Hello, It's Me

by Wendy Markham

  Dom has been to Vegas enough times to realize it isn’t the most kid-friendly destination. He can’t help intervening on behalf of the hapless parent who will be forced to man-handle two kids and a mountain of luggage to the hotel after an exhausting cross-country flight.

  He steps forward with a gruff, “here, let me take a look,” and in two seconds flat has the stroller folded and ready to stow.

  “How’d you do that?” asks one of the dumbfounded stewards.

  Dom, who isn’t quite certain how he did that, shrugs.

  “You must have one at home.”

  “A stroller? Me?” Dom laughs. “Nope.”

  “You’re not a daddy?”

  “Nope. I’m not even a hubby . . . and I don’t plan to be anytime soon. Or ever.” Dom wonders why he finds it necessary to make that clear to two men whom he suspects aren’t in the market for wives, either . . . but for vastly different reasons than his.

  Lest they have the wrong idea about him, he adapts his most heterosexual stride as he steps at last over the threshold onto the plane.

  To the right is coach class, where passengers are jamming themselves into center seats, or struggling to load baggage into overhead bins, or casting wary glances toward the crying babies that seem to be everywhere.

  To his left is first class, cordoned off by drawn curtains.

  Dom goes left, grateful for the frequent flier mileage upgrade in his hand.

  He parts the curtains and is greeted by a welcome hush and a pretty female flight attendant, who pauses with an open bottle of champagne poised in her hand and asks to see his ticket.

  “You’re right up there in the second row by the window, Mr. Chickalini,” she informs him with a blue-eyed gaze that’s somehow both sultry and cheerful.

  She even comes fairly close to pronouncing his name correctly.

  “Perfect. Thank you.”

  She turns back to the seated couple in front of him, saying over her shoulder, “I’ll be out of your way in just a moment so that you can get to your seat.”

  “Take your time.”

  He admires the view of her curvy posterior until a glance at her left hand reveals a diamond engagement ring. Why is he surprised?

  And why is he disappointed?

  There are plenty of single women in the world. Certainly, there are in Las Vegas. After he checks into the hotel, he’ll head right down to the pool and check them out.

  Babes in bikinis. Yes, he tells himself firmly, that’s just what the doctor ordered after a crazy work week and a traffic-clogged cab ride to insanely busy LaGuardia airport.

  Babes in bikinis?

  The thing is . . .

  Dom is tired.

  Not just from work and traffic and endless lines. No, it goes deeper than that.

  Try as he might to conjure enthusiasm for a long weekend in Sin City, Dom suddenly isn’t entirely certain he has the energy to . . . sin.

  He wonders, as he watches the flight attendant’s diamond engagement ring twinkling like a beacon in the sunlight, whether maybe it’s a sign.

  Maybe all of this—the married women, the seeming abundance of gold bands and diamond rings, even the baby stroller—are signs that it’s time for Dom to settle down.

  After all, he’s pushing thirty.

  No Chickalini man has ever retained his bachelorhood past his thirtieth birthday. A few have reclaimed it after failed marriages, but nobody in the family ever successfully avoided the altar for a full three decades.

  Dom always intended to be the first.

  Especially considering the fact that he’s never found anybody he can even remotely conceive of spending the rest of his life with.

  But now . . .

  Now, he can’t help wondering whether somebody’s trying to tell him something. Somebody upstairs. Somebody with a divine plan.

  The Chickalini family is very big on divine plans. And on signs. Especially Dom’s grandmother and his sisters.

  A dream about somebody you haven’t seen in awhile is a sign that you should call them right away because something—good or bad—is going on with them.

  An ATM machine that isn’t working properly is a sign that you shouldn’t be spending the cash you intended to get.

  A rained out baseball game is a sign that your team would have lost if they had played.

  “But the other team is rained out, too,” Dom always pointed out. “And somebody has to win.”

  Nobody ever had a satisfactory reply to that, because signs, as Dominic’s family tends to believe, aren’t meant to be questioned. They’re meant to be noted, and perhaps heeded as advice or warnings, as the case might be. Signs mean somebody upstairs is trying to tell you something, and you’d better listen.

  Dom watches the flight attendant pouring champagne for a pair of cooing, cuddling newlyweds.

  How does he know they’re newlyweds?

  For one thing, they’re wearing matching rings and gazing into each other’s eyes, something long-married couples rarely do, as far as Dom can tell. For another thing, the flight attendant tells them to enjoy their honeymoon.

  Honeymoons, newlyweds, rings . . .

  Signs.

  You’ve got marriage on the brain for some reason, that’s your problem, Dom scolds himself. You’re getting all worked up over nothing. This is ridiculous.

  He’s going to stop looking for meaning in every little coincidence. After all, it’s not as though there’s a neon billboard flashing Get Married in his face, or his dream woman popping up in a wedding gown begging him to say I Do.

  Now that would be a sign.

  Anything less earth-shattering is mere coincidence and not the slightest threat to the unprecedented achievement in Chickalini bachelorhood.

  “All set, Mr. Chickalini.”

  “Thank you.” Eager to sit back and relax for the next six hours, Dom at last steps around the flight attendant and down the aisle . . .

  Then stops short in front of his designated row.

  There, in all her silken white glory, a halo of sunlight beaming through the window to cast her in an actual glow, is the most beautiful woman—the most beautiful bride—he’s ever seen.

  THE EDITOR’S DIARY

  Dear Reader,

  Like a breath of fresh air, love has a funny way of putting a little extra spring in your step and sparkle in your eyes. And, oh what a difference it is when you’ve just been through a bad patch. Need a little help keeping your faith in love? Try our two Warner Forever titles this March.

  Booklist has called Wendy Markham’s work “breezy, scrumptious fun” while Romantic Times BOOKClub raves it’s “wonderfully touching romance with a good sense of humor.”Check out her latest, HELLO, IT’S ME, and don’t forget the tissues! It’s been almost a year since Annie Harlowe’s beloved husband died, leaving her to raise their two children. But she has a secret: she’s been paying his cell phone bills just so she can hear his voice. Yet with funds stretched so tight she fears they’ll never dig out of debt, Annie has to face the facts. Her late husband will never answer...until one night when the impossible happens and he does. Thomas Brannock IV has had his life mapped out from birth. But he never counted on Annie, a free-spirited woman with sun-kissed cheeks to blow into his life. When they literally crash into one another, it feels like a heavenly accident. But is an angel with cell phone reception playing matchmaker?

  Have you ever worked for something your entire life only to find it just isn’t enough? That’s exactly how Molly Boudreau from Susan Crandall’s PROMISES TO KEEP feels. After years of work and sacrifice, she’s finally a doctor. But she yearns for a soul-stirring connection and she’ll soon find it in her own ER. Molly has befriended a young pregnant woman who refuses to speak of her past. Her only request: that Molly protects the baby from his dangerous father. So when the woman is murdered after giving birth, Molly must keep her promise. Fearing for their safety, she returns home where she passes him off as her son. But before long, Dean Coletta, a reporter
with smoldering eyes and probing questions, starts digging for the truth. With each explosive fact he uncovers about Molly and her “son,” Dean’s desire to protect them grows stronger. But can they build a life together with the secrets of their pasts tearing them apart? Romantic Times BOOKClub raves that she “weaves a tale that is both creative and enthralling” so prepare to be dazzled.

  To find out more about Warner Forever, these March titles and the authors, visit us at www.warnerforever.com.

  With warmest wishes,

  Karen Kosztolnyik, Senior Editor

  P.S. Next month, check out these two spicy little treats: Sandra Hill delivers more laughter and even more hot Cajun love when a confirmed bachelor looking to escape it all winds up in the middle of a kidnapping plot with a tantalizing celebrity in THE RED-HOT CAJUN: and Julie Anne Long debuts her latest witty and heartfelt tale of a barrister who rescues a feisty pickpocket and passes her off as a lady to win another woman’s hand in TO LOVE A THIEF.