Driven to Distraction & Winging It

by Tina Wainscott

  When she realized she was close to gawking, she snapped to and saw he’d been doing the same thing, making her realize she looked ten degrees off appropriate for a dinnertime visit. She still wore the pink shorts, though she’d thrown a long T-shirt over her tank top. The fact that the shirt read Don’t Treat Me Any Differently Than You Would The Queen probably didn’t lend much appropriateness to it. She should have picked out a more genteel one, but it wasn’t like she was trying to impress him or anything. Supersmart, afraid of dogs and babies…he couldn’t be farther from her type. She redirected her gawking to the sunset. “Wow, look at that sky, will you? It’s almost heavenly.”

  “Heavenly?”

  She let out a breathy sigh. “Yeah.”

  “I don’t understand people’s fascination with the setting sun, like it’s some phenomenon.”

  When she turned to him, he was looking at her. He shifted his gaze to the sky. “The colors are just a by product of—”

  “Stop! If you’re going to tell me the science behind a sunset, I don’t want to know. How can you think about science when you look at those gorgeous colors?”

  “Quite easily,” he said, barely giving the splashes of orange, purple and red a glance.

  “No, take a good look.” She waited until he did. Stretched across the horizon was cloud stubble gilded in sunlight. Below that were her favorite kinds of clouds. “See that bunch of clouds over there?”

  “Those cumulus—”

  “Yeah, those. Doesn’t that one over there look like an angel? Look at the wings. And beside it, a barking dog.” She loved the dog clouds best of all. “And over there is a dragon. Uh-oh, it’s about to eat the dog. Run, pup, run!” When she looked at him, he was watching her with a speculative grin. “What?”

  “They’re clouds. Nothing is eating anything.”

  “I bet when you look at a starry night, you see burning suns and not magical twinkling lights. I bet you don’t even make wishes on falling stars.”

  “Technically, the whole star isn’t falling—”

  “I know that. But it’s just kind of magical to think of it as a falling star…and to make a wish.”

  Of course, her big wish—meeting her soul mate—hadn’t come true. Since Barrett was still regarding her with that amused smile, she lifted the bucket. “Eaten yet?”

  He eyed her offering. “Ah, food I can actually relate to. Join me for dinner?”

  She shouldn’t. Let the guy get back to work, don’t spend too much time with him. “I’d love to.”

  She followed him inside. Gene and Judy’s place looked like what King Kong would regurgitate if he ate Florida—flowery prints, pink—yes, pink—carpet with green throw rugs in the shape of lily pads, and a three-foot-high neon flamingo. Barrett walked into the kitchen, which had the same fanatical I-love-Florida decor, complete with magnets on the fridge attesting to every attraction they’d ever visited.

  “I haven’t had a chance to put these away yet. I guess you can set the bucket between the Spam-and-pea casserole and something called a pretzel salad.” He looked at the orange dish questioningly.

  “Scary, isn’t it? That’s Frieda’s speciality. A layer of crushed pretzels, a mushy layer that I think is cream cheese and strawberry gelatin on top, then a layer of grated cheese. I’ve always been afraid to try it.” She eyed the counter full of homemade offerings. “Uh-oh.”

  First, they made her fast food look pitiful. Second, all these dishes meant Barrett had been thoroughly checked out by the local populace who had female relations to pawn off. They’d obviously been perusing the gelatin recipe book they’d compiled a few years back.

  “It’s a very friendly community,” he commented, taking the Pissin’ in the Snow casserole to the refrigerator. He eyed it as though he expected it to wiggle right off the plate under its own power. “I’ve never lived anywhere where people bring you food.”

  Poor guy didn’t have a clue. Or a chance. He bent to slide the gelatin into the fridge, and his jeans molded a very fine behind. It was a very good thing she wasn’t interested in him, because she could have some very fine fantasies about that very fine behind. And, she thought with a sigh as he turned to grab another dish, that very fine face with a mouth that could turn a bad day into ten degrees from Heaven.

  “Here, let me help,” she said, setting down her bag and bucket and handing him the remaining three dishes. They sure hadn’t wasted any time, that was for sure.

  “Guess I won’t need all these,” he said, opening the freezer door to show her stacks of gourmet TV dinners. “At least for a few days anyway.”

  “You’ll be set your whole stay, believe me.”

  He must have picked up on the ominous tone in her voice. “You make it sound like that’s a bad thing.”

  “That food, my friend, comes with strings attached.” At his blank look, she added, “Obligations. Let me put it this way. You’re going to meet a lot of single women in the next week. Think parade.”

  He still didn’t get it, not by his questioning look as he took out two plates from the cabinet.

  “Parade of women,” she clarified.

  “Women? But why?”

  “You’re single. Judy, the owner of this house, considered it her social duty to tell everybody. These women have nieces, daughters, granddaughters…you name it, they’ve got at least one woman in their family who, in their opinion, needs marrying off. And you are the target.”

  Ah, the smart guy finally figured it out. His voice cracked when he said, “They’re going to bring women here for me?”

  “’Fraid so.” She took the plates from him since her warning had sidetracked him.

  “But I’ve got to finish my study in—” he glanced at his watch “—six days, fifteen hours and two minutes or the snails might not get their land. And I’m never late. Parades of women would be worse than having my sister and her four kids cavorting around.” Then he obviously thought of the babies and added, “Maybe not.”

  “Well, for one thing, everyone knows about your sister raiding your place. The fact that you let her family stay makes you one swell guy. Any guy who treats his sister so nice is on the A-list right off the bat. You’re smart, another plus. You have a job.” She started to set the plates on the table, but it was covered in papers and books on snails. On half of the table sat an aquarium filled with branches. The bottom was covered in moss. She redirected herself to the vacant counter. “And you’re a hottie, another downfall for you, I’m afraid.”

  He lifted his eyebrows. “A hottie?”

  “Yeah, you know…you don’t know. Hot. Good-looking.”

  He set two cans of lemonade on the counter. “You think I’m good-looking?”

  She blinked, holding back the words, Well, duh. He wasn’t kidding, wasn’t fishing for a compliment. She also held back the words, Would telling you I’d love to jump your bones make it any clearer? Nah, probably not. “You’re not so bad.”

  He took her in, not with a leer like Ricky the maintenance dude did, but casual curiosity. Still, she felt all twitchy knowing his gaze was on her. “You’re not bad, either.” Merely a scientific observation, that. “Why isn’t anyone trying to pawn you off on me?”

  “I, uh…well, I don’t have any relations to pawn since Granny passed on.” Wait a minute. Why wasn’t anyone trying to match her up with the yummy snail doctor? These people were like her family, right? That’s what had bugged her about Arlene’s question. She wasn’t even considering Stacy a contender. “Let’s eat, shall we?”

  “I’m sorry about your grandmother.”

  She slid onto the stool next to him. “Yeah, me, too. I miss her like the dickens.” She opened the containers and spooned out coleslaw and mashed potatoes. When she spotted a tree snail slithering up a branch, she walked over to investigate.

  The swirled shell was banded in yellow, white and brown. The snail itself wasn’t so pretty, gray and slimy-looking, but it looked kind of cute in a snailish sort of way. Little eyebal
ls were perched on the ends of two long tentacles. Two smaller ones felt along the branch like a blind man using a cane.

  “That’s cingulatus, one of the forms of liggus fasciatus.” He was standing so close behind her that his breath tickled her neck.

  When she turned to ask him, “Huh?” they bumped noses.

  “All tree snails are liggus fasciatus. The one you’re looking at is cingulatus. That’s the name of its color form. There are fifty-two different color forms. See the white one in the back with the faint green and beige bands? That’s septentrionalis. The one moving across the rock with the multicolored bands is vonpaulseni.”

  Her knees were going weak. It was partly because he was close and because he smelled really nice. But part of it was those snail names. Or more precisely, him saying those snail names. “Wow,” she said at the realization of how strange that was.

  “They’re called the gems of the Everglades,” he said, obviously mistaking her reverence. “Their populations have been decimated by collectors and by development of their habitats, primarily hammocks. The purpose of the study I’m working on is to obtain more land for protected environments.”

  “So why do you have some here?” The first snail she’d spotted, cingu-something-or-another, had transferred to the glass. She could see its tiny T-shaped mouth searching for food.

  “These are from a collection a botanist raises in his yard to help propagate the species. They’re here to keep me in the mind frame.”

  Except he was looking at her. His hands were braced on the table beside hers. She caught herself inhaling his aftershave and covered by saying, “They’re kind of cute. They look like some creature you’d see in a Star Wars movie.”

  He regarded the snail. “Cute. Never thought of them that way.”

  “You probably never noticed how beautiful they were, either.”

  “Er…no, I suppose not. I think they’re an essential link in the food chain and should be preserved.”

  She gave him an admonishing look. “You need to stop and smell the snails, fella.”

  “Smell…?”

  “It’s an expression. Well, sort of. Like stop to smell the roses. Stop to admire the snails. Notice what’s around you!”

  He was, only it was her he seemed to be noticing.

  She pointed to one of the snails. “What was the name of that one again?”

  “Cingulatus.”

  “Mm—I mean, mm. As in interesting, mm.” Not as in, I love the sound of your masculine voice saying that foreign-sounding word, especially right next to my ear.

  She abruptly stood and returned to her task of spooning out food. Forget about the way his voice sounded around those words, how his breath felt against her neck. “How smart are you, anyway? I mean, what’s your IQ? Or is that one of those improper questions, like how much do you make or do you wear briefs or boxers?”

  “I…” He glanced down. “My IQ is one eighty-five. And why would anyone want to know whether I wear briefs or boxers?”

  He really didn’t have a clue, which made him so cute, she wanted to crawl into his lap and kiss him silly. Get hold of yourself. You’re not looking, remember? Only desperate women look. Sure, she wanted romance, wanted a man in her life who would cherish and appreciate her, but she’d passed desperate so long ago, she was in a whole new state—acceptance.

  “It’s a…woman thing, I guess. Probably like the way men try to figure out if a woman wears a T-back or regular panties.” She waved the image away and grabbed a chicken leg. Tried not to picture him in briefs or boxers. Tried not to picture herself sitting on his lap kissing him silly. Not doing a good job of either.

  “Briefs,” he said with a nod. “In case you were wondering.” He bit into a chicken thigh as innocently as if he hadn’t set her imagination off on a Barrett-in-whitebriefs tangent.

  “I wasn’t,” she blurted. “Wondering, that is.” She stuck a big spoonful of mashed potatoes in her mouth so no other dumb words could come out. It had been so long since she’d seen either on a man, other than at the men’s underwear section of the department store. But she’d never admit to detouring through the section just to ogle the models on the packages.

  Gawd, she was pitiful. She did draw the line at stopping to look, however. She had standards of conduct, after all. It was only a fly-by gawking.

  “What’s a T-back?” he asked.

  She nearly choked on her spuds. “You know, a thong. A panty that has more material in the front than in the back.” She took a sip of her lemonade and hoped that would be the end of that particular conversation.

  “What about you?” Again, he looked totally innocent. “Thong or regular?”

  She choked on her drink this time, a mere degree from spewing liquid. Could she really be discussing underwear with a guy she’d only just met? Well, heck, they were moving faster than any date she’d been on in the last four years.

  “Thong.” She pushed the word out at last, since he actually looked interested in knowing. She wiggled her fingers to the bucket of chicken. “Eat up, go on.”

  “What are the advantages and disadvantages of regular versus thong? Has anyone ever undertaken a study?”

  “Uh…huh?”

  He shrugged. “It’s what I do, study and research. I’m afraid I look at everything with an eye to analyzing it.”

  “I thought you were a snail scientist.”

  “I’m a research scientist at the biology department at the University of Miami. The Liggus project—tree snails,” he added at her blank look, “is a one-year grant project on the survival and propagation of tree snails in the Everglades. I have to analyze population changes over the past year, species propagation, variant temperatures of the water…I’m boring you, aren’t I?” He gestured to her face. “The blank stare and open mouth are always a giveaway.”

  “I wasn’t bored, just absorbing.”

  He took another bite and changed the subject. “So, are there strings attached to your meal?” he asked. “Obligations?”

  You could give me a long, wet kiss in gratitude. She blinked and hoped those words had only been in her head. What was wrong with her? “No strings. Just being nice.”

  “Nice like making T-shirts for Arlene’s dogs and leading the workout classes?”

  “Yeah, just like that.”

  Totally, unselfishly nice. No ulterior motives at all. He was way out of her intellectual galaxy, for one thing. And he had an important project to finish, for another thing. It would be unfair to expect him to fall madly in love with her when he was under deadline.

  He was looking at her mouth. Not in a sensual way, exactly, but a curious way. Oh, geez, there wasn’t a piece of chicken sticking to her face, was there? How gross would that be? She grabbed up a napkin and rubbed it vigorously across her face. What if she had something between her teeth? Even more gross! She kept her lips together and smiled, since he was still looking at her. Meanwhile, her tongue searched her front teeth for lodged food particles.

  Oh, no. What if he wasn’t looking at her mouth at all, but at her nose! That would be even worse, the grossest thing in the whole, wide world. She rubbed her napkin over her nose, trying to be discreet. He continued eating, but his gaze remained on her. He didn’t look grossed out, though, just…curious.

  “All right, I give up. Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked at last.

  “I was thinking that the grease made your mouth look all shiny and interesting. After that, I was wondering why you were rubbing it all over your face.”

  She looked at her rumpled napkin covered in grease and crumbs. “Would you please excuse me while I go stick my head under the faucet?”

  This was undoubtedly why no one was trying to pawn her off on the eligible newcomer, she thought as she raced to the bathroom. She took in her shiny face with specks of batter and thought it was a darn good thing she wasn’t interested in snagging the man for herself.

  3

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING Barrett was s
cientifically sure that his distraction over the woman next door was finished. She had suffered some fit of embarrassment over the chicken crumb issue the night before and fled the scene shortly thereafter. So the aberrant curiosity was done, and now he could get to work. He spread out his paperwork on the patio table and dove into a year’s worth of data on water levels.

  “You are so ugly, you’re cute,” a feminine voice announced from the other side of the hedge.

  He looked around to see if she was talking to him. Apparently Stacy was working with another dog. Instantly that image of the pink spandex filled his mind instead of the tree snails and comparative numbers. Then the T-shirt about being a queen that overwhelmed two small but interesting-just-the-same breasts came into mental view. He’d only noticed them because the words any differently were scrolled across them in big, loopy letters. The snails were long out of his mind by the time he remembered her legs and the cute white sneakers she wore.

  Uh-oh. She was distracting him again. Time to go in.

  He started gathering up his papers when she yelled, “Don’t you run off on me!”

  He froze. A rustling in the bushes caught his attention. For a moment, he hoped it was Stacy and then realized that as small as she was, even she couldn’t be pushing her way through the hedge.

  One of the ugliest dogs he’d ever seen emerged, shook itself and pranced over to him. It looked at him the same way Barrett was looking at it, as though thinking, What the heck is that thing?

  The dog was possibly a Chihuahua, with tufts of beige hair sprouting from its ears and tail. Otherwise, it looked nearly bald. Its brown buglike eyes never left him.

  “Elmo! Where’d you go? I didn’t mean it, honest! You’re not so ugly. Just a little…beauty-challenged.”

  When Elmo turned toward Stacy’s voice, Barrett took the opportunity to scoop him up and walk over to the hole in the hedge, the dog held out at a distance. Then he took a full minute to watch her look beneath her chaise longue and in a children’s pool that was situated under a palm tree. She was wearing blue spandex shorts today, and another T-shirt with words on it that he couldn’t read. Totally unbidden came the image of the thong underwear she said she wore.