What She Wants
Sheila Roberts
What do women want?Jonathan Templar wishes he knew. He’s been besotted with Lissa Castle since they were kids, but, geek that he is, she’s never seen him as her Mr Perfect. So he starts to do some research and comes up with a list:Women want a man who1. is good-looking (well, that was a given…)2. takes charge3. makes romantic gestures4. will give up everything for themArmed with the facts, Jonathan sets about showing Lissa he’s just what she needs – but has he got it all figured out as well as he thinks?Welcome to Icicle Falls, the town that will warm your heart.'Sheila Roberts makes me laugh. I read her books & come away hopeful and happy.' - bestselling romance author Debbie Macomber
What do women want?
Jonathan Templar and his poker buddies can’t figure it out. Take Jonathan, for instance. He’s been in love with Lissa Castle since they were kids but, geek that he is, she’s never seen him as her Mr. Perfect. He has one last shot—their high school reunion. Kyle Long is equally discouraged. The pretty receptionist at his office keeps passing him over for other guys who may be taller but are definitely not superior. And Adam Edwards might be the most successful of Jonathan’s friends, but he isn’t having any success on the home front. His wife’s kicked him out.
When Jonathan stumbles on a romance novel at the Icicle Falls library sale, he knows he’s found the love expert he’s been seeking—Vanessa Valentine, top-selling romance author. At first his buddies laugh at him for reading romance novels, but soon they, too, realize that these stories are the world’s best textbooks on love. Poker night becomes book club night…and when all is read and done, they’re going to be the kind of men women want!
www.sheilasplace.com (http://www.sheilasplace.com)
Praise for the novels of
‘Her characters are warm and engaging and their interactions are full of humour.’
—RT Book Reviews
‘An uplifting, charming, feel-good story’
—Booklist
‘…will doubtless warm more than a few hearts.’
—Publishers Weekly
‘A wonderful story with characters so real and defined I feel like I am personally acquainted with them… There is humour and emotion in large quantities in this fantastic book that is next to impossible to put down. Kudos and a large bouquet of flowers to Sheila Roberts for giving us one of the best books of the year.’
—Fresh Fiction
SHEILA ROBERTS is married and has three children. She lives on a lake in the Pacific Northwest. When she’s not hanging out with her girlfriends or hitting the dance floor with her husband, she can be found writing about those things dear to women’s hearts: family, friends and chocolate.
You can visit Sheila at her website, www.sheilasplace.com. You can also find her on Twitter and Facebook.
Also by Sheila Roberts
BETTER THAN CHOCOLATE
MERRY EX-MAS
www.mirabooks.co.uk (http://www.mirabooks.co.uk)
For Dustin
Dear Reader,
Welcome back to Icicle Falls. I’m so happy you’re taking a break from your busy schedule to spend some time with my characters. In this book you won’t be hanging out with the girls. It’s the guys’ turn.
Jonathan Templar is my salute to those quiet, average men with super-big hearts who often get overlooked when a better-looking, flashier man enters the room. I think Jonathan is proof that a big heart is better than a big set of pecs any day. His buddy Kyle…well, he finds it very frustrating that he’s height-challenged and he gets irritated when women look right past him to the taller men. But maybe Kyle needs to practise what he preaches and look beyond the packaging when searching for Ms Right. Then there’s their friend Adam, who is about as clueless as a man can get. If you’ve ever had your man take you for granted, I’m sure you’ll be cheering when you see Adam’s wife giving him a painful but welldeserved refresher course on how to be a good husband.
All the men are on a steep learning curve. But they’re about to discover what we women have known all along—there is much wisdom to be found in romance novels.
I had a wonderful time with these three men and their poker pals, Vance and Bernardo. I cried over every setback they encountered and cheered at their every success. These guys stole my heart. I hope they’ll steal yours, too!
I love hanging out with readers, so I hope you’ll check out my Like page on Facebook (look for Sheila Roberts, author), follow me on Twitter and visit my website (http://www.sheilasplace.com), where you’re bound to find everything from a new Icicle Falls recipe to a fun contest.
Happy reading!
Sheila
Contents
Chapter One (#uac7a0809-de6b-50e0-9173-098745e9ddf8)
Chapter Two (#uec4453a4-a3fb-5660-aaa1-0c7c9aecf959)
Chapter Three (#u2152455d-0b15-5dbe-bf70-32309ad3738a)
Chapter Four (#u082889a7-94b7-590e-86aa-fe97881eecc5)
Chapter Five (#u1c6c6010-6d35-5744-a3fd-2ef71c57b5c0)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
What He Always Wanted (#litres_trial_promo)
Acknowledgments (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One
Working in such close quarters with a woman that you could bump knees (thighs, and maybe even other body parts) was probably every man’s dream job. Except Dot Morrison’s knees were knobby and she was old enough to be Jonathan Templar’s grandmother. And she looked like Maxine of greeting card fame. So there was no knee (or anything else) bumping going on today.
“Okay, you’re good to go,” he said, pushing back from the computer in the office at Breakfast Haus, Dot’s restaurant. “But remember what I told you. If you want your computer to run more efficiently, you’ve got to slick your hard drive once in a while.”
“There you go talking dirty to me again,” Dot cracked.
A sizzle sneaked onto Jonathan’s cheeks, partly because old ladies didn’t say things like that (Jonathan’s grandma sure didn’t), and partly because he’d never talked dirty to a woman in his life. Well, not unless you counted a Playboy centerfold. When talking with most real-life women, his tongue had a tendency to tie itself into more knots than a bag of pretzels, especially when a woman was good-looking. This, he told himself, was one reason he was still single at the ripe old age of thirty-three. That and the fact that he wasn’t exactly the stuff a woman’s dreams were made of. It was a rare woman who dreamed of a skinny, bespectacled guy in a button-down shirt. Those weren’t the only reasons, though. Carrying a torch for someone tended to interfere with a guy’s love life.
Never certain how to respond to Dot’s whacked-out sense of humor, he merely smiled, shook his head and packed up his briefcase.
“Seriously,” she said, “I’m glad this didn’t turn out to be anything really bad. But if it had, I know I could count on you. You can’t ever leave Icicle Falls. What would us old bats do when we have computer problems?”
“You’d manage,” Jonathan assured her.
“I doubt it. Computers are instruments of torture to anyone over the age of sixty.”
“No worries,” he said. “I’m not planning on going anywhere.”
“Until you meet Ms. Right. Then you’ll be gone like a shot.” The look she gave him was virtually a guarantee that something was about to come out of her mouth that would make him squirm. Sure enough. “We’ll have to find you a local girl.”
Just what he needed—Dot Morrison putting the word out that Jonathan Templar, computer nerd, was in the market for a local girl. He didn’t want a local girl. He wanted...
“Tilda’s still available.”
Tilda Morrison, supercop? She could easily bench-press Jonathan. “Uh, thanks for the offer, but I think she needs someone tougher.”
“There’s a problem. Nobody’s as tough as Tilda. Damn, I raised that girl wrong. At this rate I’m never going to get grandchildren.” Dot shrugged and reached for a cigarette. “Just as well, I suppose. I’d have to spend all my free hours baking cookies for the little rodents.”
Sometimes it was hard to know whether or not Dot was serious, but this time Jonathan was sure she didn’t mean what she’d said. She was only trying to make the best of motherly frustration. Dot wanted grandkids. Anyone who’d seen her interacting with the families who came into the restaurant could tell that. It was a wonder she made any money with all the free hot chocolate she slipped her younger patrons.
She lit up and took a deep drag on her cigarette. Her little office was about to get downright smoggy. Washington State law prohibited smoking in public places, but Dot maintained that her office wasn’t a public place. Jonathan suspected one of these days she and the local health inspector were going to get into it over the cigarettes she sneaked in this room.
“I’d better get going,” he said, gathering his things and trying not to inhale the secondhand smoke pluming in his direction.
“You gonna bill me as usual?”
“Yep.”
“Don’t gouge me,” she teased.
“Wouldn’t dream of it. And put your glasses on to read your bill this time,” he teased back as he walked to the door. He always tried to give Dot a senior’s discount and she always overpaid him, claiming she’d misread the bill. Yep, Dot was a great customer.
Heck, all his customers were great, he thought as he made his way to Sweet Dreams Chocolate Company, where Elena, the secretary, was having a nervous breakdown thanks to a new computer that she swore was possessed.
The scent of chocolate floating up from the kitchens below greeted him as he entered the office and Elena looked at him as if he were Saint George come to slay a dragon. “Thank God you’re here.”
People were always happy to see the owner and sole employee of Geek Gods Computer Services. Once Jonathan arrived on the scene, they knew their troubles would be fixed.
He liked that, liked feeling useful. So he wasn’t a mountain of muscle like Luke Goodman, the production manager at Sweet Dreams, or a mover and shaker like Blake Preston, manager of Cascade Mutual. Some men were born to have starring roles and big, juicy parts on the stage of life. Others were meant to build scenery, pull the curtains, work in the background to make sure everything on stage ran well. Jonathan was a backstage kind of guy. Nothing wrong with that, he told himself. Background workers made it possible for the show to go on.
But leading ladies never noticed the guy in the background. Jonathan heaved a sigh. Sometimes he felt like Cyrano de Bergerac. Without the nose.
“This thing is making me loco,” Elena said, glaring at the offending piece of technology on her desk.
The company owner, Samantha Sterling—recently married to Blake Preston—had just emerged from her office. “More loco than we make you?”
“More loco than even my mother makes me,” Elena replied.
Samantha gave her shoulder a pat. “Jonathan will fix it.”
Elena grunted. “Equipo del infierno.”
“Computer from hell?” Jonathan guessed, remembering some of his high school Spanish.
Elena’s frustrated scowl was all the answer he needed.
“Don’t worry,” Samantha told her. “Jonathan will help you battle the forces of technology evil. When Cecily comes in, tell her I’ll be back around one-thirty. Try to keep my favorite assistant from tearing her hair out,” she said to Jonathan.
“No worries,” he said, then promised Elena, “I’ll have this up and running for you in no time.”
No time turned out to be about an hour, but since Elena had expected to lose the entire day she was delighted. “You are amazing,” she told him just as Samantha’s sister Cecily arrived on the scene.
“Has he saved us again?” she asked Elena, smiling at Jonathan.
“Yes, as usual.”
Jonathan pushed his glasses back up his nose and tried to look modest. It was hard when people praised him like this.
But then, as he started to pack up his tools, Cecily said something that left him flat as a stingray. “I heard from Tina Swift that you guys have your fifteen-year reunion coming up.”
“Uh, yeah.”
“Those are so much fun, seeing old friends, people you used to date,” she continued.
This was worse than Dot’s cigarette smoke. Chatting with Cecily always made him self-conscious. Chatting with Cecily about his high school reunion would make him a nervous wreck, especially if she began asking about women he used to date. Jonathan hit high speed gathering up his tools and his various discs.
“Are you going to the reunion?” she asked him.
“Maybe,” he lied, and hoped she’d leave it at that.
She didn’t. “I moved back just in time for my ten-year and I’m glad I went. There were some people I wouldn’t have had a chance to see otherwise.”
There were some people Jonathan wanted to do more than see. Some people with long, blond hair and... He snapped his briefcase shut and bolted for the door. “So, Elena, I’ll bill you.”
“Okay,” she called.
The door hadn’t quite shut behind him when he heard Elena say to Cecily, “He needs confidence, that one.”
It was an embarrassing thing to hear about himself, but true. He needed a lot more than confidence, though. How could a guy be confident when he didn’t have anything to be confident about?
By now it was time for lunch, so he grabbed some bratwurst and sauerkraut at Big Brats and settled in at one of the café tables in the stone courtyard adjacent to the popular sausage stand. This was a perfect day for outside dining. The sun warmed his back and a mountain breeze worked as a counterbalance to keep him from getting too hot. A cloudless sky provided a blue backdrop for the mountains.
During weekends the eating area was so crowded you had to take a number. Today, however, it was relatively quiet with only a few tables occupied.
Ed York, who owned D’Vine Wines, and Pat Wilder, who owned Mountain Escape Books, sauntered across the street to place an order. They stopped by Jonathan’s table to say hello but didn’t ask him to join them. No surprise. Pat and Ed had a thing going.
According to Jonathan’s mom, Ed had been interested in Pat ever since he moved to Icicle Falls and opened his wine shop. But Pat had been mourning a husband and wasn’t remotely interested. It looked like that was changing now. Watching Ed’s romantic success kept the small flame of hope alive in Jonathan. Maybe, if a guy hung in there long enough, getting the woman of his dreams could become a reality.
Or maybe the guy was just wasting his life dreaming. Jonathan crumpled his napkin. Time to get back to work.
His next client was Gerhardt Geissel, who owned and ran Gerhardt’s Gasthaus with his wife, Ingrid. Gerhardt was a short, husky, fifty-something man with gray hair and a round, florid face. He loved his wife’s German cooking, loved his beer and was proud to celebrate his Tyrolean heritage by wearing lederhosen when he played the alpenhorn for his guests first thing every morning.
He played it even when he didn’t have guests. Recently he’d gotten carried away celebrating his birthday and had decided to serenade his dinner guests after having one too many beers and had fallen off the ledge of the balcony outside the dining room. He’d fallen about twelve feet but fortunately had broken his arm instead of his back.
“Jonathan, wie geht’s?” he greeted Jonathan, raising his cast-encased arm as Ingrid showed Jonathan into his office. “I hope you are here to solve all my problems.”
“That is an impossible task,” said his wife.
Gerhardt made a face. “See how she loves me.”
His wife made a face right back at him and left. But she returned a few minutes later with a piece of Black Forest cake for Jonathan. “You’re too skinny,” she informed him. “You need to eat more.”
“You need a wife to cook for you,” her husband added.
“My youngest niece, Mary, lives just over in Wenatchee, and she’s very pretty,” Ingrid said.
“And very stupid.” Gerhardt shook his head in disgust. “Jonathan’s smart. He needs a smart woman.”
“Mary is smart,” Ingrid insisted. “She just makes bad choices.”
“Well, uh, thanks,” Jonathan said. “I appreciate the offer.” Sometimes he wondered if everyone in Icicle Falls over the age of fifty wanted to match him up.
Heck, it wasn’t only the older people. Even his sister had been known to take a hand, trying to introduce him to the latest someone she’d met and was sure would be perfect for him. Of course, those someones never were.
Gerhardt’s computer problem was simple enough. Jonathan reloaded his operating system and he was done.
“You’d better get out of here before my wife comes back with Mary’s phone number,” Gerhardt advised after he’d written Jonathan a check.
Good idea. Jonathan left by the side door.
After leaving Gerhardt, he fit in two more clients and then headed home.
May’s late-afternoon sun beamed its blessing on his three-bedroom log house at the end of Mountain View Road as he drove up. He’d originally planned for two bedrooms, but his folks had talked him into the extra one. “You have to have room for a wife and children,” his mother had said. Good old Mom, always hopeful.
Fir and pine trees gave the house its rustic setting, while the pansies and begonias his mother and sister had put in the window boxes and the patch of lawn edged with more flowers added a homey touch. Someone pulling up in front might even think a woman lived there. They’d be wrong. The only female in this house had four legs.
But Jonathan often pictured the house with a wife and kids in it—the wife (a pretty blonde, naturally) cooking dinner while he and the kids played video games. He could see himself as an old man, sitting on the porch, playing chess with a grandson on the set he’d carved himself. The house would’ve, naturally, passed on to his own son, keeping the property in the family.
His grandpa had purchased this land as an investment when it was nothing more than a mountain meadow. Gramps could have made a tidy profit selling it, but instead he’d let Jonathan have it for a song when Jonathan turned twenty-five.
He’d started building his house when he was twenty-seven. A cousin who worked in construction in nearby Yakima had come over and helped him and Dad. Dad hadn’t lived to see it finished. He’d had a heart attack just before the roof went on, leaving Jonathan on his own to finish both his house and his life.
Jonathan had become the man of the family, in charge of helping his mom, his grandmother and his sister cope. He’d been no help to his widowed grandmother, who had tried to outrun her loss by moving to Arizona. He hadn’t been much help to his mom, either, beyond setting her up with a computer program so she could manage her finances. He’d tried to help Julia cope but he’d barely been able to cope himself. He should never have let Dad do all that hard physical work.
“Don’t be silly,” his mother always said. “Your father could just as easily have died on the golf course. He was doing what he wanted to do, helping you.”
Helping his son be manly. The house was probably the one endeavor of Jonathan’s that his father took pride in. It wasn’t hard to figure out what kind of son Dad had really longed for. He’d never missed an Icicle Falls High football game, whether at home or away. How many times had he sat in the stands and wished his scrawny son was out there on the field or at least on the bench instead of playing in the band? Jonathan was glad that he had no idea.
“I love you, son,” Dad had said when they were loading him into the ambulance. Those were the last words Jonathan heard and he was thankful for them. But he often found himself wishing his dad had said he was proud of him.
As he pulled up in his yellow Volkswagen with Geek Gods Computer Services printed on the side, his dog, Chica, abandoned her spot on the front porch and raced down the stairs to greet him, barking a welcome. Chica was an animal-shelter find, part shepherd, part Lab and part...whatever kind of dog had a curly tail. She’d been with Jonathan for five years and she thought he was a god (and didn’t care if he was a geek).
He got out of the car and the dog started jumping like she had springs on her paws. It was nice to have some female go crazy over him. “Hey, girl,” he greeted her. “We’ll get some dinner and then play fetch.”
He exchanged his slacks for the comfort of his old baggy jeans, and his business shirt for a T-shirt sporting a nerdy pun that cautioned Don’t Drink and Derive. Then, after a feast of canned spaghetti for Jonathan and some Doggy’s Delight for Chica, it was time for a quick game of fetch. It had to be quick because tonight was Friday, poker night, and the guys would be coming over at seven. Poker, another manly pursuit. Dad would have been proud.
* * *
The first to arrive was his pal Kyle Long. Kyle and Jonathan had been friends since high school. They’d both been members of the chess club and had shared an addiction to old sci-fi movies and video games.
Kyle didn’t exactly fit his name. He was short. His hair was a lighter shade than Jonathan’s dark brown—nothing spectacular, rather like his face.
His ordinary face didn’t bug him nearly as much as his lack of stature. “Women don’t look at short guys,” he often grumbled. And short guys who (like Jonathan) weren’t so confident and quick with the flattery—well, they really didn’t get noticed, even by girls their own height. This had been a hard cross to bear in high school when it seemed that every girl Kyle liked chose some giant basketball player over him. These days the competition wore a different type of uniform, the one worn to the office, but his frustration level remained the same.
The grumpy expression on his face tonight said it all before he so much as opened his mouth. “What’s with chicks, anyway?” he demanded as he set a six-pack of Hale’s Ale on Jonathan’s counter.
If Jonathan knew that, he’d be married to the woman of his dreams by now. He shrugged.
“Okay, so Darrow looks like friggin’ Ryan Reynolds.”
Ted Darrow, Kyle’s nemesis. “And drives a Jag,” Jonathan supplied. Darrow was also Kyle’s boss, which put him higher up the ladder of success, always a sexy attribute.
“But he’s the world’s biggest ass-wipe,” Kyle said with a scowl. “I don’t know what Jillian sees in him.”
Jonathan knew. Like called to like. Beautiful people naturally gravitated to one another. He had seen Jillian when he’d gone to Kyle’s company, Safe Hands Insurance, to install their new computer system. As the receptionist, it had been her job to greet him and he’d seen right away why his friend was smitten. She was hot, with supermodel-long legs. Women like that went for the Ted Darrows of the world.
Or the Rand Burwells.
Jonathan shoved that last thought out of his mind. “Hey, you might as well give up. You’re not gonna get her.” It was hard to say that to his best friend, but friends didn’t let friends drive themselves crazy over women who were out of their league. Kyle would do the same for him—if he knew Jonathan had suffered a relapse last Christmas and had once again picked up the torch for his own perfect dream girl. The road to crazy was a clogged thoroughfare these days.
Kyle heaved a discouraged sigh. “Yeah.” He pulled an opener out of a kitchen drawer and popped the top off one of the bottles. “It’s just that, well, damn. If she looked my way for longer than two seconds, she’d see I’m twice the man Darrow is.”
“I hear you,” Jonathan said, and opened a bag of corn chips, setting them alongside the beer.
Next in the door was Bernardo Ruiz, who came bearing some of his wife’s homemade salsa. Bernardo was happily married and owned a small orchard outside town, in which he took great pride. He wasn’t much taller than Kyle, but he swaggered like he was six feet.
“Who died?” he asked, looking from one friend to the other.
“Nobody,” Kyle snapped.
Bernardo eyed him suspiciously. “You mooning around over that bimbo at work again?”
“She’s not a bimbo,” Kyle said irritably.
Bernardo shook his head in disgust. “Little man, you are a fool to chase after a woman who doesn’t want you. That kind of a woman, she’ll only make you feel small on the inside.”
Any reference to being small, either on the inside or outside, never went over well with Kyle, so it was probably a good thing that Adam Edwards arrived with more beer and chips. A sales rep for a pharmaceutical company, he earned more than Jonathan and Kyle put together and had the toys to prove it—a big house on the river, a classic Corvette, a snowmobile and a beach house on the Washington coast. He also had a pretty little wife, which proved Jonathan’s theory of like calling to like, since Adam was tall and broad-shouldered and looked as though he belonged in Hollywood instead of Icicle Falls. Some guys had all the luck.
“Vance’ll be late,” Adam informed them. “He has to finish up something and says to go ahead and start without him.”
Vance Fish, the newest member of their group, was somewhere in his fifties, which made him the senior member. He’d built a big house on River Road about a mile down from Adam’s place. The two men had bonded over fishing lures, and Adam had invited him to join their poker group.
Although Vance claimed to be semiretired, he was always working. He owned a bookstore in Seattle called Emerald City Books. He’d recently started selling Sweet Dreams Chocolates there, making himself popular with the Sterling family, who owned the company.
He dressed like he was on his last dime, usually in sweats or jeans and an oversize black T-shirt that hung clumsily over his double-XL belly, but his fancy house was proof that Vance was doing okay.
“That means we won’t see him for at least an hour,” Kyle predicted.
“What kind of project?” Bernardo wondered. “Is he building something over there in that fine house of his? I never seen no tools or workbench in his garage.”
“It has to do with the bookstore,” Adam said. “I don’t know what.”
“Well, all the better for me,” Kyle said gleefully. “I’ll have you guys fleeced by the time he gets here.” He rubbed his hands together. “I’m feeling lucky tonight.”
He proved it by raking in their money.
“Bernardo, you should just empty your pockets on the table as soon as you get here,” Adam joked. “I’ve never seen anybody so unlucky at cards.”
“That’s because I’m lucky in love,” Bernardo insisted.
His remark wiped the victory smirk right off Kyle’s face. “Chicks,” he muttered.
“If you’re going where I think you’re going, don’t,” Adam said, frowning at him.
“What?” Kyle protested.
Adam pointed his beer bottle at Kyle. “If I hear one more word about Jillian, I’m gonna club you with this.”
“Oh, no,” said a deep voice. “I thought you clowns would be done talking about women by now.”
Jonathan turned to see Vance strolling into the room, stylish as ever in his favorite black T-shirt, baggy jeans and sandals. In honor of the occasion he hadn’t shaved. Aside from the extra pounds (well, and that bald spot on the top of his head), he wasn’t too bad-looking. His sandy hair was shot with gray but he had the craggy brow and strong jaw women seemed to like even in a big man. They were wasted on Vance; he wasn’t interested. “Been there, done that,” he often said.
“We’re finished talking about women,” Adam assured him.
Vance clapped him on the back. “Glad to hear it, ’cause the last thing I want after a hard day’s work is to listen to you losers crab about them.”
“I wasn’t crabbing,” Kyle said, looking sullen.
Vance sat down at the table. “It’s that babe where you work, isn’t it? She got your jockeys tight again?” Kyle glared at him, but Vance waved off his anger with a pudgy paw. “You know, women can sense desperation a mile away. It’s a turnoff.”
“And I guess you’d be an expert on what turns women off,” Adam teased.
“There isn’t a man on this planet who’s an expert on anything about women. And if you meet one who says he is, he’s lying. Now, let’s play poker.” Vance eyed the pile of chips in front of Kyle. “You need to be relieved of some of those, my friend.”
“I think not,” Kyle said, and the game began in earnest.
After an hour and a half, Vance announced that he had to tap a kidney.
“I need some chips and salsa,” Adam said, and everyone took a break.
“Did you get the announcement in the mail?” Kyle asked Jonathan.
No, not this again.
“What announcement?” Adam asked.
“High school reunion,” Kyle said. “Fifteen years.”
Jonathan had gotten the cutesy little postcard with the picture of a grizzly bear, the Icicle Falls High mascot, lumbering across one corner. And of course, the first thing he’d thought was, maybe Lissa will come. That had taken his spirits on a hot-air balloon ride. Until he’d had another thought. You’ll still be the Invisible Man. That had brought the balloon back down.
“Yeah, I got it,” he said. “I’m not going.”
But Rand probably would. Rand and Lissa, together again.
Now his balloon ride was not only over, the balloon was in a swamp infested with alligators. And poker night was a bust.
Just like his love life.
Chapter Two
Poker night hadn’t ended well for Kyle. Vance, the old buzzard, had picked him clean. And that set the tone for the weekend.
Saturday was nothing but chores and errands. He filled the evening playing War on Planet X with a bunch of online gamers, which left him feeling unsatisfied. He was getting too old for this crap. He needed more in his life. It seemed like everybody was getting paired up but him.
He was even more aware of this fact when he went over to his folks’ house for Sunday dinner and learned that his baby sister had gotten engaged. Of course he’d seen it coming for months and he was happy for her. But now it was official—he was the last of the three siblings left unattached. And Kerrie was four years younger, which didn’t help. Neither did remarks like, “We have to find somebody for Kyle.” He didn’t need his baby sister finding someone for him.
He’d found someone. All he had to do was make her realize he was the man for her.
Well, the weekend was over and it was a new day. TGIM—Thank God It’s Monday. He walked through the glass doors of Safe Hands Insurance Company and into the lobby with its modern paintings, the strategically placed metal sculpture of two giant hands stretched out in a gesture of insurance paternalism, and plants that looked like they’d escaped from an African jungle. He kept his eyes front and center, because there, straight ahead, was the receptionist’s desk.
Behind it sat a vision. Jillian. She had long, reddish-blond hair that she tossed over her shoulder when she talked, full, glossy lips he dreamed of kissing, a perfect nose and sky-blue eyes. Blind sky-blue eyes. One of these days she was going to see him, really see him. Maybe even this morning.
He sure saw everything about her. Today she was wearing a white blouse that plunged in a V pointing to her breasts—as if a man needed any help finding them—and she’d worn a necklace made up of glass baubles to fill the gap between neck and heaven. She’d tucked her hair behind her ears, showing off dangly earrings that matched the necklace. She had a funny little habit of tapping her pencil on the desk as she talked on the phone, which she was doing now. The call only lasted a moment. She pushed a button and sent the caller on, probably to one of the bosses. Such an efficient woman.
Now she smiled as she caught sight of him walking down the hall in his gray slacks and his white Oxford shirt, his hair slicked into the latest style (at least according to the new barber he’d gone to at Sweeney Todd Barbershop—the one highlight of his weekend). He puffed out his chest and donned his best smile. He did have a good smile; even his sisters said so.
Oh, man, look at the way her eyes lit up at the sight of him. It was the hair, had to be. He forced his chest to swell to its fullest capacity.
Look at that smile. She had a great smile and she used it a lot. When a woman smiled a lot, it meant she was happy and easygoing. That was exactly the kind of woman Kyle wanted.
He was almost at her desk when he realized they weren’t making eye contact. She was looking beyond him.
Then he heard a rich tenor voice behind him say, “Jillian, you’re especially beautiful this fine morning.”
Ted Darrow, the ass-wipe. Kyle’s supervisor. Kyle could feel his smile shrinking even as he shrank inside. He mumbled a hello to Jillian and slunk by her desk.
“Hi,” she said absently as he passed. Then for Ted it was a sexy, “Hi, Ted.”
“Hi, Ted,” Kyle mimicked under his breath as he strode to his cubicle. Jillian shouldn’t waste her breath saying hello to that fathead. Men like that, they flirted with women, they used women, but they didn’t appreciate women. Kyle flung himself into his chair with a growl.
“Starting the day off well, I see,” said a soft voice from the cubicle next door.
Unlike some people, Mindy Wright always had the decency to acknowledge his existence. It didn’t make him feel any better, though. Mindy was no Jillian.
“Hi, Mindy.” His hello probably sounded grudging, so he added, “How was your weekend?”
“Well, it was interesting.”
Mindy had been trolling the internet for her perfect match. So far she’d hauled in a truck driver who was ten years older than she was and about forty pounds heavier than he’d looked in his picture on the dating site, a man who claimed to be a churchgoer but hadn’t gone in two—okay, make it five—years, a shrink who Mindy said was the most screwed-up person she’d ever had dinner with and someone who’d seemed like a great catch until she learned he had no job. “And he wasn’t planning on finding one anytime soon, either,” Mindy had confessed. “He’s writing a book.”
“Oh, well, that’s good,” Kyle had said, trying to put a positive spin on the latest loser.
“About mushrooms.”
“Bound to be a bestseller.”
That had made her laugh. Kyle made Mindy laugh a lot. If only he could work up his nerve to ask Jillian out. He was sure he could make her laugh, too. But so far, his attempts to get her attention had all been thwarted.
Shakespeare had it right. The course of true love never did run smooth. For Kyle, it seemed to run into nothing but dead ends.
At least Mindy was getting some action. “So, who’d you go out with this weekend?” he asked.
“No one I want to keep, that’s for sure. I think I’m done looking.”
“Hey, you can’t give up. Your perfect man may be right around the next corner.”
“The next internet corner?” She peeked around the cubicle wall, a grin on her face.
It was an okay face, fringed with dark hair and decorated with glasses, a turned-up little nose that made him think of Drew Barrymore and a small chin that seemed to sport a zit once a month. (What was with that, anyway?) As for the bod, well, not a ten like Jillian. Still, she was pretty nice. Someone would want her.
“Yeah,” he said. “The next internet corner. Or maybe at the Red Barn.” If you wanted cold beer and hot music, that was the place to go.
She shook her head. “I haven’t gone there in a long time.” Then she disappeared back behind the cubicle wall.
“Why’s that?” he asked, booting up his computer.
“Too much competition.”
“I know what you mean.” Funny how the walls of an office cubicle could make you feel like you were in a confessional, willing to say things you wouldn’t share face-to-face. Not that he’d been in the confessional for a while.
Maybe he needed to spend some time there. And maybe he should be talking to God more. God saw him, even if Jillian didn’t. Maybe God would consider working a miracle and opening Jillian’s eyes. At the rate things were going here at Safe Hands, improving her eyesight was going to take a miracle.
* * *
It was nine o’clock and time for Jonathan’s morning ritual. He grabbed his bowl of cereal with sliced banana and turned on the TV to a station in Oregon. “Barely made it in time,” he told Chica, who’d settled on the couch beside him. “We shouldn’t have taken such a long walk.”
Her only response to that was a big yawn.
“You know, you’ve got a bad attitude,” he said.
She let out a bark.
“And you’re jealous,” he added, making her whine. He put an arm around her and gave her head a good rub. “But I’ll keep you, anyway.”
The commercial for laser skin treatment ended and Chica was forgotten as an image of the city of Portland came on the screen, accompanied by perky music. A disembodied voice called out, “Good morning, Oregon!”
Then there she was—trim, blonde and beautiful—seated at a couch in a fake living room next to a gray-haired guy wearing slacks and an expensive shirt.
Scott Lawrence. Jonathan frowned at the sight of him. Media guys, they were just too smooth. Now who’s jealous?
He was, of course. Talk about stupid. In order to be jealous of other men, you first had to be with the woman. Jonathan was not with Lissa Castle, never had been.
“Well, Lissa, I’m sure your weekend was stellar,” Scott said to her.
“Yes, it was.” She had such a sweet voice, so full of cheer and kindness. Lissa had always been kind.
“Did you have a hot date?” Scott teased. “What am I saying? Of course you had a hot date.”
She neither denied nor confirmed, just sat in her leather chair and smiled like the Mona Lisa in a pink blouse.
Which meant she’d had a hot date, Jonathan deduced miserably.
Her cohost turned to face the camera. “Speaking of dates, some of you out there in our viewing audience might be doing internet dating and finding it frustrating.”
“It can be stressful when it comes time to meet that other person off-line,” Lissa said. “And that’s why I know you’re going to appreciate our first guest this morning, who’ll be sharing tips with us on how to transition from online to face time.”
Sometimes even face time didn’t win a girl, Jonathan thought sadly, not when the girl was out of a guy’s league.
He’d been in love with Lissa ever since he’d discovered girls. In fact, Lissa had been the first girl he discovered when she moved in next door at the age of nine. They’d become pals, which was great when he was nine. But as they got older and she got even prettier, Jonathan began to look beyond the borders of friendship.
He wasn’t the only one. During high school, his friend Rand took a new interest in Lissa once she became a cheerleader. And she was interested right back.
Hardly surprising, since Rand was the cool one. When they were kids, everyone had fought over Rand while picking teams for playground softball games. In high school he’d been captain of the football team. The boys all wanted to be his bud and the girls all looked at him like he was a free trip to Disneyland.
As for Jonathan, he was captain of...the chess team, and hardly any girls looked at him at all. Not that he’d wanted any girl but Lissa.
No matter what he’d done, though, he couldn’t win her interest. She always thought of him simply as her good friend.
He’d wanted to be more. When they were juniors, in the hopes of getting her to see him in a new way, he’d sneaked into Icicle Falls High early on Valentine’s Day and taped a hundred red paper hearts to her locker.
But she’d thought Rand had done it. Rand happily took the credit and took Lissa to the junior prom. And Jonathan took a swing at Rand. And that was the end of their friendship.
But not the end of Rand and Lissa. They were an item clear through senior year.
As for Jonathan, he wasn’t an item with anyone. He’d tried, gone out with a few girls as desperate as he was, but every time he’d closed his eyes and kissed a girl he’d seen Lissa.
After everyone graduated and scattered he still saw her on holidays when she was in town visiting her parents and he was over at his folks’ next door. Once in a while they’d talk. He’d say brilliant things like, “How’s it going?” and she’d ask him questions like, “Anyone special in your life yet?” He’d never had the guts to say, “There’s been someone special in my life since I was nine.”
When his dad died, she’d sent him a card telling him how sorry she was. Mostly, though, she just waved to him while hurrying down her front walk to catch up with girlfriends. He’d tried not to see when she left on the arm of the latest local whose attention she’d captured.
A couple of summers ago, he’d seen her when she came home to surprise her mom for her birthday. He’d been at his mom’s, up on a ladder painting the side of the house, when she called a cheery hello from next door.
He’d almost lost his balance at the sound of her voice.
“Jonathan Templar, paint specialist. And I thought you were only a computer genius,” she’d teased from the other side of the hedge that ran between their houses.
He’d had a perfect view of her from his perch on the ladder and the view was great. She’d looked like a cover girl for a summer issue of some women’s magazine in her pink top and white shorts.
“That, too,” he’d said, then asked, “Are you in town for long?”
“Only the weekend.”
He knew what that meant. This moment was all he’d have with her.
“We’ve got Mom’s big birthday dinner tonight. Then brunch tomorrow and then I’ve got to get back to Portland. I don’t think I’ll even have time to bake you any cookies. How sad is that?” Before he could answer, her cell phone had rung. “I know, I’m on my way,” she’d said, and ended the call. “I’m late, as usual,” she’d said to Jonathan. “I’d better get going. Good to see you, Jonathan. You look great.” Then she’d hurried off down her front walk, her long, blond hair swinging.
That hadn’t been the only thing swinging. Watching her hips as she walked away had been hypnotic, addictive. And dumb.
Jonathan had leaned over to keep her in view just a little longer and lost his balance. With a startled cry, he’d grabbed for the ladder but only succeeded in bringing the bucket of paint down on himself as he fell, turning him blue from head to toe. A one-man Blue Man Group act.
He’d bruised his hip in the process, but his ego had taken an even bigger hit when Lissa came running to where he’d fallen. “Jonathan, are you okay?”
He’d been far from okay. He’d been mortified, his face probably red under the blue paint. But he’d said, “Oh, yeah. No problem. I’m fine.”
Then his mom had come out and started fussing over him and that had been the final humiliation. He’d tried to wash his clothes and turned his underwear baby blue, and it had taken him days to get the last of the paint off. Bits of it stubbornly lingered under his fingernails to remind him of what a dork he was. Well, that and the blue undies.
Lissa did find time to bake him cookies. She’d dropped them by his place on her way out of town.
He’d tried to play it cool by leaning one hand against the door frame but had missed the mark and nearly lost his balance. Again.
She’d pretended not to notice. “I just stopped by to make sure you didn’t break anything.”
“Naw, I’m fine.” His briefs were another story, but he wisely kept that bit of information to himself.
“That’s good,” she said, handing over the paper plate of goodies. “But if you had broken something, I’d have signed your cast.”
Would you have kissed it and made it all better? That had been an unusually clever remark. Too bad he hadn’t thought of it until she was long gone. But even if he had, he’d have never gotten up the nerve to say it. Instead, he’d said, “Then I’d have to save the cast ’cause your signature will probably be valuable someday.”
That had made her smile and making her smile had made his day.
“See you soon,” she’d called as she got in her car.
“Yeah, see you,” he’d called back.
And he had ever since, every day on TV. He’d liked her on Facebook, too, not that she’d noticed. It wasn’t much, but it was all he had and it was better than nothing. Barely.
“I wonder if she’s coming to the reunion,” he mused.
Next to him Chica whined.
“Yeah, you’re right, what does it matter?” Jonathan muttered. These days she was way too busy to hang out with nerdy guys she’d hung with as a kid. And if he went to the reunion, history would repeat itself and the high school hunks would squeeze him out.
He listened as the guest expert talked about how to make a first date with an internet match-up successful. If only there was an expert out there who could help a guy have a successful encounter with a woman he’d known all his life.
“I can’t keep just seeing her this way,” he said to Chica. “And I can’t go on doing nothing. She won’t stay single forever.”
As if, when she finally walked down the aisle, it would be to him! “You’re dreaming,” he told himself.
Well, so what if he was? A man needed dreams, needed to think big. Go big or go home.
Oh, yeah. He was already home. Forget about it, he advised himself.
The morning show ended and Jonathan turned off the TV, leaving Chica in charge of yard patrol and napping, and then got in his car and drove down the long, gravel road toward town. He passed a few large lots with big houses on them, but mostly here, in his neck of the woods, the land remained dense with trees and brush.
He liked it that way. Jonathan Templar, rugged mountain man. Well, mountain man, anyway.
The town itself looked picturesque on this sunny morning. The window boxes and hanging planters that decorated the quaint Bavarian-style buildings overflowed with red geraniums and pink and white begonias. And with the mountains rising up behind, he could almost believe he was somewhere in the German Alps. A few people were stirring, some running errands, some visiting, others sweeping off the sidewalks in front of their shops.
It sure wasn’t New York or Seattle but that was okay with Jonathan. Icicle Falls was perfect the way it was. Who would want to live anywhere else?
Lissa Castle, that was who. Would she ever give up her TV career and move back to Icicle Falls? Probably not. Would he say goodbye to this beautiful place and follow her wherever her career led? In a heartbeat, if only she’d ask him.
Even a man caught in the net of unrequited love had to think about other things once in a while. Jonathan parked his car on Center Street and turned his mind to business.
He had plenty to keep him busy the rest of the morning, so busy in fact that he wound up working clear through lunch. He found himself with twenty minutes to kill before he had to be at Mountain Escape Books to work on Pat Wilder’s computer, so he decided to duck into Bavarian Brews for a quick pick-me-up.
The aroma of coffee kissed his taste buds as he walked in. Yes, he was probably going to go a million years without sex, might never connect with the woman of his dreams, but at least he had coffee.
Coffee. Sex. Was there really any comparison? Jonathan frowned at the thought of what he was settling for in life.
Cecily Sterling came in right behind him. “Hi, Jonathan. You need a caffeine fix, too?” she asked as they got in line to place their orders.
“Yeah,” he said, showing off his suave to the most beautiful woman in Icicle Falls. Jonathan Templar, lady killer.
He was racking his brain to come up with something clever to say when Todd Black, who had just entered the coffee shop, stepped confidently into the conversation. “By this time of day, who doesn’t need a hit?”
Cecily rolled her eyes at him. “You make it sound like you’ve been up for hours.”
Todd owned the Man Cave, a tavern on the edge of town. He kept late hours and so was bound to sleep late.
“I was up early this morning doing the books. Not easy after a hard day’s night.”
“I’m sure you work very hard watching over your kingdom of Kahlua,” she sneered.
“It’s not a bad kingdom. By the way, Kahlua and chocolate go well together. Bring me some more of yours and I’ll prove it.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
Jonathan had been standing in line behind Cecily, but somehow Todd managed to cut in front of him. He watched with a mixture of irritation and envy as Todd leaned in close to her and said, “One of these days you’re going to watch some sappy movie where the couple is dancing real slow and you’re going to remember my offer to give you a tango lesson.”
She shook her head and moved away a step. He closed the distance.
Oh, this was a master in action. Jonathan eavesdropped shamelessly.
“Or you’re going to get an urge to come check out the action on my pinball machine. You said you were good but so far you haven’t proved it.”
“I don’t have to prove anything to you.” She turned to look at him and they almost brushed lips.
“You’re invading my space,” she said, frowning.
“I bet that’s not all I’m invading. How you sleeping these days, Cecily? Do you get hot? Throw off the covers?”
Her cheeks went pink. “I sleep fine, thanks.” She took two giant steps away and placed her order, leaving Todd with a confident smirk on his face.
Jenni, the barista, whipped up Cecily’s coconut mocha latte and set it on the counter, but Cecily chose that moment to send a text on her cell phone. Todd’s drink order came up and she put away her phone and picked up her to-go cup. They stood trading words that, Jonathan suspected, had secret messages attached, then, with her cheeks even pinker, she left the coffee shop. Todd watched her go, smiling like a man who’d just landed a fish and was now contemplating how he’d cook it.
Speaking of cooking, there’d been enough current zipping back and forth between those two to light the giant fir tree in the town square at Christmas and the rest of the town, too. How did guys like Todd manage to stir up a woman’s hormones with nothing more than a few well-chosen words? Jonathan wished he knew.
The only way to find out was to ask.
Todd was about to saunter out the door. Jonathan grabbed his drink and hurried after him. “Uh, Todd. Can I ask you something?”
Todd turned, an easy smile on his face, his brows raised. “Sure. What?”
“How do you do that?”
The brows knit. “Do what?”
Okay, maybe he didn’t want to have this conversation in the middle of Bavarian Brews. He opened the door and motioned that they should go out on the street. Once outside he wasn’t sure how to frame his question.
“What’s on your mind, computer man?” Todd prompted him.
“I was watching you with Cecily. You’re smooth.”
Todd shrugged and took a drink of coffee.
“How do you do it? How do you know what to say?”
“I just say what comes into my head.” Todd watched Cecily running across the street toward Sweet Dreams. “She likes being chased. But you know what? She’s about ready to let me catch her, and she’s going to like getting caught even more.” The smile on his face oozed confidence.
Well, Jonathan would have confidence, too, if he looked like Johnny Depp’s kid brother. He realized he was frowning. He probably looked like a pitiful loser.
“Woman troubles?” Todd guessed.
“Always.”
“Yeah, well, women and trouble go together.” He clapped Jonathan on the back. “But you’ve got to hang in there. Never give up. That’s what Winston Churchill said, and he saved England in World War II.”
Jonathan nodded and trudged off down the street. Winston Churchill only had to save England. Jonathan wanted to win Lissa Castle. And he didn’t look like Todd Black.
He was halfway to the bookstore when he saw Tina Swift coming down the sidewalk from the other direction. Tina was recently divorced and had half the men in town sniffing after her. Hardly surprising, considering how cute she was.
Cute and stuck-up. She’d been in his class, a cheerleader and a member of the top social tier at Icicle Falls High. She’d never paid any attention to Jonathan then or in the twelve years after graduation. It was only once she’d opened a shop that sold imported lace and china three years ago and needed someone to design a website that she’d remembered his existence.
Now she’d spotted him and was smiling as if they were buds, which meant she wanted something. And it sure wasn’t a date.
Jonathan pretended not to see and crossed the street.
Undeterred, she called his name and ran after him.
Okay, he gave up. He stopped.
She hardly allowed him time to say a self-conscious hello before asking, “Did you get your reunion invitation?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“I hope you put the date on the calendar.”
“Well,” he began.
She didn’t let him finish. “It’s going to be even better than the ten-year. We’ve already heard from a ton of people. Cam Gordon...”
Football fathead and snob. There’s someone I want to see.
“Feron Prince...”
The Prince of Darkness. He stuffed me in a locker when we were freshmen.
“Kyle Long. He was a friend of yours, wasn’t he?”
“Still is.” And Jonathan didn’t need to go to the reunion to see him.
“I think Rand is coming.”
Which meant Jonathan wouldn’t be, for sure.
“Did you know he got married?”
Married? Jonathan smiled. “No.” So Rand was out of circulation. Well, well.
“Oh, and we just heard from Lissa Castle, our very own celebrity. She’s definitely coming.”
Rand was out of circulation and Lissa was coming. Was he imagining it or were the stars aligning? (Whatever that meant.) If he went to the reunion, he’d have a whole weekend of close proximity to Lissa. Maybe he could separate her from her adoring fans long enough to talk with her, impress her, maybe even dance with her. Except he couldn’t dance.
“Jonathan?”
Tina was looking at him, eyebrows raised.
He pulled himself back into the present. “What?”
“Like I just said, I was hoping you could help me out with a couple of things. We want a website for the reunion, and I thought maybe you wouldn’t mind making one. You do such good work. And you did a wonderful job designing the webpage for the chocolate festival.”
But that had been something he wanted to do. This, not so much.
“We could put a bunch of pictures from the yearbook up there, along with any current ones we get. Have a place for people to post. You know, that sort of thing.”
“You could just do that on Facebook,” he said, hoping to dodge this assignment.
“Oh, great idea! Could you do that, too?”
Wait a minute. He hadn’t said yes and already she’d doubled his work, and none of it was anything he would get paid for.
But how to say no to a pretty woman? Jonathan didn’t have a clue.
“Oh, please say yes. I need a tech wizard.”
“I guess I could.” What the heck. She was going to wear him down, anyway, and they both knew it.
He sighed inwardly. Now he could hear all about how successful his former classmates had been, see pictures of their wives and kids. Yuck.
Meanwhile, here was Tina, gushing away. “Fabulous! Thank you, Jonathan. You are just...”
A sucker.
“...the best.”
The best geek. Nothing wrong with being a geek, he reminded himself. It had worked fine for Bill Gates.
“I should get going,” Tina said. “I’m late for the committee meeting. But I’m so glad I ran into you.”
Yeah, him, too. Before he could say anything, sarcastic or otherwise, she was hurrying off down the sidewalk.
Jonathan continued on toward the bookstore, deep in thought. Lissa would be back for the reunion in August. Now that Rand was married, maybe he stood a chance of at least getting her attention for a few minutes.
Realistically, that was about all he’d get. She’d been way too popular, and practically everyone else would want to hang with her. Still, he and Lissa had known each other for years. Surely she’d want to visit with him, too.
But simply visiting wasn’t going to cut it. He had to figure out a way to shake things up, make an impression.
Hmm. Following that line of thought to its logical conclusion... If he wanted to make an impression, he had to come up with a plan.
His earlier conversation with Todd Black returned for a visit. You’ve got to hang in there.
He pulled his smartphone out of his jeans pocket and looked up Winston Churchill’s famous quote. “Never, never, never, never give up.” What chance did he have of winning Lissa’s love? About one in a million. If he didn’t even try? None.
He squared his shoulders. He was not going to give up. Somehow he was going to find a way to transform himself from zero to hero, find a way to make her see that her truest childhood friend could also be her truest love.
But how?
He needed a love coach.
Chapter Three
Adam was missing from the next Friday-night poker game. “He decided to stay up in Alaska for the weekend and fish after finishing his sales calls,” Jonathan explained to his fellow gamblers.
“Should be good salmon fishing on the Copper River about now,” said Vance. “Especially next week. I may have to take a run up there myself.”
“Going up to Alaska for a little fishing when the spirit moves you? Business must be great at the bookstore,” Kyle observed, his voice tinged with jealousy.
Vance shrugged. “It’s okay.”
With Vance’s lifestyle, it had to be doing more than okay. Vance didn’t talk about his business much. For that matter, he didn’t talk much about his life at all. Jonathan knew he’d been married and had a daughter, and that was about it. Maybe Vance had a rich uncle who died and left him a fortune. Maybe he was a Microsoft millionaire. Jonathan had no idea. When it came to sharing his personal life, Vance preferred to stick to topics such as his fishing adventures (especially the one that got away), how much he’d won or lost at the casino or his latest wine discovery.
“Okay,” Vance said, and started dealing the cards, “let’s get down to business. Five-card draw, jacks or better, to open.”
As they picked up their cards, Bernardo mused, “I don’t know how that boy can go off fishing on the weekend all the time. If I did that, my Anna would not be happy.”
“He’s already up there, anyway, since that’s part of his sales territory,” Kyle said, “so he may as well stay. I would.”
“You’re not married, amigo,” Bernardo reminded him.
That made Kyle frown. “Thanks for the update.”
“If a man wants to keep his woman happy he has to be around,” Bernardo continued.
Jonathan supposed Bernardo would know. He’d been married for fifteen years.
“Yeah, they like attention,” Vance agreed. “Lots of it. Another reason to stay single.”
“If I was with Jillian, I’d give her plenty of attention,” Kyle said.
Vance pointed a fat finger at him. “Don’t go there.”
Kyle frowned again and shoved two cards across the table. “I’ll take two.”
When Vance gave him two new ones, he was still frowning, but that probably had more to do with thoughts of Jillian than the cards he’d received.
Jonathan kept his thoughts about women in general and one woman in particular to himself. The last thing he wanted was Bernardo’s pity or Vance’s scorn. Let Kyle take that hit. Jonathan preferred to suffer in silence.
* * *
Saturday morning Jonathan attempted to ease his suffering by going with his sister, Juliet, to the library for the Friends of the Library monthly book sale.
A stranger seeing them enter the musty room in the library basement would never have taken them for siblings. Other than their hair color, they didn’t look at all alike. Juliet Gerard had big, brown eyes and perfect eyesight, where his gray eyes hid behind glasses. He had a long face, while she’d been blessed with a perfect oval like their mother’s. He was skinny and barely five foot eight; she was long-legged and stacked. She’d definitely gotten the looks in the family while he’d gotten the brains. Not that Juliet was stupid, but it quickly became apparent who the family genius was. In the world of kids, that wasn’t necessarily a blessing. When they were younger he’d often wished it was the other way around, but then he’d realized how unfair that would have been. Life was easier for a man who wasn’t all that attractive than it was for a woman. Theoretically.
Their lives were as different as their looks. Juliet was married and trying to get pregnant, a project that was taking much longer than expected. When she wasn’t working at that, she logged in part-time hours at Mountain Escape Books or met with her book club or hosted parties where all her friends had to buy candles or face goop. She was an awful cook, a good dancer and an avid romance reader. And her social calendar was always full.
Jonathan’s, on the other hand, had a lot of open space, and he was stuck in nonswinging single limbo. He couldn’t dance, but he could fix leaky pipes and install dimmer switches, something both his sis and his brother-in-law appreciated. Unlike Juliet, he read real fiction like action adventure or sci-fi/fantasy, and the monthly fund-raiser book sales gave him an opportunity to try out new authors.
He’d just scored big, finding a first edition of The Kingdom of Zoon, when Juliet, prowling the romance section a couple of bookshelves over, let out a squeal.
Hildy Johnson, who owned Johnson’s Drugs along with her husband, Nils, was standing next to her and already had several books in her basket, but she eyed Juliet’s find with envy. “Oh, Vanessa Valentine. I haven’t read that one.”
The woman was married and in her fifties. Why was she reading romance novels?
“I’ll lend it to you when I’m done,” Juliet promised.
Rita Reyes, who’d worked in the bar at Zelda’s restaurant, entered the room. She said a quick hi to Jonathan, then moved to join Juliet and Hildy in their treasure hunt. “I hope you haven’t taken all the good books.”
“We saved you a few,” Juliet assured her. “When’s Zelda’s going to open again?”
“Charley says by June.”
“I hope so,” Juliet said. “I miss those huckleberry martinis.”
“And I miss working there.” Rita sighed. “I’ll be so glad when we’re up and running again.”
A fire in December had forced the restaurant to close; it was now in the process of being rebuilt. Zelda’s was a popular place in town for both families and singles wanting to mix and match. Jonathan hadn’t gone there much.
Rita pointed to the book in Juliet’s hand. “I love that one. James Noble is the perfect man.”
The perfect man, huh? A character made up by a woman? Oh, brother.
“Look! Here’s Surrender,” Rita said, pulling a paperback off a shelf. “I love this book.”
A war novel in the romance section? Jonathan edged closer and sneaked a peek. He saw no scene of carnage on the cover, no white flag being raised—only a woman in a low-cut dress and some muscle-bound guy in tights and a shirt he forgot to button doing a back bend over the kind of fancy bed no man would want to sleep in. Looking at the way the guy was holding her made Jonathan’s back hurt.
“Oh, my gosh, me, too,” agreed Juliet. “There’s a hero to die for. I love the scene where he throws himself in front of her and gets stabbed.”
“And how often does that happen in real life?” Jonathan scoffed under his breath.
The women stared at him as if he’d uttered blasphemy.
Juliet raised a delicate eyebrow. “Probably as often as a giant bubble floats to earth and gives magical powers to the first fool who touches it.”
Rita snickered and Jonathan, properly chastised and feeling like he’d stuck his face in a firepit, moved to a safer corner of the room and perused the home improvement section.
Turning his back on Juliet and her fellow romance junkies didn’t shield his ears from their conversation.
“Men,” Rita said disgustedly. “Maybe if they read a few romance novels they’d learn something.”
“Nils could stand to learn a few things,” Hildy said. “Especially in the bedroom,” she added in a conspiratorial whisper that carried across the small, now quiet—since everyone was eavesdropping—room.
Balding, scrawny Nils and Brunhilda Hildy in the bedroom together. That was T.M.I. to the max.
“Oh, they all think they’re such good lovers.” Rita rolled her eyes. Rita was divorced. Obviously, her man hadn’t measured up. “If I found a man who could make love like the heroes in those books, I’d take him to bed in a heartbeat.”
“If a man really wanted to be a good lover, he should read these books,” Hildy continued in her stage whisper.
Rita nodded. “That would guarantee he’d get lucky.”
The women finished making their selections. As they went to pay for their books, two gray-haired men and a teenage boy stampeded to the romance section.
Jonathan paid for his book and then left the room with Juliet, who was now wearing a superior smirk.
“Pathetic,” Jonathan muttered.
“You shouldn’t knock romance novels if you haven’t read them,” she said as they walked out of the library and turned toward Bavarian Brews for their ritual post-shopping coffee.
“I guess,” he said. “But they all seem so, I don’t know, unrealistic.” He held up a hand before Juliet could give him another verbal smackdown. “Yes, neither are my sci-fi/fantasy books. But I know they’re improbable. And at least sci-fi has real science at its roots.”
“And my romance novels have real life at their roots,” Juliet argued. “They’re all about men and women falling in love and working out their problems. People do that every day. And you know what I like best about them? They all have happy endings.” Juliet’s smile vanished. “Sometimes a woman needs a break from real life and a little encouragement.”
His sister was always upbeat. To see her expression suddenly cloudy was disturbing. “Everything okay with you and Neil?” He hated to ask, not because he didn’t care, but because female emotions were scary. He’d tried his best to comfort her when their dad died but had felt hopelessly inadequate.
Right now she was looking at him with teary eyes that made him uneasy. He’d rather face the dragon of Zoon than a woman’s tears.
“I’m never going to get pregnant,” she said.
“You should stop taking those pregnancy tests, Jules.” He got that she wanted a baby, but agonizing over the fact that she wasn’t pregnant probably wasn’t helping.
As if he knew what would or wouldn’t help. She should be talking to Mom, not him. How’d they gotten on this conversational track, anyway? Oh, yeah. Romance novels.
“Well, thanks. That was comforting,” she snapped.
He slung an arm around her. “Hey, sorry. But seriously, stop stressing. It’ll happen.” Dr. Jonathan Templar, fertility expert. Oh, brother.
“Maybe it won’t,” she said in a small voice.
Now he really didn’t know what to say. Don’t give up? Yeah, that’d make her feel better. You’ve got someone who loves you? True but not what she wanted to hear. The only thing she wanted to hear was, “You’re pregnant.”
He shook his head. “Life sucks sometimes.”
Amazingly, that had been the thing to say. She managed a smile and said, “Yeah, you’re right. But not all the time.” She held up her grocery bag full of paperbacks. “At least I scored big today. I’ve got a whole bag full of happiness.”
A whole bag full of happiness, huh? “I guess.”
“These books are full of love and adventure.”
“And perfect men,” Jonathan added, remembering the conversation in the library.
“A woman’s idea of perfect, anyway,” Juliet said.
They got their coffee, then sat at one of the café tables outside to enjoy the sunshine and watch their fellow Icicle Falls residents go about their business. They were almost finished when a woman with a baby in a stroller approached. Jonathan opened the door for her and returned to his seat to see his sister’s eyes looking ready to spill tears.
“Hey, it’ll be okay,” he promised, and hoped he was right. “You’re only thirty. You’ve got plenty of time to have a kid.” They’d been trying for a year or so. Did it bring the odds down the longer you tried?
She nodded, but no smile this time. “I should get going. See you at my place for dinner tomorrow?”
It was Mother’s Day. If he didn’t show up, he’d be toast. “Sure.” He made a mental note to bring some antacids.
She gave him a hug, then hurried off down the street.
Jonathan drank the last of his coffee and went to throw the cup in a nearby garbage can. He passed a table with a woman sitting alone, nursing a drink and reading a paperback. He glanced down and saw a couple on the cover, this pair dressed in contemporary Western attire. Another romance novel. The woman smiled and turned a page.
What was it about these books that had women so hooked? He reviewed the conversation he’d heard in the library. There’s a hero to die for.... James Noble is the perfect man...perfect man.
Women wrote those novels and they wrote about perfect men. So if a guy wanted to learn what a woman wanted in a man... Who was that author Juliet and Hildy had been talking about? Vanessa Valentine. Someone with a name like that had to know her stuff when it came to love.
Jonathan tossed his cup, then retraced his steps to the library, hoping the women hadn’t cleared every romance novel off the shelves.
Most of the library patrons were gone by the time he slipped back into the musty room on the lower level, either back to their homes to wash cars or mow lawns, or off to go hiking the mountain trails. A few late arrivals browsed the health and finance sections, and one woman was leafing through a cookbook.
Just his luck, the only other section that was occupied was the romance section, where two teenage girls stood, perusing the books. They were cute and skinny, probably cheerleaders. Darn. He’d hoped not to have an audience.
He hovered over by the magazines and CDs, wishing they’d leave. They didn’t. In fact, it looked like they were going to camp out over there all day, reading and filling their paper grocery bags, emptying the shelves.
What do you care if they see you looking through a romance? They’re only high school kids, he reminded himself. Kids who’d go home and tell their moms about the dork who’d come in looking for love between the covers of a book.
“Oh, my gosh, here’s a Vanessa Valentine,” said one.
No, don’t take that.
She handed it to her friend.
“I haven’t read this,” the other girl said, and dropped it in her bag.
So much for that book. So much for all the books if he didn’t make his move soon. He sauntered casually over. A forty-something woman he’d seen around town had joined them now, and he was aware of both her and the girls staring at him like he was some kind of freak as he studied the titles. He could feel himself beginning to sweat. Just take a book and get out of here.
He snagged a book about a vampire and another with a cowboy on the cover and was about to leave when, suddenly, he saw it. What was this? Two shelves down in the corner, a few inches past the woman’s thighs... Yes! One last Vanessa Valentine.
He bent and made a grab for it just as she leaned over. Oh, no! Boob graze.
“Excuse me,” she said in a tone of voice that told him he was done here.
“Uh, sorry,” he mumbled, and snatched back his hand.
She took advantage of his consternation and plucked the Vanessa Valentine off the shelf. Then she scooped another half dozen novels into her shopping bag.
That left two and one of the teens got them. The woman was right. He was done here. Face still flaming, he walked to the card table where the library volunteer was taking money.
She was somewhere in her twenties and dressed in black. Her fingernails were black, too. She had piercings all over her face, a collection of earrings running up her ears and wore enough eye makeup to give her a head start on Halloween. Not that Jonathan was an expert on eye makeup, but hers seemed like overkill to him. He preferred a more natural look, like what Lissa wore. Liss, always the gold standard.
But this woman was friendly enough. He’d seen her volunteering before. He nodded in response to her greeting of “Back for more?”
She took the books to total them and noticed the vampire on the cover of the top one. “Oh, I love this author. Don’t you?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never read her.”
“You haven’t? Well, you’re in for a treat. Her vampire is really sexy.”
Did she think he was into guy vampires? He opened his mouth to explain that neither guys nor vampires were his thing, but he found it impossible to wedge the words into their conversation.
“He’s right up there with Sookie’s Eric. Gotta love Eric, don’t you?”
Jonathan was aware of the teens tittering behind him. His face began to heat. “Well...”
“I suppose you’ve read all the Twilight books. Are you on Team Edward or Team Jacob?”
“Huh?”
“I say vampires win every time. Werewolves aren’t that sexy.”
More tittering produced more burning on Jonathan’s face. “These aren’t for me.”
“Sure they’re not,” came a whisper from behind him.
“They’re for my sister.”
The volunteer’s face fell. “Oh.”
Okay. She was embarrassed, he was embarrassed. He held up the vampire. “But I’ll have to give this one a try.”
“You should,” she said, nodding her head and making her earrings jingle. “You’ll like it, I promise.”
He paid his buck and got out of there. At least he’d managed to get a couple of books. But what he really wanted was a Vanessa Valentine novel. He wandered upstairs to see if he could find any of her works in the fiction section to check out.
Lo and behold, he discovered a copy of one of the books Juliet had found downstairs. He took it off the shelf. Everlasting Love, the title read, and beneath the cursive script a beautiful couple posed, dressed in the garb of another century. No bed. This pair was standing in a moonlit garden. From the way they were gazing at each other, they wouldn’t be bothering with a bed.
For a moment, the woman’s dark hair lightened to a honey-blond and the guy’s face lengthened and acquired a pair of glasses. Jonathan blinked.
When he glanced down again, the couple had reclaimed their original looks. Shaking his head at his own foolishness, he turned the book over and read the summary on the back.
Lorinda Chardonnay’s life lies in ruins. Her father has gambled away their family’s fortune and betrothed her to the Earl of Ryde, shattering her hopes of marrying her childhood love, Sir James Noble. Little does she know that the Earl of Ryde has a terrible secret that will cost Lorinda her life if she learns of it. But James is not about to let her go into danger without someone to watch over her. And if he must ride the King’s Highway by night and face his rival’s sword to do so, then he will.
Hmm. This sounded kind of interesting. Sword fights, secrets, saving the girl. What the heck. He’d give it a try. He took that one and a couple of other Vanessa Valentine books from the shelf and went to check them out.
Halfway to where Mrs. Bantam, the librarian, stood smiling at him his feet faltered. He’d already gone through enough torture downstairs. He needed cover for his romance novels.
He made a quick detour to the do-it-yourself section and picked up a book on patios, then he went back to— Oh, no. Mrs. Bantam was no longer at the checkout desk and in her place stood Emily Ward.
Emily was fairly new in town. A couple of weeks ago he’d fixed her home computer. She’d supplied him with coffee and then pulled up a chair right next to him so she could watch him work. Customers did that sometimes, but they weren’t usually wearing perfume or tops that pouffed out when they leaned forward, showing breasts wrapped in lacy black. She’d gotten him so distracted he’d knocked over his coffee, drenching everything on her desk. She’d been okay about it but he’d felt like a total moron and had been trying to avoid her ever since.
He pushed his glasses up his nose and forced himself to get in line behind an older woman checking out several books, all the while wondering what happened to the good old days when librarians looked like librarians. The only thing even remotely librarian-like about Emily was her glasses, but they were fire-red and were more like some kind of fashion accessory than an aid to sight. She had short, auburn hair with a feather dangling from it and she wore jeans and a clingy top and a ton of bracelets on her wrist. She wasn’t as beautiful as Lissa, but she was still pretty enough to make him sweat.
“Hi, Jonathan,” she greeted him. “Looks like you’ve got some reading planned for the weekend.”
“Uh, yeah.” That was articulate. Say something else, idiot. “I bet you’ve got plans.” Wait. Did that sound like he was asking her out? He wasn’t trying to start something, not with Emily, anyway.
“Not really,” she said, smiling at him.
He nodded. “You getting to know people yet?”
“Slowly.”
She took his pile of books and started checking them out to him. Once she’d finished with the book on patios and got to the first romance novel, her eyes widened.
“I’m getting some stuff for my sister,” he said. That was his story and he was stickin’ to it.
“What a nice brother. I bet you’re doing something nice for your mom for Mother’s Day, too.”
If a box of Sweet Dreams chocolate counted, then yes. He shrugged. “Family dinner.”
Now Emily spied his bag of library book-sale treasures. “I see you’ve been to the sale.”
He left the romance novels he’d purchased downstairs in the bag and instead pulled out his earlier acquisition, The Kingdom of Zoon, thus proving he was no sissy who read chick books.
She cocked her head and studied it. “That looks interesting.”
Interesting. A polite way of saying yuck. People sure were quick to judge a guy’s reading material.
Someone behind Jonathan cleared his throat, so Emily got busy and finished the checkout process, and Jonathan scrammed, letting out his breath as he went. Who knew going to the library could be so stressful? He stuck the romance novels in the bag with his other books, then left the library, holding the tome on building patios for all the world to see.
But once he arrived home, the manly book on patios got tossed onto the kitchen counter and Jonathan settled on the front porch swing with Chica to find out what was so special about Sir James Noble.
The rest of the morning slipped away as Jonathan was drawn into nineteenth-century England. It was midafternoon when he poured himself a glass of milk and made a PBJ sandwich. Book in hand, he plunked down at his kitchen table to eat and lost a couple more hours.
Finally Chica, who’d been keeping him company, got tired of sitting around and slipped out her dog door. But Jonathan stayed in the nineteenth century. He remained there through dinner, too, gnawing on a cold chicken leg while the wicked Earl of Ryde entertained spies with everything from roast duck to syllabub. (What the heck was syllabub?) Meanwhile, Sir James Noble, bound and gagged in a dark dungeon, struggled back to consciousness, his one thought to save the woman he loved.
After much anguish and struggle, Sir James was able to free himself and rescue the fair Lorinda.
“Oh, James, I thought after what happened at the ball, the horrible things he made me say—I was sure you couldn’t love me anymore.” Lorinda buried her face in her hands and began to cry.
He gently took her hands and kissed each finger. “Don’t cry, dearest. He’s dead now. He has no power over you. And as for loving you, don’t you know? I’ve never stopped. The sun will turn to ash before I stop loving you.”
Now, that was a damned good line.
A few more pages saw James and Lorinda happily starting their new life together. Then there was nothing left for the author to write but The End.
For Jonathan, however, this was the beginning. He’d found the love coach he’d been looking for. Several, as a matter of fact. Maybe, if he read enough of these novels, took notes, he could figure out how to win Lissa’s love.
The thought had barely formed in his mind before he rejected it as hopeless and stupid. Still, what did he have to lose? Surely there was an ember somewhere in Lissa’s heart that he could fan into a small flame of love.
Like a detective, Jonathan wandered down memory lane in search of clues.
He saw himself at the age of ten, a scrawny kid with glasses, doing his best to help a little golden-haired girl come down from the boys’ tree house, where she’d bravely climbed. Rand, the leader of the pack, had yelled at her for having the nerve to invade their territory, and had left in a huff, taking Lenny Lubecker and Danny Popkee with him. She’d burst into tears, and Jonathan had abandoned guy solidarity in favor of staying behind to comfort her.
Lissa was upset but all Jonathan could think to say was, “Don’t cry, Lissa.”
“I just wanted to see,” she sobbed. “You all come up here and don’t play with me. It’s mean.”
He’d never thought of their behavior as mean. Their “boys only” tree house was a fort, a place where they could go to look down on the world and feel superior to those silly girls.
Except Lissa wasn’t silly. She was sweet and she was his friend and now she was upset. “Come on. Let’s go to my house and have root beer floats,” he suggested.
She sniffed and nodded.
He scrambled out of the tree house and started to climb down the makeshift stairs they’d hammered into the trunk.
She poked her head out, then ducked back in.
“Come on,” he called.
“I can’t.”
He climbed up again and looked inside. He found her huddled in a corner. “Don’t you want a float?”
“I’m scared,” she said in a small voice.
“There’s nothing to be scared of,” he assured her.
She shook her head.
“Lissa, you have to come down,” he said reasonably.
She shook her head again.
“Come on,” he urged. “I’ll help you.”
“What if we fall?”
“We won’t.”
But she wasn’t convinced, and pressed farther into the corner of the tree house.
“I’ll get you down.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
With a little whimper, she slowly scooted forward on her bottom. Once at the edge, though, she moved away again.
“Come on, Liss.” He held out a hand. “You can do it.”
She bit her lip and studied him for a moment. Then she moved back to the entrance. He went down a couple of steps to give her room. “Okay, now turn around and put your foot out.”
That produced another whimper but she turned around. Then she stuck out her foot.
Jonathan breathed an inward sigh of relief.
Until she pulled her foot back. “I can’t.”
“Yes, you can. You’re brave. You climbed up here all by yourself.”
“I didn’t think about falling then.”
“Don’t think about it now,” he advised. “Here, I’ll make sure you find the step.”
Once more, she risked sticking out her foot. This time he guided it to the step. “All right! You did it. Come on, next foot.”
And so it went, one foot at a time until he got her down to solid ground.
Once there she threw her arms around his neck. “You saved me!”
It made him feel like a superhero. It was also a little embarrassing. What if the guys saw? He pulled away. “No big deal.”
“It was to me,” she said. And then she did something that forever changed his life. She kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you, Jonathan.”
He could feel his whole face burning. The other boys would tease him mercilessly if they got wind of this. Not knowing what to say or do, he ran off toward home and those root beer floats, Lissa right behind him.
* * *
His mom had not only made them floats, she’d made popcorn, too, and they’d spent the rest of that Saturday afternoon playing Yahtzee. It had been a perfect day and it had been the beginning of what turned out to be a lifelong, one-sided love affair.
Did Lissa remember that day? She’d never mentioned it again. Although one afternoon when they were walking home from middle school she’d told him he was her best friend.
She’d been talking about Danny Popkee, on whom she had a crush, asking Jonathan for advice on how to get his attention. That had been torture. Jonathan hadn’t wanted Lissa to get Danny’s attention. She already had a boy’s attention. His.
“I dunno,” he’d mumbled. “Either he likes you or he doesn’t.”
“Well, that’s no help. What would you do if you wanted someone to like you?”
Walk her home from school, help her with her math and hope I can get up enough nerve to ask her to the eighth-grade dance. He’d shrugged. “Just be nice.” That was never hard for Lissa. She was nice to everyone. “Like you always are,” he’d added.
“Aw, Jonathan, you’re so sweet,” she’d said, making him blush. “I don’t know what I’d do without you. You’re my best friend.”
He was her best friend, but she had a crush on Danny. She’d decided to bake Danny some cookies and that was all it took. They went to the eighth-grade dance together.
But she’d made cookies for Jonathan, too—to thank him for all his good advice.
In fact, she’d made cookies for Jonathan a lot, always trying out new recipes. Baking became one of her favorite ways to express her creativity. And to do something nice for her high school pals.
“What do you think of these?” she’d asked, setting a plate of cookies in front of him. He’d come over to her house to help her with algebra, a subject that was threatening to ruin her sophomore year. “They’re called kitchen sink cookies.”
“Kitchen sink cookies?”
“Yeah, ’cause you put everything but the kitchen sink in them. They have oatmeal and raisins and butterscotch chips and chocolate chips.”
Sounded great. He’d taken one off the plate and bitten into it. In spite of all that good stuff they weren’t very sweet. This wasn’t one of her better efforts, but he didn’t want to tell her that.
There she’d sat, looking at him expectantly. “Not bad,” he’d managed.
He hadn’t mastered his poker face yet and she’d known immediately that something was off. She frowned and chose a cookie from the plate, took a bite. “Eeew.”
“Well, they’re not your best. But they’re okay.” He’d valiantly taken another bite.
She’d set hers back on the plate, then took his out of his hand and put it back, too. “You’re an awful liar. They’re terrible. I refuse to let you eat another bite. I must have forgotten the sugar. How could I do that?”
“Thinking about something else?” he’d suggested. More like someone else. Lissa was always falling madly in love—with everyone but him.
He’d watched her take the plate to the garbage can and dump the ruined goodies in. “You know, those weren’t totally bad,” he’d said.
“Yes, they were.” She’d sat down at the kitchen table and smiled at him. “You’re a super friend. But you have terrible taste.”
Not in women.
He should have said that out loud. Why didn’t he? Why hadn’t he ever said anything?
Of course, deep down he knew the answer. He’d been afraid of how she’d react. He’d chosen to keep his mouth shut then and during the years that followed in order to avoid the agony of rejection.
Still, all those years of cowardice had produced their own brand of suffering. He was tired of suffering.
He and Lissa had been best friends when they were kids. They could be best friends again, maybe even more than that if he turned himself into the kind of man a woman like Lissa would notice.
He only had a ghost of a chance.
But he believed in ghosts. So tomorrow he’d read about the Viscount Vampire and the Cursed Cowboy. Then he was going to go online (where no one would see what he was buying) and buy a bunch more romance novels. He had a lot of research to do.
Chapter Four
Mother’s Day dinner at the Gerard residence with Jonathan’s sister in charge was a culinary adventure. To say that the meal didn’t measure up to the fancy table setting and fresh flowers would have been an understatement. The roast was done well enough to qualify as jerky and the asparagus was scorched. The cake...well, it wasn’t cake, at least not like any Jonathan had tasted—since the last time he ate Juliet’s cake. Wasn’t cake supposed to be...taller? And, whoa, what was that bitter taste?
Juliet made a face, too. “I shouldn’t have added the baking powder at the last minute,” she said.
“It does need to be sifted in, sweetie,” her mother said gently.
“But I’d forgotten it. And I knew I had to add it.”
“But since you did add it, the cake should have risen better,” Mom said, playing culinary detective. Even Columbo couldn’t solve the mystery of why Juliet’s kitchen creations never turned out, so Jonathan didn’t know why Mom was trying.
“Then Cecily called about book group and I forgot the eggs.” Juliet sighed. “I hoped the baking powder would be enough.”
“The baked potatoes weren’t so bad,” said her husband, Neil. “Anyway, it’s hard to screw those up.”
Was that a compliment? Jonathan wasn’t sure. That was often the case when he listened to his brother-in-law talking to his sister. “She made the effort and that’s what counts.” And even if the spuds were a little underdone you hardly noticed after smothering them with sour cream and butter.
“I’m not complaining,” Neil said. “My girl’s got other talents.”
From the way he was looking at Juliet, Jonathan could guess what they were. He held up a hand. “You don’t have to tell us.” There were some things a guy didn’t want to think about his sister doing.
“It was a lovely dinner, dear,” said their mother.
“No, it wasn’t.” Juliet frowned at the frosted yuck on her plate. “I’m sorry, Mom. I wanted this day to be special.”
“It is.” Mom swept her gaze around the table. “I’m with all of you and that makes it perfect. But if you want to top it off...”
“I’ll go get ice cream,” Neil offered.
“Oh, I wasn’t thinking of anything to eat. I was thinking of—”
“Farkle,” Jonathan and Juliet finished with her. Their family had played a lot of games when Jonathan was growing up, and his mother still loved to beat him at Words With Friends. He’d gotten Farkle for her last Christmas and it had become a new favorite.
“I just happen to have it in my purse,” Mom said with a grin.
Jonathan wouldn’t have been surprised to hear she had the entire population of Luxembourg in there, too. How much stuff women could fit in their purses amazed him.
“Dice,” Neil said, rubbing his hands together. “That’s a game even I can get into.”
Unlike their family, Neil wasn’t much of a game player, unless it involved a football and a good dose of aggression. He was a big, well-muscled guy, who used those muscles working in the Sweet Dreams warehouse. Today Jonathan couldn’t help thinking (with only a tinge of jealousy) that his brother-in-law could pose for a cover on one of Juliet’s books.
Neil’s looks—that was what had hooked her in the first place. Jonathan wasn’t sure what kept her hooked, although she seemed happy enough with her choice. Other than going dancing at the Red Barn, their favorite honky tonk, they didn’t appear to have much in common. Juliet loved to read. About the only thing Neil read was the sports page. When it came to movies, she liked chick flicks and Neil preferred action movies. He was big on eating, she was bad at cooking. Family was everything to her. His family was dysfunctional and he’d moved as far away from them as possible. And he never seemed that excited to see hers.
Although maybe Jonathan was imagining that, because he always felt a little uncomfortable around Neil, rather like a mule standing next to a Thoroughbred racehorse.
Mom had taken the can of dice out of her purse and Jonathan pulled his mind away from thoughts of mules and horses. But later that evening, when he got back home, he found himself revisiting the subject. Some men just seemed to be born babe magnets. Others...
Well, Chica loved him.
She rushed out her dog door to greet him the minute he pulled up back at the house. “Did you miss me, girl?” he asked.
Chica woofed and wagged her tail. Yes.
“I bet you’re ready for some fetch, huh?” He grabbed her tennis ball from the porch and threw it for her and she raced after it. Dogs were so easy to please. If only it was as easy to please a woman.
After a rousing game of fetch they went inside the house, and that was when Jonathan discovered his loss. Chica had developed a taste for romance and had devoured two of his library book sale paperbacks.
“Aw, Chica,” he said in disgust as he surveyed the mess of mangled books and shredded paper on the couch and the living room floor. He picked up what was left of one cover and saw that the Viscount Vampire now bore canine teeth marks all over his face and neck. He’d survived better than the cowboy. All Jonathan could find of him was his Stetson.
He shook the fragment at Chica. “What is this?”
Her tail curled between her legs and her head hung. She turned, slinking off toward the kitchen.
“Yeah, you should be ashamed. Bad dog!” She had a dog door and a huge yard to play in. She didn’t need to swipe his books and eat them. “Why did you do that?” he demanded. She didn’t make a habit of eating his books. But then, he didn’t make a habit of leaving them lying around on the couch. And, he had to admit, these had smelled a little musty. Maybe Chica had mistaken them for something dead.
Well, they were as good as dead now, he thought.
He picked up part of a page and read.
“Armande, I have never met a man like you,” breathed the contessa.
“And you never will. I will satisfy your every desire. Forever,” he whispered as he gently lifted her hair, exposing her lovely white neck.
Desire and a lovely white neck—that was all he was going to see of the contessa and Armande. Jonathan retrieved the waste can from under the kitchen sink and got to work.
Chica watched as he cleaned up the mess.
“Yeah, you did this. Those were research, you know,” he informed her.
She whined.
He relented. “Okay, you’re forgiven. Come here.”
She came, her tail wagging hopefully.
He knelt and pulled her against him and rubbed her head. “I guess those books just looked too good to resist, huh?”
She licked his face.
“Yeah, yeah. I know, you’re sorry. I’ll find ’em online and download them on to my e-reader. But no more eating my books, okay?”
Chica barked. Okay.
Once the mess was cleaned up, he’d spend some time on the island of Crete, with a suave tycoon and a beautiful businesswoman. He’d snitched The Undercover Tycoon from Juliet. He’d spotted it lying on top of a pile of books on the stairs and, unable to stop himself, had pinched it and smuggled it out in the pocket of his windbreaker. She’d happily have lent it to him if he asked, but no way was he asking to borrow one of Juliet’s romance novels. He’d never have heard the end of it, especially from Neil. He’d managed to get it out of the house undetected and he’d get it back in the same way. Nobody would be the wiser.
“No eating this one,” he told Chica, showing it to her. “It’s not ours.”
She yawned and settled down next to him on the couch.
This story had a contemporary setting, and it didn’t take long for him to get involved in the plot. Although the hero and heroine were hot for each other, something was standing in the way of their love—the business. Her family used to own it but now she only ran it. And the tycoon wanted to sell it out from under her.
As Jonathan read, he made notes on his iPad, treating the novel as if it were a college textbook, the same as he’d done with the other book he’d read. This particular hero seemed to have an overabundance of testosterone. He was strong and forceful, and while he and the heroine clashed—a lot—she seemed to appreciate that forcefulness. So, women wanted a man who was forceful, a take-charge kind of guy.
Jonathan added that attribute to the list he’d started. Forceful, take-charge. He could be forceful. Maybe.
* * *
Adam returned from his Alaskan adventure late Sunday night to make a shocking discovery. His key didn’t work in the lock. He wasn’t dreaming and he wasn’t drunk. This was the right house. His house. But his key didn’t work. Even finding the lock had been a pain since his wife hadn’t left the porch light on. What the hell?
He rang the doorbell.
No one came.
He rang again.
Still no one.
Chelsea’s car was there. What was going on? “Chels,” he called. “Chelsea?”
Finally the entry hall light went on and he saw the shadow of a slim body on the other side of the frosted glass panel. She must have fallen asleep.
That in itself was odd. She always waited up for him.
Now she was at the door but it didn’t open. And the porch light stayed off, leaving him standing there in the dark.
Her voice drifted out to him, muffled and distant. “Go away, Adam.”
What? “Let me in. My key won’t work.”
“It won’t work because I had the locks changed,” said the voice.
Maybe he was dreaming, after all. Or she was joking. “Okay, babe, you’ve had your laugh. Now open up.”
Instead of opening the door, she turned off the entry light and disappeared. “Chels!” He banged on the door. “This isn’t funny anymore. Open up.”
One neighbor was two wooded lots away and whoever had purchased the house next door hadn’t moved in yet. Still, he caught himself checking over his shoulder to see if anyone had heard. He felt like a fool standing there, demanding entrance into his own house. Changing the locks, that wasn’t even legal. But what was he going to do, call the cops? He’d wind up sleeping on the couch for the rest of his life.
This was nuts. He took out his cell phone and dialed her.
“What?” she answered.
What, indeed? Who was this snappish woman?
“Do you mind telling me what’s going on?” he asked.
An upstairs light went on and a window opened. Their bedroom. For a moment he saw her face, framed by the bedroom light. Chelsea had long, chestnut hair, big hazel eyes and Angelina Jolie lips. The lips weren’t smiling.
She held a box wrapped in white paper and tied with a pink ribbon. He recognized that box. And now she was going to... Oh, no. That was breakable. “Don’t—” he began.
Too late. She dropped it. The box landed with a crunch. So much for the candy dish the clerk at Mountain Treasures had convinced him to buy.
His wife had lost her mind. “What are you doing?”
A moment later, something else came fluttering down, like a poorly designed paper airplane—the card that went with the box.
“All right,” he said into the cell phone. “What was that all about?”
“Guess.”
“You didn’t want to give my mom anything for her birthday?”
Wrong guess. The call ended and the bedroom window slammed shut.
He called her again. “I don’t get it.”
“Does the number seven mean anything to you?”
Seven, seven. Crap! Their anniversary. Their anniversary was this weekend and he’d forgotten. “Shit,” he muttered.
“Yeah, that’s what you’re in,” she said. “It was bad enough you just had to stay up in Alaska and fish, but not to send flowers, not even call...”
“I called.” That was feeble. He’d left a message on voice mail telling her what time he’d be in. No mention of their anniversary.
Because he’d forgotten. Forgotten! What was wrong with his brain? A twenty-pound salmon, that was what. He felt sick.
“And then I found the package and thought you’d left it as a surprise.” Her voice was wobbly now, a sure sign that she was crying. “And what was it? Your mother’s birthday present. And her birthday isn’t until next week. And I already bought something because you never remember!”
He wouldn’t have remembered this year, either, except he’d been talking to his mom on his cell a few days ago and she’d dropped a hint when he happened to be downtown, walking past a shop. More than a hint. She’d come right out and said, “Your wife is not your personal secretary, Adam, and you should be able to remember your own mother’s birthday.”
Yeah, and he should’ve been able to remember his own anniversary, but he hadn’t. He’d stuck his mom’s present in the closet and forgotten about it. Just like he’d forgotten another important date. “I knew it was coming up,” he said. No lie. He’d planned to remember. Lame.
“This is the last straw. I’m tired of you taking me for granted. You do it all the time.”
“I do not,” he insisted, both to her and himself.
“Oh, yes, you do. And this isn’t the first time you’ve messed up.”
All right, so he’d accidentally gotten tickets to a Mariners game on the day of their anniversary the year before last. And she’d never have known he’d screwed up if his brother Greg hadn’t called from Seattle asking what time they were meeting at the stadium. He’d done penance and gotten her diamond earrings. A whole carat, for God’s sake. He’d even taken her to the game and they’d ended up having a great evening.
And last year he’d remembered. She hadn’t needed to remind him the week before. Why did women keep score like that? They kept track of every screw-up and then threw it in your face. In the middle of the night.
“Oh, come on, babe. Cut me some slack. Let’s talk about this.” She always wanted to talk.
Not tonight. She ended the call and the bedroom light switched off.
Of course he tried to call her once more, but it immediately went to voice mail.
Great. Just great. Where would he go at eleven-thirty at night? He supposed he could go to one of the town’s B and Bs, but if he did that, everyone would know his wife had kicked him out.
Since this was only temporary, he saw no point in going that route. Tomorrow he’d take her out to dinner. They’d kiss and make up and everything would be fine.
Meanwhile, though, he couldn’t sleep on the porch. He hauled his carry-on back to the car. If that was the way she wanted it, he could sleep there. Except while an SUV would be okay for sleeping, it made for a poor place to shave in the morning.
He started the engine and drove slowly away from his house. His house! He had no idea where he was going. He sure knew where he was, though. In the doghouse.
* * *
Jonathan was having an incredible dream. He’d just killed a man in a sword fight, and now the woman he’d rescued—Lissa, in an old-fashioned pink gown—had thrown herself into his arms.
“How can I thank you?” she breathed.
“Well,” he said, and lowered his head to kiss her.
“Oh, wait. What’s that I hear?” she said, turning her head just before he could reach her lips. “The church bells.”
“That’s the bells, all right,” he agreed, and tried for her lips again.
“They’re summoning you. You must go.”
“Who’s summoning me?”
He never found out. Between the insistent ringing of his doorbell, coupled with pounding on the door and Chica’s barking, he was now hopelessly awake.
He checked the time. Midnight! He swore and threw off the covers, marched out of the bedroom and flicked on the hall light, Chica running ahead of him. Whoever it was, Jonathan was going to kill him.
But then he realized that anyone summoning him at this hour must be in trouble. Juliet! She’d had a fight with Neil?
He picked up his pace. By the time he got to the living room, his visitor was not only ringing the bell and banging on the door, but calling his name, as well. Definitely not Juliet.
Jonathan opened the door and there stood Adam. “I need a place to sleep.”
“Huh?”
“Can I crash on your couch?”
“Uh, yeah,” Jonathan said, and stepped aside.
In walked Mr. Success, dragging his carry-on luggage behind him. “Chelsea kicked me out.”
“’Cause you went salmon-fishing?” That seemed a little extreme.
“No, because I forgot our anniversary.”
Jonathan, no expert on women, still knew this was a cardinal sin. “How’d you manage that?” If he was with Lissa he’d never forget their anniversary. Heck, he’d make everything an anniversary—first date, first kiss, first time they slept together. At the rate he was going, that wasn’t even happening in his dreams.
Adam paced into the living room and parked his carry-on next to Jonathan’s couch. He ran a hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean to forget.” He fell onto the couch. “She says I take her for granted.”
“Do you?”
“No. Well, maybe. Once in a while. I don’t know.”
Like hell he didn’t. “Right.”
“Okay, so I’m not perfect like those men on the covers of her dumb romance novels.”
Jonathan caught sight of his Vanessa Valentine paperback on the kitchen counter and subtly dragged his copy of PC World over it.
Adam never noticed. He was too involved in his own drama. “But cut a man some slack, you know?”
Jonathan didn’t know.
“She changed the locks.”
Whoa. His friend had sailed down the river of no return. “That’s harsh.”
“That’s what I thought,” Adam said. “Anyway, I know we’ll get it all straightened out tomorrow.”
And now who was dreaming?
“Sorry to get you out of bed. You were the first one who came to mind.”
Vance lived right down the road from Adam, but Jonathan understood why Adam hadn’t gone there. Vance would have taken great delight in taunting him. Whereas Jonathan...was a soft touch.
“I just need a place for tonight.”
Jonathan had a suspicion that his poker pal was going to need a place for longer than one night, but this probably wasn’t the time to point that out. Anyway, he was tired and he wanted to get back to bed. Back to Lissa in her pink gown. He pulled a sleeping bag out of the closet and tossed it to Adam.
“Thanks, man,” Adam said. “I’ll get this sorted out in the morning. Right now, I just need a good night’s sleep.”
He needed a lot more than sleep. Jonathan didn’t tell him that, either. Some things a man had to figure out for himself.
Chapter Five
Jonathan never found Lissa again. Every time he drifted off, he was awakened by the sound of a rumbling train. It didn’t take more than the first rude awakening for him to realize that no one had built a train track through his house in the night. No, the horrible noise that dragged him from his dreamland search for Lissa had been Adam’s snoring.
He finally gave up on sleep around seven to find Adam still zonked out on his couch, like a giant caterpillar half out of his sleeping bag cocoon, his hair going every which way and his mouth hanging open. There was a sight a guy didn’t need to wake up to.
Coffee. He needed coffee.
He had a handy-dandy little coffeemaker that delivered one serving at a time, and he made himself a mug. The aroma of brewing java sure would’ve awakened Jonathan, but Adam slept on. How could the guy sleep so well when his wife had kicked him out? And didn’t he have to be at work? Jonathan’s schedule was flexible and depended on what clients he had lined up for the day, but he assumed that on a Monday Adam would have to report in to his office.
Not your problem, he told himself as he filled Chica’s dog bowl. You’re not his mother.
Still, the idea of Adam happily snoozing away after ruining his sleep the night before wasn’t appealing. It was quarter after seven now. Time to wake up. Jonathan yanked the sofa pillow out from under Adam’s head and whacked him with it.
Adam bolted up. “Wha?”
“Thought you might have to get up.”
Adam groaned. “I didn’t sleep at all last night.”
Right. He’d just been faking. “You snore.”
Adam frowned and rubbed his eyes. “What time is it?”
“Quarter after seven.”
“I have to get going. Man, I’m shot.” He eyed Jonathan’s mug. “Is that coffee?”
Jonathan nodded at his coffeemaker. “You can make yourself some.”
“Don’t mind if I do,” Adam said, and unzipped his sleeping bag. “But first things first.”
Jonathan watched him wander off down the hall to the bathroom, wearing boxers and a T-shirt. Lucky for Adam he had a suitcase of clothes. It was a cinch he wouldn’t be getting into his house for more anytime soon. Poor guy.
From what Adam had said the night before, Jonathan suspected he’d had it coming. Still, he couldn’t help feeling sorry for his poker pal. Locked out of your own house. That had to be humiliating.
He heard the toilet flush and suddenly realized that potential humiliation was lying out in plain sight on the toilet tank. Oh, no.
Maybe Adam hadn’t seen it....
“What the hell?”
Adam had seen.
Jonathan rushed down the hall and arrived at the bathroom to find Adam holding The Undercover Tycoon and staring at it in horror. He looked at Jonathan as if he’d just discovered Jonathan was an ax murderer.
“Give me that.” Jonathan strode over and grabbed the book to snatch it away.
Adam wasn’t ready to let go. “What the hell is this?”
“Never mind.” Jonathan yanked again.
Adam yanked back and Jonathan pulled harder.
“Give me the damned book,” Jonathan growled.
Adam let go at the same time Jonathan gave up the struggle. The book did a swan dive, putting the tycoon in the toilet.
They both stood for a moment, watching the paperback floating in the toilet bowl. Who knew what was going through Adam’s mind, but Jonathan had only one thought. “My sister’s gonna be pissed.”
“That’s your sister’s book?”
“Yes,” Jonathan said grumpily, fishing it out. “Well, it was.” Maybe he could dry it off, set it out in the sun. Once it was dry she’d never know the difference.
“What are you doing reading your sister’s romance novel?”
This wasn’t exactly something he wanted to share. He wished he’d remembered the dumb thing and ditched it while Adam was snoring. “Never mind,” he said, and took the soggy tycoon out to the front porch.
Adam was right behind him. “That’s a chick book.”
“I know,” Jonathan said as he laid it out on the porch railing. Chica, who’d come over to see what was going on, sniffed it. “Oh, no, you don’t,” he said, picking it up again. Maybe if he put it in the dryer.
“So, why are you reading a chick book?”
Jonathan hadn’t wanted to tell anyone, but looking at Adam regarding him with disgust was enough to make him reconsider. What the heck. “I’m doing research.”
“Research? What, are you going to write one of those?”
This was awkward. “No. I just...” Don’t want to be a loser. He couldn’t bring himself to say that, so instead he clamped his lips shut and went back inside, Adam and Chica following him.
“What? I mean, dude, that’s weird.”
“No, it’s not. I figure I can learn something from these books.” If he could keep them from getting destroyed.
Adam gave a disdainful snort. “Like what, how to get the prince to take you to the ball?”
“No. How to figure out what’s important to a woman.” Jonathan set the tycoon on top of the fridge where Chica couldn’t reach him. Then he took his Vanessa Valentine novel out from its hiding place under his magazine. “They’re written by women, and the women who read them like what the heroes do. I’m thinkin’ reading some of these is a good way to get a handle on what makes a woman tick and what she wants in a man.”
Adam took it from him. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
Adam turned it over and read the back cover. “Sounds dumb.”
Jonathan could feel his cheeks heating. Yeah, what did he know? He was just the dork who’d given Adam a place to sleep after his wife kicked him out.
“So who’s the woman you want?”
“Never mind.” He went to the kitchen and pulled a box of cereal from the cupboard, keeping his back to Adam, willing the flush of embarrassment from his face.
“No, seriously. Who is she?”
“No one you know.” Adam was a relative newcomer to Icicle Falls. He hadn’t known Lissa.
“So she doesn’t live around here?”
“Not anymore.”
“She used to?”
Jonathan got busy pouring milk on his cereal. “Yeah. We went to school together.”
Understanding dawned and Adam nodded sagely. “Your high school sweetheart. That’s right. You and Kyle have a reunion this summer. I remember you guys talking about it the other night. So, is your old girlfriend coming back for the reunion?”
“We never went out. We were just friends.” Jonathan shrugged like it was no big deal.
“And you want to see if you can start something with her.”
“Yeah,” Jonathan admitted.
Now Adam was looking skeptical. “And reading these books is going to help you?”
“Maybe.”
“You’re nuts.”
Guys like Adam thought they knew it all. He’d probably never had trouble sweeping women off their feet. But it looked like sweeping and keeping were two different things. Old Adam wasn’t doing so well himself right now. He was in no position to scoff.
“You got a better idea?” Jonathan demanded. “How much do you know about women?”
Adam threw up his hands. “Nothing, nada, zip. Nobody does. Women are another species.”
“I’d say they’re a species worth studying,” Jonathan said. “Unless you like sleeping on my couch more than you like sleeping in your bed.”
Adam scowled and rubbed his chin, then dropped the book on the coffee table. “I’ve got to get ready for work.” He pulled some clothes out of his carry-on and disappeared back into the bathroom.
Denial. The guy was in denial. He was probably hoping to run over to his house later, toss out an “I’m sorry” and watch his wife throw the door wide open. For that to happen Jonathan suspected she’d need to be either brain-dead or under a spell.
“May as well dig out the blow-up bed,” he said to Chica. “He’s gonna be here for a while.”
Adam got cleaned up and was out the door in twenty minutes, and Jonathan once again had the house to himself. He and Chica ate breakfast and went for a walk. Then it was time to watch Good Morning, Oregon.
Today Lissa and her cohost, Scott Lawrence, were interviewing, of all people, Vanessa Valentine, who had a new book out. Vanessa, a brunette who looked to be somewhere in her forties, was the picture of success in a black suit and fancy pearl necklace.
But it was Lissa who held Jonathan’s attention. Today she wore a red skirt that showed a modest but alluring amount of leg, and a creamy white blouse that looked as silky and touchable as her hair. As always, she was flashing the sweet smile that must have made viewers feel as if they were her best friend.
And, as always, she was gracious and welcoming. “Vanessa, it’s a real treat to have you with us today.”
“Thank you,” Vanessa said.
“And you have a new book out.”
“Yes, I do. A Fire in Winter just hit the stands last week.”
“So, what can readers expect from this latest Vanessa Valentine novel?” Lissa asked.
“First of all, they can expect a good story. I always try to deliver that to my readers because they deserve it. They pay hard-earned money to be entertained and I want to make sure they get their money’s worth.”
Now Scott broke in. “And your legion of loyal fans keeps growing. But it’s mostly a legion of women, right?”
“My readers are predominantly women, but men read my books, too,” Vanessa replied.
“See?” Jonathan said to Chica, who was parked next to him. “I’m not the only guy reading this stuff.”
Scott’s expression was frankly disbelieving. “So, tell us, Vanessa. Why should men read romance novels?”
Vanessa looked at her host as if he were a fine specimen of stupidity. Then she smiled and said, “I can think of several reasons. For one, romance novels deal with the things that are most important in life—love, relationship, family, working to conquer obstacles. That’s worth reading about. Secondly, a man can learn about maintaining a relationship from reading romance fiction. He can also learn how women think. And I hear a lot of you complaining that you have trouble figuring us out,” she added with a teasing grin.
Scott laughed reluctantly. “You’ve got that right. But what about those sex scenes?”
“Yes. What about them?” she quipped. “Men, if you want to know what turns a woman on, you can get a pretty good idea from reading a romance novel.”
“Now, if that isn’t proof I’m on the right track, I don’t know what is,” Jonathan said, and Chica agreed with an enthusiastic bark.
“You make a pretty good case,” Scott said. “I think I may have to come to your book signing.”
“I think so, too,” Vanessa said, still smiling.
“Vanessa will be signing her new book, A Fire in Winter, tonight at the Lloyd’s Center Barnes & Noble at 7:00 p.m.,” Lissa said. “So, men, here’s your chance to talk to an expert in romance.”
“And I guess we’d better start reading romance novels.” Scott smiled. “Thanks for being with us today, Vanessa.” To the viewers he said, “After this, we have Chi Chi Romero, who’s going to show us how to spice things up in the kitchen.”
And that was the end of the interview with Vanessa. Too bad I didn’t tape it for Adam, Jonathan thought. Maybe it would’ve convinced him he needed to do his homework.
But then again, maybe not. Guys like Adam, who had everything come easy to them, had trouble grasping the concept of homework—that no matter how smart you were, or thought you were, you still needed to do it. Jonathan suspected this time was going to be different, though. Once a guy got kicked out of his house, there was no quick route back.
* * *
Adam found it hard to concentrate at work. No wonder, with the way his life was going.
He’d called Chelsea when he reached the office, tried to make up for his memory lapse by inviting her to dinner and had been told in no uncertain terms what he could do with his offer. It had all been downhill after that.
As a pharmaceutical rep he spent more time waiting in doctors’ offices than he did actually talking to them about the new medicines in his company’s catalog. All that waiting gave him way too much time to think, and when he’d finally get a chance to see a doc, he invariably looked like he needed to be taking one of those new antidepressants he was peddling. One doctor even offered to write him a prescription for a competitor’s product.
Back at the office he made phone calls and then hung up, wondering what exactly he’d promised, and had to read his emails repeatedly before he understood what he’d read. All he could think about was how mad Chelsea had been. All he could see was the hurt and anger on her face when she’d glared at him from the bedroom window.
The idea of spending another night on Jonathan’s couch was anything but appealing. He had to do something. He called Lupine Floral and ordered a huge bouquet to be delivered that day, ASAP.
“What’s her favorite flower?” asked the man who answered the phone.
Favorite flower? His mind was a blank. “She likes yellow.” She’d painted their whole living room yellow one week when he was gone.
“Well, then, we’ll send her a sunshine bouquet—yellow and white daisies and yellow pom-poms and yellow roses in a yellow ceramic pitcher.”
Adam didn’t care what they came in, as long as they got the job done. “Yeah, that sounds great. Give me the biggest one you’ve got.”
“How would you like the card to read?”
The card. He hadn’t thought of that. He didn’t want to announce to the whole world that he was in trouble. “How about ‘I love you’?”
“That says it all.”
He hoped so. He gave the man his credit card information and ended the call. That should do it. Maybe now he could talk about medications without wanting to take a bunch.
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