Man of the Month (Willowdale Romance Novel)

by Scott, Lisa

  Tonya looked down and tapped a shiny blue nail on the table. After a deep breath, she lowered her voice and took on a serious tone. “All right, I’m just gonna come out and say it. You don’t think it’s a little strange to be in love with him after what happened with your parents? Why him, of all people?” Her eyes slowly met Jeanne’s. “You might want to sit down and make a list of all the reasons you love him and ask yourself what’s really going on here.” She shrugged. “Lists always help me. It’s just—I know Dr. Phil would have something to say about this.”

  Jeanne’s mouth opened and closed a few times, and she looked away. “No! I’m not in love with him. And that would be weird, right?”

  Neither of them answered, and she noticed Rita’s daughters two booths over, taking their time cleaning up. The diner and the beauty shop were the two biggest transmission points for gossip in this town. News of these monthly blind dates would spread like a pandemic.

  Kate snagged an onion ring from Jeanne’s plate. “And you two are so different. He’s a total control freak, and you like the unexpected.”

  “I wouldn’t call him a freak,” Jeanne said. “He just likes things to be planned and orderly. I really admire that.”

  “He washes his truck every Saturday morning, rain, shine, snow, or hail,” Tonya said. “While your house hasn’t been clean since you moved in.”

  “Yes, it has,” Jeanne said, without the appropriate rage such a statement should bring.

  Tonya held up her hands. “Hey, I’m not saying we’re going to call Hoarders or anything. You just like to be surrounded by stuff. And he is not a ‘stuff’ kind of guy.”

  “And don’t forget he alphabetized your spice rack,” Kate added.

  Jeanne threw up her hands. “And it’s so much easier to find things now. Except for turmeric. I always spell that wrong.”

  Kate sighed. “We just want you to be happy, Jeanne. Whatever it takes. You deserve it.”

  “Why don’t we set you up with Tommy instead?” Tonya asked. “If you like one brother, the other might do.”

  “Now why would we do that?” Kate asked.

  Tonya shrugged. “We’ve both dated him and can vouch he’s a good kisser.”

  Tonya pointed at her. “Plus, he’s got a kid, so we know he can make ‘em and take care of ‘em.”

  Jeanne balled up her napkin and tossed it at Tonya. “Is today January first or April first, because you have got to be kidding me. Getting Ellen Lewis pregnant by mistake, while he was on break from Kate, doesn’t count as wanting children.” She tipped her chin in the air. “Plus, he’s nothing like Brad.”

  “You’re mighty quick to defend Brad.” Tonya’s eyes narrowed to devious slits. “Admitting it’s the first step to solving the problem.”

  Jeanne’s voice strained with a thread of hysteria as she rose to her feet. “There’s no problem. Why would I agree to a year’s worth of blind dates if I wanted to be with Brad?”

  Plenty of heads turned at that, and Kate pulled her back into the booth. “No, you’re absolutely right. You and Brad are just friends.”

  They poked at their food but ate nothing. The three of them without empty plates was like two-stepping to rap—it just wasn’t right.

  Tonya finally piped up, her good-natured mood returning. “Keep us updated, girl. We want to dish after every date. Who knows, maybe Mr. January will be the one.”

  “When’s your first date?” Kate asked, finishing her milkshake, but stopping when it got to the noisy slurping part. Guess a girl’s gotta ramp up the class once she marries into Hollywood. “Jeanne, you should wear that silk, vee-neck cream dress. It makes you look like a B cup.”

  Tonya raised an eyebrow. “Or maybe even a C cup if you get him drunk.”

  “Hey, you’re a real C cup, Tonya. Maybe you should go on the date,” Jeanne said.

  Tonya was sorry and single, too.

  Tonya ignored her. “Whenever it is, stop by the salon first. Your highlights need a little tweaking,” she said, fingering Jeanne’s hair. “Your blonde is blah.”

  Jeanne slapped Tonya’s hand away and shrugged. “I’m not sure when the first date is. I suppose I’ll find out in a bit. We’re catering a party in Whitesville tonight. Gotta get to the kitchen, hangover and all.”

  She slid out of the red leather booth, waved goodbye to the girls, and wondered if she could ever shut off her feelings for Brad, because lying about it was certainly taking its toll. Slumping behind the wheel of her car, she asked herself if Man of the Month might be the way to finally do it.

  A mocking voice in her head said, “Yeah, when the devil starts serving sweet tea, heavy on the ice.”

  Chapter 2

  JEANNE DROPPED the stack of linen napkins she was folding. “My first date is Friday? This Friday?” She grasped the table to catch her balance.

  Brad folded his arms and gave her a smile she wanted to smack right off his face. “It came to me first thing when I woke up this morning. The guy who rents from my brother in Whitesville would be perfect for you. Sam’s Mr. Environment. He rides his bike everywhere. That’s important, now that you’re going green these days.”

  She rubbed her temples, but nothing was making this headache go away. “I put in energy saving light bulbs because they were handing out free samples at the hardware store.” She planted a fist on her hip, her silver bracelets clinking. “I’m not exactly green, Brad. But I guess concern about the environment is good. He’s not out saving whales or anything is he? Not that I don’t like whales … . What does he do for a living?”

  Brad shrugged. “Not sure.”

  “Is he good looking?” Say, someone well past six feet, broad shoulders, thick, black hair such as yourself?

  Brad stroked his chin.

  A strong jaw like that would be nice as well, she thought. With a dimple smack dab in the middle, too. Made her melt whenever she looked at it too long. He’d been so intriguing back in school, when Principal Willis made sure not to put any of the Larsen boys in class with any of the Clark girls after the crash. Too awkward, she’d heard the teachers say. But she could always spot Brad a mile away in the hallway thanks to the dimple. The one that was currently mesmerizing her.

  “Is he good looking?” Brad repeated. “I guess. It’s hard for me to say. I’m a guy.” He dropped another stack of laundered napkins on the table to be folded.

  “So, you don’t really know him, you don’t know what he does, and you can’t say if he’s good looking or not.” She counted off the disturbing facts one by one on her fingers. “Basically, you’re setting me up with this guy just because he has a bike?”

  Brad set his hands on her arms and pulled her close. “He was the first guy I thought of.”

  A laugh escaped from her pursed lips. “Perfect qualification right there.”

  “I didn’t want you to chicken out. I figured we’d better strike while the iron was hot, while you were still keen on the idea.”

  “Still keen? I wasn’t keen about it last night, and I’m not now.” But she did like the way Brad was holding her in his arms. Possibly to shake some sense into her, but still, it felt nice. And he smelled good, too. Always did. “Looking at it now that I’m not drunk and crying in the dark, this is stupid. You had me at a disadvantage last night.” She raised an eyebrow. “One might even argue that you tricked me.”

  A hurt look crossed his face, like a kid who’d learned he wasn’t going out for an ice cream after all. “But you promised, J.”

  She pushed past him and picked up the linens she’d dropped. “This is the thanks I get for giving you an antique butter churner for Christmas? Do you know how many vintage shops I scoured to find that?”

  “Hey, it was my favorite gift this year. I’m going to put it front and center in the entryway and tell everyone it’s yours.”

  “No room for it at home, huh?” she teased, thinking about his everything-in-its-place lifestyle the girls had been mocking. They weren’t off base on that one.


  He scratched his head. “Someone might see it there. It’s better suited for here.”

  Jeanne knew he admired old kitchen gadgets but just didn’t like admitting it to anyone else. She lowered her voice. “And what if I tell everyone that’s your collection out in the lobby?”

  His jaw dropped. “You wouldn’t. Don’t use my love of vintage kitchen tools to get out of this. You know I like it. And I …” He fumbled for his words. “And I just want you to find someone.”

  “Why do you care? You said it yourself, I should be concentrating on the business, not my love life.”

  He grabbed a few napkins from her and helped fold them. “I just hate seeing you so sad. You deserve to be happy.”

  She nodded, wishing she felt the same way, wishing she could be happy without him. He reached for another napkin, and their fingers brushed. Just that little swipe of flesh sent an embarrassing surge of lust straight down to her toes. She jerked her hand back.

  She thought she’d had her feelings for him under control for a while, that she shut them off completely after they’d tried out a relationship two years before and decided it was a no go. But now the feelings were back full force. You’re a weak woman. “You’re right. How bad could one blind date be?”

  Brad rubbed the back of his head. “That’s the spirit. I’ll call and tell him you’re in, then I’ll give him your number.”

  Jeanne hoped her heart would flutter just a whisper at the idea. But it dropped like a thud in her chest. “Great. Thanks, Brad. I’m so lucky to have you … as a friend.”

  He nodded and finished folding the last napkins. “So, back to business. The desserts are prepped for the banquet tonight. We’ve got three cases of champagne coming it. I’ll be handling those.” He winked at her, and she winced.

  “Don’t worry.” She held up a hand. “I won’t be drinking champagne again until we ring in the next decade.”

  “Or maybe at your wedding?” He waggled his eyebrows. “I’ve got a good feeling about this.”

  JEANNE GROANED when he said it, but Brad kept his smile wide and tried his best to sound encouraging. He wasn’t sure if he was pulling it off. Despite everything he felt for her, he knew damn well he wasn’t the guy to deliver Jeanne’s happily-ever-after dreams. And she deserved nothing less. Bottom line, she wanted a kid, the dogs, the big back yard—and he didn’t.

  After his mom died in the crash, his dad had started drinking more. While his mother had been a weepy drunk, his father was a mean drunk who seemed to find a reason to smack Brad and his brothers every day—him especially. Brad wasn’t so sure that mean streak hadn’t carried on down the line. He would not screw up a kid like that. And after having two parents who’d let him down big time, chances were good he’d do the same thing. He wasn’t going to perpetuate those bum genes by having a kid. No, parenthood wasn’t for him, no matter how much he loved Jeanne.

  He looked at her dark blond waves tumbling over her shoulders, imagining her hair spread out on his bed, her bright green eyes looking up at him longingly. Damn, the things he wanted to do to her.

  He finished folding the napkin and went into the kitchen to get away from the one thing he wanted but could never have.

  But she followed him in, creamy skin, perky nose, and all. “So, I was thinking. Since you forced me into a New Year’s resolution, it’s only fair I come up with one for you, too.” Her grin left him tingling in all the right places.

  He draped a dishcloth over his shoulder. “Stop right there. I am not agreeing to the woman of the month club. I’m all business these days. I told you that.”

  Jeanne frowned at him and even looked cute doing that. “Fine. Then let’s come up with some resolutions for Elegant Eats.” She hopped up on the counter.

  “That’s not a bad idea. What are you thinking?”

  She crossed her legs and leaned back. “We should aim for ten new clients.”

  “Sounds good.” Looks good, he thought, surveying her long, lean body. Knock it the hell off. He studied the tile floor but couldn’t get rid of his randy thoughts.

  “And booking more parties than Events Extraordinaire.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “Okay … we could try. But they’re in Whitesville, and they’ve been in business longer than we have, remember?”

  Ignoring him, she continued. “And finally, landing next New Year’s Eve bash.”

  He whistled. “That’s an ambitious list. Makes Man of the Month look amateur. We should step that up to Man of the Week.” Only because he liked to make an art of torturing himself.

  She whacked him with her towel. “No way. You’re lucky I was drunk and defenseless when you concocted this fool plan for once a month. I should have whupped your butt last night just for suggesting it.”

  At the end of the workstation, he uncovered a tray of desserts prepped for the party that night. “Let me ply you with sweets as an apology.” He brought a Mexican wedding cake to her lips, the tip of his thumb brushing her lower lip. It was soft and warm, and he remembered how nicely it had fit against him those few glorious weeks they’d dated.

  Her gaze fluttered up to meet his. Then she closed her eyes and took a bite of the powdery cookie. Crumbs of sugar stuck to her lips. Damn, he loved watching her eat. Sinful. If she were his, he’d feed her like this every night.

  He cleared his throat. “That’s what I’m going to do every time you complain about this—feed you. That’ll keep you on board.”

  “You’re evil.”

  He winked at her. “I know.”

  But if he was one hundred percent honest with himself, this resolution was more for him than for her. Because the sooner Jeanne was taken, the sooner he’d be forced to move on from the woman with the lips and the eyes and the laugh that killed him. The woman who could never be his.

  Chapter 3

  SCOOTER WOUND around Jeanne’s ankles as she dashed through her house to find her ringing cell phone. She sent a wish out to the universe that it wouldn’t be Sam, but sure enough, when she grabbed her phone, she saw his name on the screen. She frowned. The banquet had been a long night of busting her butt while turning on the charm, and now she was in her grumbling, unwinding mode. Plus, it was ten o’clock.

  Strike one, Sam. She flopped on the couch and answered the phone.

  “Hello?” She gathered Scooter in her lap and stroked his head.

  “Hi, Jeanne? This is Sam. Your friend Brad called and said you might want to catch dinner with me. Sound cool?”

  Sounds fool. “Yeah, Brad told me. For some reason he’s just dying to set me up.” She rubbed her kitty’s ear, maybe a bit too hard. He ran off. She kicked her feet up on the couch and started massaging her arch, which was killing her after a night of running around with a smile plastered on her face, refilling coffee cups and clearing dirty plates. It would be nice to have a boyfriend to rub her feet after a long night like this. Not in a foot fetish way, of course. She’d better warn Brad against that.

  Sam piped up on the end of the line. “So, do you want to catch dinner in Whitesville? Chez Chef is great.”

  She paused and set her feet on the floor, wondering what Brad would do if she didn’t follow through with this. Then she remembered she had to do this. Not for Brad, but for her sake.

  “Sure.” Although most restaurants couldn’t beat the menu she and Brad created at Elegant Eats. Their good cooking took the fun out of going out to eat. Dinners out were almost always a disappointment. “Let’s meet there, say seven o’clock on Friday?”

  Silence for a moment. “Do you think you could pick me up? It’s a long ride on my bike. Especially at night.”

  Right. The bike boy. “You don’t use a car at all?”

  “Nope.”

  “Never?”

  “Not for a while.”

  Wow. He’s really green. “Um, sure. Give me your address.” She jotted it down, lied and told him she was looking forward to their date and, with a bad feeling in her gut that had nothing to do with t
he hangover still chasing her two days later, hung up the phone. Scooter didn’t come out from under the couch for an hour. She wished she could do the same.

  JEANNE PUT on the first thing she pulled out of her closet and didn’t bother blowing out her hair or slipping into her fanciest Victoria’s Secret matching bra and panties set. No way that was going to happen tonight.

  She drove into Whitesville and almost turned back a few times. But she’d never live it down. And then she’d have to go through this nonsense all over again. You might have a nice time, she told herself. Brad might be onto something. She had to do something to shake him out of her thoughts—even if that meant not only going on a blind date, but picking him up as well. The whole thing stunk of desperation.

  She pulled into the driveway and rang the doorbell for Sam’s lower apartment. Her heart pounded, not in giddy anticipation, but in knee-knocking fear. She had no idea who was going to open that door. Think positive, think positive. She really needed to revisit some of her self-help books, or possibly write one. So You Love Your Best Friend: Dating Advice For Dumb, Dumb Women.

  “Hang on,” she heard Sam call, as the sound of footsteps came toward her.

  Jeanne clutched her purse and held her breath.

  The door opened, and there stood a man who was the total opposite of Brad—blond hair, an inch or two under six feet, and a bit stocky in a solid, I’ll-take-care-of-my-woman-and-knock- back-a-coupla-six-packs-on-the-weekend way. The Anti-Brad. Maybe that’s what I need.

  “Sorry, I was just finishing up a game on my X-Box.” He buttoned up the dress shirt he was wearing over a “Farmers Do It In The Dirt” tee-shirt. He patted his chest. “Won that in a dart tournament.” Sticking out his hand, he introduced himself. “I’m Sam.”

  “Hi. I’m Jeanne,” she said, shaking his hand and peeking past him for a glimpse into his apartment. Which was a mistake. With bed sheets for curtains and a ping-pong table in the middle of his living room, she didn’t want to look any further. Well, men are usually hopeless decorating fools without a woman. Can’t hold that against him. It’s genetic. “A video game, huh?”