Kissing Mr. Right

by Michelle Major

  She ignored the disappointment that shot through her. Of course he was gone. She’d blown him off. He’d hardly wait around to say good-bye.

  The other woman noticed her and walked around the counter, grabbing her battered backpack from the top. “Where to?” she asked with a smile.

  “I’m sorry if I caused a fight,” Kendall said.

  Jenny fished around in the bottom of the backpack and pulled out an industrial-size ring of keys. “Aw, honey, Ty and I go back too far to fight. Besides, that man is easy like Sunday morning. Not much gets to him.”

  An image of the muscle pulsing in Ty’s strong jaw flashed into Kendall’s mind, but she didn’t argue with Jenny. The striking redhead had a long relationship with Ty Bishop. Kendall barely knew him.

  She followed Jenny toward another beat-up pickup truck. “So tell me about the landscaping business,” she said, trying not to sound too interested.

  By the time Kendall hopped to the curb in front of the farm-to-table restaurant where she met her two best friends for lunch every Friday, she decided she liked Jenny Castelli’s candor and confidence. “Thanks for the ride,” she said through the open door on the pickup’s passenger side. “And for helping with my car. I appreciate it.”

  Jenny smiled. “No problem. The Jeep will be good as new when Ray’s done.”

  Kendall swung the door closed and waved as Jenny drove away. The ancient pickup backfired as it turned a corner at the end of the block, attracting several raised eyebrows from people walking along the street in the trendy Cherry Creek North neighborhood. She imagined Jenny thumbing her nose at the onlookers and grinned.

  When she walked into The Cherry Kitchen, the young woman behind the host stand smiled. “They’re at your usual table.”

  Kendall bypassed the people waiting for tables. The restaurant was popular and there was always a crowd for Friday lunch.

  The Cherry Kitchen served locally sourced food and the décor combined industrial flare with farmhouse comfort. The walls were painted a muted gray with rich mahogany trim. Vintage American art hung in neat rows along the walls. Each of the stainless steel tables sported a mason jar with fresh flowers. The lighting was soft and ambient.

  A number of eyes followed her as she made her way to the back of the restaurant. Kendall liked being recognized in the community, but not for the reasons most people would guess. A lot of people were fiercely loyal to their local news channel. It gave her a sense of belonging to be invited into someone’s home via the television.

  She set her purse and bag next to a chair at a four-person table positioned in a quiet corner of the busy restaurant. “Hello, ladies.”

  Two women turned to smile at her.

  “Well, if it isn’t Denver’s answer to The Bachelorette,” one of them drawled.

  “Sam, you promised you wouldn’t tease her,” the other chided.

  “I lied.”

  Kendall rolled her eyes at Samantha Carlton and Chloe Daniels, her two best friends, who couldn’t be less alike.

  A decade ago, Sam had been one of America’s reigning supermodels, gracing magazine covers and fashion spreads with her honey blond hair, almond shaped blue eyes, and killer body. These days, she favored baggy sundresses and cowboy boots over designer duds and heels. She wore no makeup and her hair was typically fashioned into a sloppy knot on the back of her head. But no amount of dressing down could completely hide Sam’s traffic-stopping good looks.

  Next to her, Chloe was a throwback to another era. Short and curvy, she looked a little like a modern day Betty Boop with raven-hued curls framing a pixie face.

  “Tell me the truth.” Kendall groaned. “Is it going to be a total disaster?”

  She’d called Chloe from the station yesterday to tell her that she and Sam should watch the broadcast introducing viewers to the concept for It’s Raining Men. She wanted the opinion of friends she could trust to be honest with her.

  Before either of the women could respond a waiter approached. They ordered and when the waiter disappeared, Chloe leaned forward and patted Kendall’s hand.

  “Internet dating is all the rage right now, so it will bring attention to you and the station.”

  Kendall sipped her water. “But is it the wrong kind of attention? Will I look pathetic dating on camera?”

  Chloe shook her head, curls bouncing against the side of her face. “You’re the star of the show. The star never looks pathetic.”

  “She’s right,” Sam agreed, her long fingers wrapped around a steaming mug of herbal tea. “It’s the losers applying to date you who will look pathetic.”

  Kendall cringed at the description of the men she would be dating. “They might not be losers. They might be nice men who haven’t had much luck meeting a nice woman.”

  Sam looked skeptical but Chloe said, “Like us.”

  “As in we’re nice or we’re losers?” Kendall asked doubtfully.

  She’d met Sam and Chloe three months after moving to Denver. She’d had no social life and no friends. Most of the people she worked with were either several years older than her and settled in their lives or young and into the party scene. She didn’t fit into either group.

  On a whim, she’d signed up for a class at a local community center, Discovering the Wild Woman Within. It wasn’t her first choice, but the only one that fit into her odd schedule. Halfway through the first class, she regretted her decision. It had quickly turned into a bitch session about her classmates’ husbands and boyfriends.

  She’d walked out during the break, planning not to return, and found Sam and Chloe, both women she’d recognized from class, sitting on opposite ends of the building’s main staircase. Too embarrassed to quit with an audience, she’d stood near the entrance mulling her options. When the break was over, Sam had suggested that the three women skip the rest of class in favor of margaritas and lunch at a nearby Mexican restaurant.

  After two pitchers of margaritas and a mound of nachos, the three had discovered something better than their inner wild women: friendship.

  From that afternoon, Sam and Chloe had become Kendall’s two best friends. They’d held each other’s hands through bad boyfriends and worse breakups. Their abysmal luck with men was one of their tightest bonds. Sam nicknamed their love lives No Sex in the City.

  “We’re not losers,” Kendall assured Chloe. “We could get dates if we wanted them. We’re discriminating.”

  “Speaking of discriminating,” Sam interrupted. “Do you have any veto power over the men?”

  Kendall grimaced. “Not really. I filled out a detailed questionnaire about my preferences, but other than that, it’s anyone’s guess which men the producers will choose. Liz promised to sneak me a few of the audition tapes to watch so I’d get an idea of what the men might be like.”

  Sam smiled around a forkful of spinach leaves. “You are a brave girl, my friend.”

  Kendall stabbed at her salad. “Stupid is more like it. You know my luck with men. Plus, I’ve been so distracted worrying about these dates that I’m behind on my other work. I’ve got a meeting this afternoon for the wildfire follow-up series—my first real story—and I haven’t even begun my research because I’m too freaked out about this.” She sighed. “All I know is this New York job better come through.”

  “Who knows,” Chloe said, reaching for a piece of bread from the basket that sat in the middle of the table. “Maybe you’ll meet Mr. Right.”

  “That’s exactly what Liz said,” Kendall told her. “But I don’t think it’s going to happen.”

  As if on cue, a tall man appeared at the side of the table. He was wearing black-checkered pants, a white chef’s shirt, and he sported close-cropped dark hair with just a hint of gray around the temples. When he clasped his hands together in front of his chest, a gold pinkie ring sparkled in the light. That was the only hint that the renowned chef at Den
ver’s favorite local eatery was a Jersey boy at heart.

  “And how are you ladies enjoying lunch?” he asked with a broad smile.

  “It’s perfect as usual, Anthony,” Sam told him.

  He eyed the half-eaten salads and tsked. “One day I will convince you three to try something that would take skill to prepare.”

  This was the usual conversation the trio had with Anthony Kulaski, the restaurant’s gregarious head chef. First, he confirmed that the food was good before launching into a few minutes of unabashed flirting, mainly with Sam. Wrapped up in her own thoughts, Kendall paid little attention to the innuendos traded back and forth until she realized Anthony had spoken to her.

  “I’m bringing the digital camera to my sister’s tonight,” he told her. “I don’t trust the quality on my phone. You need to see exactly what you’re getting.” Kendall smiled and nodded, not wanting to admit she had no idea what he was talking about.

  Anthony wiggled his bushy eyebrows. “Robbie is quite a catch, you know.”

  “Isn’t your nephew married?” Chloe asked.

  “The divorce papers were finalized last week,” he replied, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Good riddance as far as I’m concerned.” He gave Kendall an encouraging smile. “Besides, third time’s a charm, right?”

  Her eyes widened. Robbie was Anthony’s forty-something nephew. Anthony had been trying to set up Robbie with Sam, Chloe, or Kendall since they’d started their regular lunches at his restaurant. She’d met Robbie once. He was a short, pudgy man with a well-oiled pompadour and a thick mat of chest hair, accentuated by several heavy gold chains. She was pretty sure he ran a pawnshop.

  “So Robbie is living with his mother again?” Sam asked innocently. Kendall glared at the teasing gleam in her friend’s big eyes.

  Anthony nodded. “Just until he finds a place of his own. You have a nice condo nearby, right?” he asked Kendall.

  Her mouth opened but no words came out. Luckily, she was saved from answering when one of the waitstaff tapped Anthony on the shoulder.

  He turned back to their table with an apologetic smile. “If you’ll excuse me, ladies, there’s something that needs my attention in the kitchen.”

  Kendall stared at her half-eaten salad for several moments after his departure. Sam and Chloe did not speak. Finally, she looked up to find both of her friends watching her and trying hard not to laugh.

  She dropped her head into her hands. “Fantastic. The guy I’ll be dating with all of Denver watching is a twice-divorced forty-year-old who lives with his mother.”

  “It could be worse,” Chloe mused. “He could be unemployed.”

  Kendall covered her mouth with her hand, but a burst of hysterical laughter escaped her lips. A moment later all three of the women were doubled over with laughter, ignoring the strange looks they received from the other diners.

  “This is going to be great.” Sam grinned, wiping tears from the corner of one eye.

  Kendall shook her head. “What have I gotten myself into?”

  When she returned to the station, Kendall pushed away all thoughts of It’s Raining Men as she got ready for her first meeting on the Silver Creek fire project. She’d been up late last night preparing for her meeting with the soil scientist who would serve as her guide to the burn areas.

  The more she learned about the restoration efforts, the more certain she was of her decision to demand this assignment. She wanted to tell the stories of the families rebuilding their lives after this tragedy. Her coworkers might not appreciate the emotional angle of many of her features, but Kendall needed to give a voice to the community that had been so affected by the Silver Creek fire.

  Nerves fluttering with excitement, she pushed open the door to the conference room. She put her heart into each one of her stories, but she had a feeling Silver Creek was going to be a significant turning point in her life. The scientist sat at the large conference table facing Liz, his back to Kendall. She was glad Liz would be producing the series. The news director might not always act in Kendall’s best interest, but her instincts for how to tell a story on-air were impeccable.

  Liz looked up as Kendall entered and motioned her to the far end of the table.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting,” Kendall said as she placed her notes and research on the table next to the news director.

  “Have a seat,” Liz told her. “We were just getting started. Kendall, I want you to meet the scientist who’ll be working with you on the project, Dr. Tyler Bishop.”

  Kendall’s body jerked. Her rear end slipped off the chair as she locked eyes with Ty. She caught herself before she plopped onto the floor. Braced on her elbows, she managed to keep her face expressionless. Ty Bishop was her soil scientist?

  No. Way.

  A crisp blue button-down that matched the color of his eyes had replaced the worn flannel shirt. A muted yellow tie was neatly knotted at his throat. His jaw was clean-shaven and his blond hair looked shorter than she remembered. Had it been trimmed in the past couple hours?

  Was this the same guy she’d shared coffee with a few hours earlier? Then she heard the soft chuckle she remembered from outside the repair shop. The one that said he knew exactly what she was thinking and thoroughly enjoyed how uncomfortable he made her.

  Her files slipped off the table and she felt her face grow hot as she leaned forward to collect the scattered papers.

  “Need a hand?” A smile played at one corner of his mouth.

  “Kendall, are you all right?” Liz’s voice sounded both concerned and disbelieving. “What happened?”

  “I’m fine.” Kendall turned to Liz. “What is he doing here?” And why does he look like he just stepped out of Hot Scientist Monthly, she added silently.

  Liz’s eyebrows furrowed. “Dr. Bishop? I told you, he’s the soil scientist for the wildfire series. Is there a problem?”

  Kendall leafed through her stack of papers. She slapped a single sheet onto the table. “Yes. According to the information I was given, Dr. Miles Roundtree from the National Forest Service is my scientist. I have his resume right here.”

  Liz glanced at Ty. Kendall narrowed her eyes at the easy smile he bestowed on her boss. “I apologize for any confusion,” he said with total sincerity, shifting his gaze to Kendall. “Miles was looking forward to working with you. But with the recent budget cuts at the Forest Service, he’s understaffed and was concerned he wouldn’t have time to devote to this project. So he asked me to fill in.”

  “But you’re a . . . a . . .”

  Before she could finish the sentence, Ty slid a piece of paper across the table toward her. The sleeves of his button-down shirt were rolled up to the elbows, revealing the corded muscles along his forearm that had fascinated Kendall earlier this morning.

  “Here’s a copy of my resume,” he told her, the long finger that had unnerved her at the coffee shop tapping against the paper.

  The last bit of control Kendall felt like she had slipped through her fingers. She released her tight hold on Miles Roundtree’s biography. She gingerly picked up the sheet that Ty offered.

  She read the words printed in a classic typeface across the top of the page, Tyler Bishop, PhD.

  As she scanned the rest of the page, a feeling uncomfortably close to guilt settled in the pit of her stomach. The label she’d placed on him had been woefully inadequate. He was the real deal. The resume highlighted his work with Rocky Mountain Landscapes but there was a lot more to Ty Bishop than he’d let on.

  According to the information she held in her hand, his undergraduate studies had been in biology at the University of Colorado. He held a doctorate degree in soil conservation, and in a volunteer capacity had led a forest recovery team that was still working to return the forest to its pre-fire state.

  Why would someone with such a scholarly background choose to spend most of his t
ime planting bushes in a suburban backyard?

  That thought was replaced by a more alarming realization. Dr. Tyler Bishop was the perfect person to act as the expert researcher for this project. He had the right credentials and because of his work in the commercial and residential sectors, could discuss technical matters in a way the general viewing audience would understand.

  Kendall was stuck with him.

  “How did this happen?” she whispered, shaking her head in disbelief.

  “Kendall, you don’t look so good,” Liz said, worry creasing her brow. “Do you feel sick? Can I get you something?”

  Kendall placed a fingertip to each temple. “I’m fine. A little surprised, that’s all. I didn’t expect to see Ty here.”

  The news director glanced back and forth between Ty and Kendall. “Do you two know each other?”

  A deep pink rose in Kendall’s cheeks. Her glossed lips opened and closed several times before she stammered, “Not really. Well, sort of.” Her eyes shut and her chest rose as she took several deep breaths.

  Suddenly Ty was riveted by the sight of Kendall’s full mouth. Maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea to pursue her if this was his body’s reaction to something as innocuous as breathing. He remembered how soft her skin had felt under the pad of his finger. Soft as the petal of an early spring tulip.

  The level of heat that passed between them in the coffee shop had dumbfounded him. Kendall denying that heat had pissed him off. Usually it took a lot to get under Ty’s skin. But with her icy blow-off, Kendall Clark had made his blood boil.

  When he’d left Ray’s shop earlier, he’d called Miles Roundtree. Ty guessed correctly that Miles, as regional director of the National Forest Service, would be involved in any type of media coverage of the burn area. Ty had worked with Miles on and off for years. First, as a summer intern during college, and later, as a volunteer to help with the wildfire containment and clean-up.

  Always overworked, Miles had been happy to relinquish the task of guiding a news reporter through the regeneration efforts to Ty.