by Nancy Warren
Fool!
After wallowing in her own misery for as long as she could stand, she did what had to be done. Deleted the emails and the photos into the trash. Purged the guy from her life. Or the fantasy out of her life.
It was early evening, and she felt twitchy and out of sorts. Maybe just to torture herself more, she logged on to the dating site and checked to see if anyone had tried to contact her. She had an email from a guy who appeared to have spread his net pretty wide since his home address was in Portland, Oregon, and she had no interest in a long-distance relationship. She’d just had one with a Nigerian and that hadn’t gone so well.
She deleted Mr. Portland. And noticed the initial message from John was still in her dating-site inbox. She clicked on his profile, which was still active.
John wasn’t romantic or exciting; she’d never worry that he was too good-looking for her and he didn’t make her nervous with trying to make a good impression. He was a nice man who was alone and she was a nice woman who was alone. Maybe she should take him up on his offer of dinner or a movie. Anything to get out of her apartment and out of her own head.
Before she could talk herself out of what was probably a truly terrible idea, she’d dug out his card and called him. He answered right away. After she identified herself she didn’t know what to say next. She fumbled around a bit and then said, “I’m having a lousy day. I was wondering if you’d like to go out and get some dinner with me? Or a drink or something.”
There was a pause on his end and she closed her eyes, wishing she’d never dreamed up this stupid idea. What if he said no? Could she stand being rejected by somebody she wasn’t even interested in?
Then he said, “I’m finishing something up. I could be free in an hour. Would that work for you?”
She was so relieved she said, “Oh, thank you.”
He chuckled, but in an understanding way. “Day was that bad, huh? You like sushi?”
“Love it.”
“You know Sushi Master?”
“I’ve never been there but I’ll find it.”
He gave her quick directions, then said, “Great. I’ll meet you there at eight.”
“Looking forward to it.” When she hung up she found, to her surprise, that she was.
Since John was nice enough to accept a pity date with her she vowed not to be late. She was leaving her apartment only a few minutes after she’d planned to when she passed her computer. She took a step past it toward the door, then stopped.
“Do it!” she commanded herself out loud.
Without giving herself time for any foolish last thoughts, she emptied her trash and turned off her computer. A tiny pang of grief hit her when she knew the photos, emails and the dreams she’d spun around them, were gone forever.
* * *
AFTER SHE PARKED, she headed into the restaurant a respectable five minutes late. John was already sitting at a table, a beer in front of him. “You were early,” she complained, when she settled herself across from him.
“No. You were late.”
“Five minutes? That’s on time in my books.”
He shook his head. “How many planes have you missed?”
She made a big production of picking up the menu and opening it. A vast selection of rolls and sashimi and platters met her eyes. “What’s good here?”
A waitress appeared. “Would you like something to drink?”
“Vodka tonic,” she said, and then realized she didn’t need to be on a diet anymore. She didn’t plan to get naked with the cute blond guy since the closest she’d ever get to him would be seeing him on a billboard or a magazine ad somewhere. Thus, her caloric intake was her business. “No. Wait. I’ll have a beer also.” She gestured to his glass. “Whatever he’s having.”
“Sapporo?”
“Perfect.”
Then she closed her menu. “Why don’t we get a plate of assorted sushi and go wild.”
“Sounds good to me.”
She glanced around and found the decor to be pretty standard, but clean and full of clients, many of them Asian, on a Tuesday night, which suggested the food was particularly good.
John’s hair hung over his forehead in a straight bang as though his mother had cut it using a bowl. His shirt was old, out of date and too short in the sleeves.
But he was here. And she was grateful.
“So, you had a lousy day.”
“I did.’
There was a pause.
“Anything you want to talk about?”
“No.”
“Okay.”
There was another pause. She tried to think of something to talk about that was neutral and didn’t involve the weather, which would be pathetic. She got the sense he was doing the same thing.
She let out a breath. “I did an unbelievably stupid thing, and I didn’t want to be alone tonight to brood.”
“Hey, don’t beat yourself up. We all do stupid things.”
“I never thought I’d be the kind of person to fall for... Oh, heck, I might as well just tell you.” And so she did.
The whole sad, sorry tale.
“I’m sorry,” he said when she’d finished her story.
“That’s all you have to say?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know. Make me feel better, I guess.”
Their sushi platter arrived and he gestured to her to go first. She chose a California roll.
He went for the salmon, handling his chopsticks like a pro. He might dress like a goof but at least he could go out for sushi without making a fool of himself.
He certainly liked his wasabi, she noticed, as she watched him eat his roll. When he’d finished chewing and swallowed, he sat back and regarded her. “I think a lot of people go into online dating thinking they’re going to meet the perfect partner. Maybe, though, there isn’t a perfect partner. Maybe we need to be more open to trying new people, to thinking that it’s okay to settle for someone you like who can fulfill a few of your needs without some romantic notion that there’s a perfect match out there.”
“You’re saying that I bought into a fantasy.”
“Absolutely. Romantic movies and Valentine’s Day cards, all kinds of fiction revolves around the idea that there’s a missing half of us. That we’ll find that other person and wow, fireworks! We’ll be happy forevermore.” He chose a dynamite roll. “It’s so bogus.”
“What if it isn’t bogus? What if there is a perfect match?”
He stared at her, his food halfway to his mouth. “You can’t still believe that?”
“I don’t know,” she said, kind of embarrassed. “I want to believe it. In spite of all that’s happened. In spite of the fact that I’m...not as young as I used to be, I still believe there’s a perfect someone out there for me. Don’t you?”
“No, I don’t. I think that all you can hope for is not to be lonely. At least some of the time.”
“That’s so depressing.”
He shrugged. “I think of it as realistic.”
“Let’s get realistic. Tell me about your dating success. It’s got to be so much easier being a man. There are so many more women in Seattle, you must have your pick of nice ones.”
“Oh, you’d be surprised.” He grabbed a piece of pickled ginger deftly with chopsticks. Then glanced up at her. “Do you really want to hear this?”
“Yes. I do. I think we both know there wasn’t any chemistry between us. I like the idea of having a male friend I can talk to about this stuff.”
“It seems strange.”
“After what I told you, nothing you could say would shock me. Really.”
“Well, I wasn’t scammed, at least not so far. So I suppose that’s positive. Otherwise, online dating has been a pretty dismal experience.”
She thought of the way she’d ditched him so quickly. Realized that he was a really nice man. What he needed most was a makeover.
Or someone who could see past the bad hair, the worse cloth
es, the outdated glasses.
She really hoped there was a nice woman out there for John. He deserved her.
14
ONE NIGHT WASN’T SUPPOSED to change your life, Rob thought, annoyed. Or who you were.
It was ridiculous.
Sexual frustration, that’s all he was feeling, and the weird notion that he’d been somehow rejected before he’d even got started.
If Hailey wanted to deprive them both of a satisfying few weeks of great sex while he was in town, that was her business.
One thing he knew was that he wasn’t planning to be around when she had her showing today. Nope. He didn’t want to experience the impact of those blue-gray eyes and remember how they’d softened to molten silver when she grew aroused or see her decked out in one of her fancy suits and know exactly what she looked like—felt like—without a stitch on.
He wasn’t interested in torturing himself.
He was going to be long gone before the single dude showed up to look at his house. He didn’t want to meet the guy and he didn’t want to see Hailey. Not when she was treating him as though they’d never been any closer to each other than shaking hands.
He had enough problems, like a physiotherapist now added to the retinue of annoying women in his life, and then there was the box on top of his desk containing his grandmother’s ashes. He had to figure out what to do with them. What she’d have wanted. Why could the woman not have left instruction in her will? Why leave it to him?
Women. He couldn’t believe they could be almost as aggravating dead as were alive.
Still, it gave him an odd sense of peace to work on his project with that box in the corner. He hadn’t gone so far as to talk to his dead gran though he’d stopped himself just in time not an hour ago. He needed to find her a better resting place.
The day was mild and the park across the street seemed like a great place to read the newspaper and have his camera handy for all the little dramas that might unfold. A little before eleven o’clock, Hailey drew up and got out of her car, one of the feature sheets she’d created for Bellamy House in her hand, along with the briefcase she carried around with her. Even from here he was struck by her beauty. A ray of sunlight caught her hair, lighting it gold. She was wearing a skirt and a suit jacket and heels that showed off the slim line of her legs.
He was overcome by the rushing sensation of recalling the feel of those legs gripping him as she rode him. He grew instantly hard at the memory and was thankful to have the Seattle Times as a shield. He vowed then and there that he and his hot Realtor were going to have a rematch. No way was that a one-night thing.
A second car drew up behind hers, a navy luxury sedan with rental plates. He watched a tall clean-cut guy wearing jeans and a sports jacket emerge from the vehicle. Hailey went toward him with her hand outstretched.
Watching him grasp Hailey’s hand for way too long brought out a gut-deep urge in Rob to plow his fist into the guy’s face.
Except he had no right. Scowling, he lifted the telephoto and focused in for a closer look.
Since the weather was nice, Hailey spent a few minutes pointing out the exterior features, no doubt giving a little of the house’s history and describing the neighborhood.
The client nodded, asking a few questions.
Slick. That was the word that went through Rob’s mind as he took him in. Salesman type. Clean-shaven, expensive haircut, slight tan in a face that had once probably been termed boyishly handsome. He looked to be maybe forty. Rob didn’t wear expensive clothes, thought it was a pretentious waste of money, but he’d learned to assess a man’s clothing. Where it was from, how much it had cost. It was part of his job.
He might not be able to name the designer, but he knew that jacket was made by one. British at a guess, worn over a black T-shirt. The loafers were Italian and so shiny you wondered if the guy walked anywhere. The jeans were from the good old U.S.A. The kind fools spent three hundred bucks for. The guy barely looked at the feature sheet in his manicured hand. All his attention was on Hailey. Rob didn’t like it. Not one bit.
He’d seen enough. He started to pack up his camera, still keeping the couple across the street in view. A moving truck lumbered by, obscuring them momentarily from view. Traffic was light. A few cars drove by. A school bus, and no doubt Hailey took that opportunity to mention the excellent schools in the area. Even though the man didn’t have kids.
A cop car came down the street. Mr. Slick turned quickly away so he had his back to the street when the cruiser drove by.
A million people would have seen that gesture and thought nothing of it. Those people hadn’t been where Rob had been, hadn’t seen the things he’d seen. As though covering his abrupt reaction to seeing a police car, Mr. Slick then pointed to the foundation of the house. Hailey walked closer to him and seemed to be answering questions. Rob swiftly raised the camera once more.
All he needed was... Yes, Mr. Slick turned to glance up the street and down again. Looking for more cop cars?
Luckily, the man didn’t pay any attention to what was going on in the park. Rob shot off a few photos, with no clear idea why.
Then the Realtor and her client entered Bellamy House.
Now what?
Limp into the house and confront the guy? Threaten a complete stranger with his grandmother’s cane?
Even though he felt an urge to do something stupid and dramatic, common sense told him that the man wasn’t here to harm Hailey. For some reason he was interested in real estate in the area.
Still, Rob wasn’t taking any chances. Whatever was up with her newest client, Hailey was not going to be alone with him any longer than Rob could help.
He packed his bag swiftly and crossed the street.
The same instinct that brought him here had him stashing his camera bag in the garage before entering the house. He could hear voices upstairs and the idea of that tanned weasel in a bedroom with Hailey had Rob’s hands tightening on the handle of the cane. He didn’t want it as a weapon, though he’d use the cane if he had to, he wanted it more as a prop. A kind of disguise. By leaning heavily on the thing and exaggerating his limp, he would appear feeble and unthreatening.
He made his way to the bottom of the stairs. “Hi, I’m back,” he yelled.
The voices ceased. Then Hailey appeared at the top of the stairs. “Rob. What are you doing home?” her voice was friendly but he heard the steel beneath. She’d told him to make himself scarce and he was anything but.
“I have a physiotherapy appointment and my leg hurts too much to drive. I was wondering if you’d drop me off when you’re finished here?”
“I—uh,” she fumbled.
“If it’s not out of your way?” Now he had a perfectly valid reason to stay in the house until Mr. Slick was gone.
“Okay. Just make yourself scarce until we’re done.”
He wasn’t at all surprised to find the prospective buyer appear behind her. He’d want to check out another male in the house, especially one who was friendly enough with Hailey that she’d give him a ride.
“Hi,” Rob called up the stairs, raising a friendly hand while the other white-knuckled the cane. “I’m the owner if you have any questions. Nobody knows the house like I do.”
“Thanks. It’s a beautiful home.” The accent was East Coast. Upper-crust or faking it.
“Sure is. Too big for one person, which is why I’m selling it.”
“Yes. My sister is a single mother. She and her two kids live with me. Works out for now. Of course, when I get married and start a family,” he said with a glance at Hailey, “there’s plenty of room here to make a suite downstairs for my sister. So we’d both have our privacy.” His attitude was friendly, but his eyes were cold and Rob had the impression he was being scrutinized thoroughly. He knew the feeling since he was doing some serious scrutinizing of his own.
* * *
HAILEY WAS FURIOUS and she let Rob know it as they drove the short distance to his physio appointment.
“I am not a limousine service.”
“You could have said no.”
“And let my client think I was heartless? No, thank you.”
“Sorry.” But he didn’t sound very sorry. “What’s his story?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Why?”
Rob looked at her in a way that was a little too innocent. “I’m selling a house, he wants to buy one. I wonder if he’s a serious candidate. That’s all.”
“He’s some kind of consultant in the oil business. He’s spent time in the Middle East, Mexico, Texas, Alberta, all over. He wants to settle in Fremont because his extended family lives in the area.”
“He have a name?”
She hesitated, but she supposed it wasn’t a national secret. And her client had appeared very seriously interested in the house. “Dennis Thurgood.”
Rob tapped his knee for half a block. “He seemed more interested in you than in the house,” he said at last. She didn’t bother telling him that she’d been at the office when the new client came in. Next thing she knew she had a new client. The front-office receptionist had giggled when she’d told Hailey that the gentleman had first asked if Hailey were a Realtor, then asked for her name, then asked if he could be her client.
The path was a little unorthodox to be sure but he was a client who was only in town for a few days with the express purpose of buying a property. He had money, knew he wanted a large home in an established neighborhood and didn’t drive her crazy with nit-picky criticism. She’d felt his interest in her as a woman and was flattered by it. But she was a businesswoman first, and he was an ideal client.
Unlike the one currently at her side.
She turned to glare at him. “I think he’s a serious possibility.” She raised her finger, schoolmarm fashion. “Do not sabotage this deal.”
“I’m not going t—”
“You’ve scuttled every serious possibility.”
“Have not.”
“What about the MacDonalds?”
“What about them?” He looked sulky and wouldn’t meet her gaze.
“You told them your grandmother died in the four-poster that’s the centerpiece of the master bedroom.”
