
You got back early last night."
Raven's muffled voice coming from under the covers piled on her bed startles me. I thought she was still asleep.
Somehow I'd expected her to be one of those insufferably cheerful morning people-- turns out, that's me.
The woman I paid a small fortune to to find me a suitable partner to share my life with turns out to be allergic to morning. Which is why I've been considerately tip toeing around our shared hotel room since I woke up 3 hours ago.
"Early?" I'm surprised. It was near midnight when I thought I'd be able to sneak past a sleeping Raven and straight to the bathroom to wash my face and brush out my hair.
Instead, I found Raven sitting up in her bed with her laptop on her lap, a cup of coffee on her nightstand, chatting with her assistant, Jessica, on the phone while alternately texting her husband.
The woman can multitask, that's for sure. I'm sure if I tried to mix work and personal conversations like that, I'd end up telling Beth I'm not wearing underwear.
Where did that thought come from?
I grab my clothes and dart back to the bathroom in case Raven pokes her head out from under her blankets and wants to know why I'm blushing.
It's not like me to have sex on the brain. I certainly would never text a man that I wasn't wearing any undies.
My face heats as I make myself blush again. Thoughts of texting Nathan from my office at the book store filter through my mind. Thoughts about texting him more than just my underwear status.
Memories of last night's good night kiss have been burning up my imagination since the elevator doors closed. I hate to think what would have happened if I wasn't sharing a room with Raven.
Speaking of--
"Yeah, early." I hear her voice outside the bathroom door, sounding less grumpy about starting the day and more like her usual, everything's-under-control tone. "I didn't expect to see you till breakfast."
I freeze like a deer in the headlights as I pull the bathroom door open and find her standing in front of me with a hair brush in one hand and a naughty grin on her lips.
Did Miss Prim and Proper just insinuate that she expected me to stay the night with a man I'd only known for a few hours?
Like she can read my mind, Raven's smile breaks into a short laugh, "Oh please," the hairbrush waves in the air by her head, "don't tell me you think I'm some Miss Goody Two-shoes?" One perfectly shaped eyebrow arches over a critical eye as she moves out of the way so I can hurry past her now that I'm dressed.
"You do realize I set people up for a living, right?"
She moves so I can't escape her line of sight as if she knows that's exactly what I'm trying to do.
It's a nice hotel room, but it's still just a standard double room. There's not much room for escape.
"Well, yeah," I stammer, "but you know that's not me."
There's that eyebrow again, hoisted above a narrowed eye as she tilts her head to the side as if she's calling bullshit on me.
"Tiffany," Raven's voice loses it's playful tone and lands somewhere between girl friend and professional, "I know you said you're just looking for companionship and security, but if that's all you wanted you could have gotten a dog."
Ouch.
I'm not exactly comfortable with where this might be going. Especially when I don't want to admit that she's right.
"A dog can't--"
"Give you the Heimlich if you're choking?" Raven's fists land on her hips. "A dog also wouldn't tell you that you looked stunning in that dress last night," her head nods toward the dress where I left it draped over the back of the chair after I managed to change into my pajamas and wash the evidence of my short-lived make out session off my face before crawling into bed while evading any interrogations from my marriage broker.
Raven's glare softens and she walks back into the main room and sits on the edge of the bed. Her long red hair is pinned up with a hair clamp, her face free of makeup and looking obnoxiously flawless anyway, her over-sized pajama top hanging off her slender shoulders, giving her a slight resemblance to a teenager at a slumber party.
A teenager who's patting the bed beside her, indicating that I should sit-- because it's time for a serious talk apparently.
Reluctantly I take a seat, checking the hotel alarm clock over her shoulder and seeing that we have plenty of time before we need to check out and head for the airport.
No excuse comes to mind to get me out of this, so I suck it up and turn to face her, prepared for whatever lecture she has in store.
"Tiffany, I know your history. I understand that hiring me was a big step for you and I know you came to me with the idea in your head that you don't want to fall in love again-- you just don't want to be alone."
Any resemblance to a fresh-faced teenager Raven may have had a minute ago is long gone. She's not quite the polished professional I'm used to either. I think this is what it would feel like if I had a sister or a close girl friend. Someone who can tell it like is and still feel confident that I won't hate her for it.
"But you could have gotten a dog," she continues, "or a dozen cats," she points out with a smile. "You could have joined a book club," her voice lilts as if referencing the ladies who gather weekly at my store, "or found a room mate to share your home with you."
I nod warily, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
"But you didn't do any of those things, Tiffany. You didn't sign up for a dating service, or go out to a bar to find a short term scratch for an itch.
"You hired a marriage broker."
Raven pauses to let it sink in but I'm not sure what point she's getting at.
"You hired a very expensive marriage broker," she says, "because you don't want a sensible arrangement, Mrs. Rowe."
Her lips curl in a grin that says she knows me better than I know myself and I hate to think she might be right.
"You want a husband, Tiffany. A partner, yes, but not just a friend or a room mate or someone to share expenses with. If that's all you
were looking for, you could have found it on your own in any number of ways and saved a lot of money."
"It's not that I'm looking for a man though--" I start to repeat the mantra I've been chanting since I decided to go through with applying for Raven's services.
She shakes her head, reminding me that she's heard it before. Several times.
"Tiff," she tells me, "you want a husband because you want to be loved-- and you want to love someone. I know it because this is what I do. I find people who will love each other and make sure they find each other."
"But I don't want--"
She stops my protest with a wave of her hand, "If you didn't want to fall in love, you would have created an account on Tinder. You would not have hired the world's biggest romantic fool.
"I mean, really," she drops her serious lecture voice for making fun of herself, "did you really think I was going to set you up with a man that didn't ring all your bells?"
Raven's hand lands softly on my knee when I drop my head in embarrassment.
"Honey, I get people hitched," she sounds like she was hanging out with Helen too much last night, "sex is a big part of almost all successful relationships." She stands up and heads toward the bathroom, "We flew out here so you could meet the man you're going to marry. So what if you just met him? I sure as hell don't expect you to buy the cow before you sample the milk."
Nathan
Helen was knocking on my door at 7 this morning to tell me I had a breakfast date with my fiancé. OK, more of an early lunch date I guess. Which is a good thing since it turns out that our fancy pants marriage broker isn't much of a morning person.
So I grabbed something to eat at our hotel's rather impressive free breakfast buffet while Helen did God knows what.
She showed back up just before check out with a bouquet of flowers and a bottle of Scotch. At 10:30 in the morning.
"What?" Helen asks as we pull into the parking lot for the little bistro she and Raven chose for our brunch date while Tiffany and I were busy over coffee last night. "I'm out at the house, it's not like there's a decent liquor store anywhere out there."
I shake my head as I park the car. "It's just that I didn't know you drank is all," I tell her with a smirk.
Helen gives me a glare, "Nothing wrong with a little nip now and then." Her voice looses its sassy edge and trails off vaguely as she turns her back on me and hurries toward Tiffany and Raven waiting for us at an outside table.
"What's wrong with Helen?" Tiffany asks as soon as I get to the table.
Raven's head is still turned toward the door that Helen disappeared through as soon as she set her sunglasses and cell phone down on the table.
I shake my head. I have no idea what's up with the woman.
"She seemed upset," Raven observes. "I'm going to go check on her."
Raven gets up from her chair, leans forward and points at something on the menu over Tiffany's shoulder, "Could you get me these without the strawberries, please," she asks.
Tiffany nods and Raven heads after Helen.
"I hope Helen's OK." Tiffany says after we place orders with the waitress.
"I hope she likes Monte Christos," I muse, not sure I should have taken the liberty of ordering for her.
"Was everything OK before you guys got here?"
Thinking over our morning I can't really pin point anything unusual about Helen's behavior. "I mean, she did come in with a bottle of Scotch." I shrug, looking from Tiffany to the bistro's front door and back again, "But I've learned almost as much about my neighbor on this trip as I have about my fiance."
I make a point to wink quickly at her, hoping it doesn't come across as too presumptuous.
Tiffany blushes. The color doesn't creep up her throat and into her face so much as just appears in the apples of her cheeks and spreads out in a dark rose that adds to her beauty.
It occurs to me that maybe she doesn't think of this as a done deal yet. Maybe she's expecting to be courted, giving her a chance to decide if I'm really the man she wants to spend her life with. If I'm the next man she wants to spend her life with, actually.
Silently, I wonder if I measure up to her late husband. If she'll ever love me the way she loved him. If I'm going to spend the rest of my life living in the shadow of a ghost.
We talked some about her past last night. I know she says she hired Raven to find her a husband because she's just looking for someone to share expenses with and so she won't die if she chokes, apparently. But I swear there's chemistry between us. Real chemistry.
You can't fake a kiss like that.
I'm about to ask her the awkward questions running through my mind when the door opens and Raven appears, laughing while she holds the door.
"For the love of Pete," Helen grumbles as she makes her way out of the restaurant and back to join us at the table, "I just went to the lady's room for a minute, it's not like anyone needed to stage an intervention."
Raven watches Helen with a concerned look on her face as Helen unfolds her napkin and takes a sip of the coffee that's been waiting for her. Then Raven's eyes land on mine and then Tiffany's and we all know my friend and neighbor is fussing at us to cover for something.
"Harold used to hate these things," Helen breaks the awkward silence that's fallen over the table when she sees the Monte Christo sandwich I ordered for her. "Said they had an identity crisis, needed to make up its mind if it wanted to be breakfast or lunch."
We all look up with interest as Helen pokes at the ham and cheese filling sandwiched between slices of bread dipped in egg batter, pan fried, and dusted with powdered sugar.
"Is it French toast? or is it a grilled cheese?" Helen looks up and scans each of our faces as she asks the question and I'm not sure if it's a real question or part of her anecdote.
Raven's jaw tightens as her eyes fall back to her crepes and I can see she's trying to stifle a laugh.
"I said he was a good man," Helen tells her with a twist to the corner of her lips that makes her look sadder than I'm used to seeing her, "I didn't say he wasn't a pain in the ass.
"It'll happen to you two some day too you know," the curl of Helen's smile falls as she picks up half her sandwich, "they just aren't built for the long haul the way we are. One day you'll find yourselves crying in the check out line because some damn little thing you hadn't thought of in years pops up and reminds you of all the good years you had with the man you spent most of your time bitching about."
Helen's voice has returned to her matter-of-fact style of telling it like it is as she takes a bite out of her sandwich like she didn't just lay down a piece of sobering wisdom.
"You men just aren't built for the long haul, Nathan," she adds when her mouth is empty again, "It's just the way it is. We girls outlive our men cuz God knows you'd never make it without us if he did it the other way around."
Helen pauses for a sip of coffee and I notice Raven's polished nails tapping discretely on the screen of her cell phone placed on the table beside her plate.
"I don't mean to go scaring you out of your happily ever after, Sweetheart," Helen looks up and fixes misty eyes on Tiffany. "Being married was worth every day I put up with that man. This one, "she jerks her head in my direction, "he isn't any better than my Harold was...which is exactly why he's going to make a damn good husband."
"For the right woman," Helen mumbles her addendum through her next bite of sandwich in a nonchalant acknowledgment that my ex-wife would take issue with that last bit.
While I'm busy deciding if I'm touched or insulted, I hear Tiffany sniffle lightly and I wonder if Helen's little speech brought up tender memories.
I thought Helen knew that Tiffany was widowed too and that my team had just decided not to tell me.
My hand reaches under the table and rests on Tiffany's knee, hoping to offer some comfort.
When her hand slips under the table and her fingers wrap around mine with a grateful squeeze, my heart soars.
Tiffany
A what?"
Beth leans across the counter on her elbows, watching me add books to the shelves while demanding that I repeat what I just told her.
"Marriage broker," I say again.
"The fancy redhead with the giant rock on her finger?"
I chuckle to myself as I nod without looking back at her. Maybe it wasn't the best idea to fill Beth in on the details of my sort of engagement after all.
It's just that things have been going so well with Nate, there's no way I can keep it a secret for much longer.
"Raven," I remind Bethany that the fancy redhead has a name.
"So like...'marriage broker?' Is that like what? A match-maker or something?"
This morning I made the mistake of letting it slip that I was planning another trip back to Colorado soon and asking Beth if she thought she was ready to run the shop alone for an entire week. I've never left her alone for more than a day or two. This is a big step. For both of us.
It's also going to help me determine what I'm going to do with the store when I move.
"Pretty much," I answer as Bethany comes out from behind the counter and joins me in my mission to get the new books added to the shelf.
"Wow," Beth mumbles as she hands me books from a new box she's added to the stack, "I didn't even know match-makers were a real thing. I thought they only existed in like--"
"Fiddler on the roof?" I ask with a laugh.
Beth giggles, "Yeah. And reality TV...but I didn't think that was like, for reals."
"So, you're going to marry this guy?" Bethany is fascinated by my confession about hiring Raven.
I probably should have just told her that I met Nathan online like a normal person. Beth is barely even 18 and a total hopeless romantic. At this rate, I'm never going to get everything done that I need to before I leave because I'm going to be too busy answering all Beth's questions.
"That's the plan," I tell her.
A Sensible Arrangement: A Modern Match-Maker Romance Page 6
