Cupid's Mistake

by Chantilly White

  Preparations for upcoming events were on schedule. She'd closed out her books for the previous year, paid her quarterly taxes early, and spent hours on plans for her friends' weddings. Jeff and Greg's was complicated by moving the venue out of state, but since California had overturned the gay marriage bill, and they didn't want to wait for the powers-that-be to duke it out in the Supreme Court, they'd opted to move forward in a friendlier location—currently an island in Puget Sound in Washington state.

  A chilly, likely wet, option, but she wasn't worried yet. Jeff was apt to change his mind several times before the event was finalized. If he changed it often enough, the court case might be decided in time, and they could just do it in California.

  It'd make her life easier, she thought, blowing out a breath. She loved the man, and she loved Greg, but the two of them combined were worse than fifty bridezillas when it came to planning their perfect wedding.

  At least she'd made significant progress on Mia and Derrick's, set to take place later that summer on a cliff overlooking the sea. The gorgeous landscaping of the Ritz-Carlton in Laguna Niguel would provide an ideal backdrop for their romantic wedding and reception. Another couple's heartache had been their lucky break, since the popular venue was often booked years in advance. The couple had split, the next-in-lines on the waiting list had already booked elsewhere, and Allison had been able to snag the time-slot.

  But still, that unsettled feeling followed her around, an unwelcome companion. Her home, her sanctuary, had lost its peaceful sense of security since New Year's. Now it just felt empty. No one sat at her kitchen table to share a cup of coffee while watching a stupid TV show she didn't have time for. No one slept in her bed, waiting for her to return for a little a.m. nookie. As busy as she was, loneliness seemed to wrap around her like a cloying, wet blanket.

  Well, all she needed was a girl's night out with Mia or a date with one of her boy toys to shake her out of her funk. Since the disaster of her New Year's Eve, she'd been too busy to hunt up any male companionship. But two days ago DeeDee had sent her the newest membership profile—for one Benjamin Turner—with a note attached saying she thought Allison might find the guy interesting.

  DeeDee was right.

  Sipping her fourth cup of coffee for the morning, Allison drew her right knee up to rest against her desk while she continued updating her spreadsheets. She shot off several emails to clients and made at least a dozen phone calls—she was going to have to find a new bakery to work with if the witch at the current one didn't get off her broom and back to work. She had several good bakeries in her lineup, but hated to lose this one. The woman's wedding cakes were incredible. But emotion-fueled delays and public scenes between the bitchy baker and her poor ex-husband made working with the woman too much of a nightmare. What the ex, who was a total sweetheart, saw in his former spouse, Allison couldn't begin to guess. Maybe he just missed her pastries.

  The buzzing of her tabletop alarm clock jerked her out of the pastry-filled fantasy she'd fallen into with thoughts of the baker. Hell, she'd marry the woman for a daily dose of those éclairs. But for now, she needed to hurry if she was going to meet her Cupid's Cavalry date on time.

  DeeDee had talked her into a membership in the dating service years ago. Allison had agreed as a lark and to help her friend grow her business. Now she used the service during the rare dry spell, just for fun, or if she was bored.

  "The purpose of your membership," DeeDee frequently scolded, "is to find a lasting relationship, Alli. Not to aid and abet your speed-dating habit!"

  To which Allison would respond, "If I meet The One through the service, I won't toss him back, but so far no such luck. I can't help it if Cupid's arrow keeps missing its mark."

  That usually shut DeeDee up, at least temporarily, but she searched her database regularly and sent any prospects to Allison's inbox, hoping she'd finally found The One to knock Allison off her feet.

  Rushing through her shower, Allison smoothed brown-sugar-scented lotion into her skin and left her wild curls to dry naturally while she selected her ensemble for the date. It was just a casual lunch, nothing too fancy, but it went against her female creed to look anything less than her best, especially on a first meeting.

  Especially with the handsome hunk of man she'd selected for today. Just thinking of his profile photo had saliva pooling in her mouth. Clean cut, well dressed, with the slightest lift to his firm, wide mouth. Dark hair and darkly dangerous green eyes in a rugged face. She shivered. Delicious.

  The information in his profile had been a bit sparse. Usually, guys trended the other direction, tossing in every interest, viewpoint, and third-grade spelling-bee championship they could come up with. Mr. Turner was a local boy—he'd graduated high school in Mission Viejo—with a passion for reading and swimming, but he'd not listed a college, only a short stint in the military. She wondered what he'd been doing since.

  His eyes, though. . . His eyes had grabbed her attention right away.

  A glance outside showed a grey, wintry day, so she went for stylish but toasty. A fitted cable-knit sweater in rich burgundy warmed her pale complexion and set off her hair. She paired it with black skinny jeans tucked inside knee-high patent-leather boots, then added a metallic scarf in shimmery gold around her neck. A jeweled clip tamed her curls.

  She tapped a pearly-pink fingernail against the point of her chin while she studied the results in her full-length mirror. Jewelry next. Digging into her armoire, she opted for big gold hoops for her earlobes and clasped a chunky bracelet around one wrist. Her shiny black handbag—a birthday gift from Jeff the previous year—and a tailored forest-green pea coat with a swingy edge finished off her look to her satisfaction.

  Adjusting the sweater's neckline, Allison gave herself a nod of approval. She was ready.

  CHAPTER THREE

  How had he let himself get talked into this? A dating service, for the love of God.

  When he'd come home from his years of mourning, ready to—as Sally put it—re-renter society, Ben had intended to take things slowly. To let nature take its course, as it were. He might meet an attractive woman at the grocery store or on the street somewhere and ask her to go for a drink. Or take a liking to a friend of a friend. He did still have a few friends, he'd reminded his cousin, even after being out of touch for so long. Besides, he had business interests to launch.

  No rush.

  But Sally hadn't earned her reputation as a bull-terrier by mistake. Once she got it in her head to pair him up, she'd thrown herself into the project wholeheartedly.

  It was as annoying as it was endearing.

  "Stop!" she'd commanded, a hand held in the air to halt his objections of her taking charge. "Leave it to me, Benjamin. Trust me, you need help."

  Sally had spent the two weeks since New Year's Eve 'shaping him up.' After an emergency trip to her friend Sid's favorite barber—Ben still wasn't used to his smooth cheeks and short hair—he'd tried to put his foot down on the rest. He should have known better.

  She'd hounded him into a couple of do-it-herself treatments involving his travel-roughened skin and nails, over which she was sworn to secrecy. On pain of death. In between visits with extended family to renew his relationships—and wow, Sally's kids had grown—he'd dealt with reestablishing his financial connections, checking over his many accounts. Creating the foundation for his business plans.

  And every free moment, Sally had dragged him through a seemingly endless supply of clothing stores to replenish his wardrobe.

  God, he hated shopping. He'd have been happy with a few pairs of jeans, a couple of shirts and sturdy shoes, all ordered online, but Sally had had other ideas. She'd preyed on his inability to deny her anything and made free with his wallet. His closet now rivaled hers for sheer volume of contents, and that was saying something. He'd probably never wear half of it. It was embarrassing.

  Then had come the ultimate humiliation—the dating service.

  "There's nothing wrong with letting
nature do its thing," Sally had argued, "but there's nothing wrong with giving it a helping hand, either."

  "I've barely been home a couple of weeks, I'm not ready to date," he'd said.

  "It's never too soon when you've been gone half a decade. Just consider it practice."

  "Says the woman hunting for her third husband."

  "Don't snark, Ben."

  Staying with his cousin while getting his life back together and finding his own place had its drawbacks. She'd badgered him senseless for two days straight, until it was just easier to cave. Thanks to a personal friendship with the woman who ran the service, Sally had finagled him to the front of the line and right onto the site, expediting the waiting period and background checks. Undoubtedly, his financial profile and relationship to Sally, also a member of the club, had helped pave the way.

  Two days later, he had his first request.

  He hadn't even looked at the woman's profile, had just waved his hand at Sally and let her have her way. She'd set the whole thing up via email. He didn't think that was the usual way it was done, but he didn't argue.

  "Mission accomplished," Sally had said triumphantly.

  "That's a bit premature, don't you think?"

  Sally had shrugged, the picture of angelic innocence. There'd been something about the smirk lurking around the corner of her mouth he hadn't quite liked, but he trusted his cousin. She wouldn't set him up with anyone abominable.

  Besides, he'd made her a deal. He'd go on a date with a woman of Sally's choosing, and she would throw her considerable energies into helping him find his new place, whether the date panned out or not.

  When he'd taken off six years ago, he'd left with only a knapsack and a driving need to get away. To escape the pain of his wife's loss. He'd sold nearly everything they'd owned, including the condo in San Clemente and their vacation cabin in Big Bear. The few belongings he'd kept had been stored and waiting for him in Sally's three-car garage or in her guest room, where she'd generously offered him to stay any time he wanted, for as long as he wanted.

  "Shake," Ben had said after they'd worked out their deal. Sally had grabbed his hand in her soft pudgy one, leading him through the complicated series of moves they'd devised when they were kids. Bargain sealed, they'd both walked away satisfied.

  The result being he now found himself sitting straight as a poker in stiff new jeans and a pair of shoes in serious need of breaking in, his face still tingling like wind-burn from his morning shave. He didn't exactly miss the ZZ Top look, but neither had he missed the daily shaving routine.

  "Brat," he said, thinking of his cousin.

  "I beg your pardon, sir?" The waiter, in the act of setting a tall glass of iced tea in front of Ben, drew back in consternation.

  "Nothing, sorry. Just thinking out loud."

  Withdrawing with an uncertain nod, the waiter left him in peace.

  Shifting again in the hard-wood seat, Ben ran a hand across his chin and cheeks. Aside from the unprotected skin, he felt. . . exposed. All that hair had provided a decent disguise for a long time, almost like a mask. He had nothing left to hide behind.

  Well, he was done with camouflage now, wasn't he? Cured. Ready.

  Right.

  His heart gave a tug that had him rubbing a fist over the spot to soothe the ache. He'd come to grips with the fact that the ache would never fully fade. But after more than six years, he either had to get back in the game or call it for good, and he wasn't willing to take the coward's way out.

  Some might say he had already, with his years-long trek across the planet, and in some ways they were probably right. He hadn't coped with his losses well. Orphaned at fifteen when his parents' small plane had crashed in the Rockies, Sally's parents had taken him in. They'd surrounded him with all the support and love and affection in the world. Still, those were tough times. Finishing his high school years with Sally—his cousin as well as one of his best friends—by his side had helped, but he'd never stopped missing his mom and dad.

  Then he'd met Caitlyn, and his future had seemed brighter again. They'd married as soon as they could, right after they graduated high school and she turned eighteen. With a sizeable inheritance from his parents, Ben could afford to laze his way through life with Caitlyn by his side, but they'd both believed it was important to accomplish something with their lives and gifts. To give back.

  He didn't need to pull her photo from the beat-up wallet in his back pocket to trace her beloved face in his mind. They'd been so incredibly young. So naïve.

  They'd joined the army together, and both wound up in Afghanistan over the years, only at different times and in different units. Four years later, Ben finished his final tour and went home. And Caitlyn. . . didn't.

  It was only later he learned a short visit home with him had resulted in her first pregnancy. Their first child. Had she even known? If she'd told her CO, would she have been sent home in time to save them both? Those questions tormented him still.

  Maybe his inheritance had allowed him to be too self-indulgent. People lost loved ones every day, but they had to get through it, had to move on, go back to work, support their families. He'd had the luxury of being able to do anything he wanted or nothing at all, and perhaps he'd chosen ill, taking off the way he had. Chucking it all.

  On the other hand, he'd come to know himself over those six years in ways he never had before. He'd learned to bear up under the pain. Had finally learned that he had a purpose in life and deserved a future. That living that life, fulfilling that purpose, maybe even finding love again, meant honoring the lives of those he missed, not forgetting. He'd learned it was okay to go on living.

  So he would live, as hard as it seemed some days. He would love, if he was lucky a second time. And he would remember. He was done running. He was ready to find his future and grab it with both hands. If a dating service with a ridiculous name like Cupid's Cavalry could help him along that road—as Sally insisted it would—he'd give it a shot.

  Cupid's Cavalry to the rescue. Maybe.

  Taking a sip of iced tea, Ben scanned the busy bistro. Despite the white-linen tablecloths and cut-crystal candle holders, the place had a relaxed feel. Nice, but not too elegant, a good vibe for a first date. If only restaurants in general would learn to accommodate men of his size better, he thought, shifting on the tiny seat again. He felt like a character out of the fairytales he used to read to Sally's kids when they were babies—Papa Bear trying to fit into Baby Bear's chair.

  Since he didn't know what his 'Cupid's Connection' looked like, he'd left his name at the front. She was late, but he didn't mind being there first. It gave him time to settle in, get his thoughts in line, get comfortable. He used to be good at small talk. Dating couldn't have changed that much since the last time he'd tried it, and it was only lunch. An hour at the most, then he'd be free.

  If Sally was home when he got back, maybe they'd start house-hunting this afternoon.

  Musing, Ben rubbed his hand over his naked face again. His computer skills were rusty, having mostly involved the random email to let Sally know he was still alive while on his journey, sent whenever he'd traveled through a town big enough to have an internet café. But he was eager for his own space, so he'd spent a little time Googling real-estate listings over the past few days. Nothing had jumped out at him yet, but. . .

  The woman came in like a whirlwind, rustling the thick green leaves of multiple potted and hanging plants near the front door of the restaurant. Chattering to the maître d' and unwinding a long, bright scarf from around her neck with one hand, she texted speedily with the other, hardly looking at the screen.

  That hair. Wild copper curls cascaded almost to her waist, shot through with strands of pure gold. He knew her instantly, even before she turned around. The meaning of Sally's smirky grin as she'd sent his mystery date's email confirmation suddenly became clear.

  Tall, slim, impossibly sexy in painted-on black jeans and high-heeled boots, she hustled toward his table, her
head now bent over the cell phone in her hand, a slight frown marring her perfect complexion. She caught the edge of her full bottom lip between brilliantly white teeth, and he cursed the unwelcome bump in his pulse.

  It was Sally's neighbor from New Year's Eve. The Princess.

  Great.

  ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

  Allison navigated the tables without looking up from her phone, sacrificing her usual flair for making an entrance in the interest of closing out her business for the day. She hated running behind.

  "I'm so sorry I'm late—" double-damned Orange County traffic "—just give me one moment."

  Depositing her coat, scarf and handbag on the chair next to the one she dropped herself into, and finishing up a strongly-worded text to the baker bitch, Allison tossed the phone into her bag, turned emphatically off. She didn't want even a silent vibration interrupting what promised to be a pleasant lunch with a handsome man.

  "Whew!" she said, giving her hair a quick fluff. "There."

  Turning on her most brilliant smile, she finally looked up. And found herself skewered by a pair of the most intensely-green eyes she'd ever seen. Her breath stopped mid-inhale. The only thought in her head was, "Well, damn it, I'm not ready for you," even as her heart sighed, "There you are," as though the man sitting across from her was the critical missing piece in the puzzle of her life.

  Which was just ridiculous. There was nothing missing from her life. Nothing. But. . .

  Oh, boy.

  The man had half-risen out of his seat, as though he'd intended to pull her chair out for her but hadn't gotten the chance. Wow, he was huge. Had she read that in his profile? She dated a lot of tall men—she preferred them, since she was so tall herself—and it was hard to gauge his full height behind the table, but he might be one of the tallest she'd been out with in a while. Every inch of him radiated a dangerous sort of sophistication. He wasn't Wall Street by any stretch, but he could probably chew up a suit or three for breakfast, then play a round of golf with the fourth.