Little Miss Lovesick (12 page)

He won’t know. How could he know if I ate them or not?

‘Cause he know
s
you, said a Voice.

Why would you throw expensive chocolates in the trash? You aren’t going to throw the flowers away, are you? Enjoy them and let the money flow fro
m
Dirk’
s
wallet. You didn’t ask for them.

Finally, I looked at Trent with narrowed eyes. I opened the box and took out a truffle. Taking a deliberate bite, I closed my eyes in pleasure. “Mmm.”

I passed the box. “You provided lunch. I’m providing dessert.” I’d share the expensive chocolate wit
h
another ma
n
. So there. “Come on, have some.”

Trent laughed nervously. He watched me but didn’t take any. Which only fueled my anger and resentment.

“I know what I’ll do,” I said. “When he calls, I’ll thank him politely and tell him you and I enjoyed the chocolate immensely.”

Trent gave me a pitying look. I know he pitied me. ‘Cause I’m pitiful.

“Come on, Trent. This is the best chocolate on the planet.” I pushed the box at him. “And neither of us had to pay for it. Have some.” I took another. Ate it in one bite.

“Are you okay?” Trent laid his hand on my shoulder. The gentle touch was my undoing.

“Do I look okay?” I glared at him. Then I felt guilty and dropped my eyes. Then I felt angry that Dirk was making me feel guilty about something and he wasn’t even here. I put my hand over my eyes and breathed deeply.

Trent put his arm around me and pulled me closer. Oh my gosh. That felt good. I leaned into him and soaked up his strength. Of course, his shirt soaked up a lot of the water from my shirt and hair.

“Everything’s going to be okay. You’ll see.” He stroked my back.

After a moment, I pulled away. I didn’t know how to say thanks without getting even more embarrassed. “Have you ever had Godiva chocolates?” I asked quietly.

He leaned his elbows on his desk and looked into the box. “Don’t think so.”

“Well, you don’t want to miss out. They’re amazing.” I met his eyes for a microsecond, smiled and looked back at the truffles.

I pointed out the ones that I thought were the best. Trent magnanimously insisted that he save them for me. We ate four or five each, Trent finding ways to make me laugh and cheer me up. Then it was time to get back to work.

“By the way,” I paused on the way to my desk, “I like your roses better.”

Trent smiled.

I took Dirk’s flowers and the half-empty gold box to my desk. As beautiful as the flowers were, they were making me nauseous. I had a thought. I walked up to the front desk.

“So, who are the flowers from?” Carmen grinned the way all women do when someone gets flowers at the office.

I gave her a wry smile. Hers faded. “Oh, honey, I’m sorry.”

I shrugged a little and tried to smile a bit. “It’s okay. I have an idea, though. I don’t want to throw them away because they’re gorgeous, but I don’t really want them at my desk.”

I gestured at her desk, very neat and organized — and devoid of sparkle. “I thought we could decorate the office with them. It’d be nice for clients to see fresh flowers when they walk in, right?”

Carmen smiled like a co-conspirator. “Perfect.” She moved her inbox and we arranged the flowers on the corner of her desk. Beautiful.

“Oh, and here.” I held out the chocolates. “Help yourself.” I handed her the open box.

“Ooo, thank you,” she said as she took a couple. She caught my eye. “Don’t let him get you down.” She motioned to the flowers and candy. “See? This is you in control. You’re not his puppet. You’re making your own decisions. Don’t let him bother you.”

My smile was the first real one since the delivery. “You’re such a good friend, Carmen.” She got up from her desk and gave me a big hug.

“I know.” We both laughed. I urged her to take one of my favorite truffles, then went back to my desk.

I sat down, staring at my wet belongings. I opened the Godiva box and ate a raspberry truffle. Even better than the ice cream.

I called Emily and got her voice mail on the first ring. Phone must be off. Or broken. Or lost. She’s been hard to reach lately. Maybe her battery’s dying. I ate another chocolate. I really should get some work done.

Carmen brought me a fax from GT. It was a revised list of things the new house needed to have. It was longer and more complicated than the last list. Everything is a need, everything is a priority. There is no wish list, just a list of demands.

I crumpled it up and threw it in the trash. I couldn’t deal with demanding men today.

I ate another truffle.

You’re going to make yourself sic
k
, said the Mom voice.

The air conditioning was making me shiver in my damp clothes. I looked outside at the pouring rain. I couldn’t get much wetter. And at home I could change into something warm and dry.

I sat and thought for another minute. Should I feel guilty about leaving work so early? Another look outside and I knew no one would call to look at a house today. I gathered my things together and headed for the door.

I waved at Trent. “Going home to get dry.” He smiled and waved. “Thanks again for lunch.”

“Any time,” he said.

I got almost to the front door and stopped. I turned back, muttering under my breath, and grabbed GT’s fax out of the waste can.

Maybe
I
shoul
d
buy a lottery ticket on the way home. If I win, I’m moving to a deserted island away from everyone. And buying Emily a new phone.

CHAPTER 13

AT HOME, I opened my windows just a crack so the smell of the rain could come in but not the rain itself. I’d had enough things ruined lately, thank you very much.

I changed into dry clothes (and felt better immediately) and put the Godiva box in a kitchen cupboard (out of sight, out of mind). It occurred to me that Dirk might stop by the office to check out his flowers. Good thing I came home.

I connected my laptop to the Internet and got back to work. The afternoon passed quickly between paperwork, phone calls and emails. My stomach growled and I looked at my watch. Nearly six. Wow. I love it when time flies like that.

I wandered over to the refrigerator and checked out the contents. Forgot I made egg salad. I pulled out the bowl and grabbed a fork.

As I was taking a bite, my cell phone rang. Swallowing quickly, I picked it up.

“By the Bay Properties, this is Sydney.”

“Hi. I’m looking to buy a house, preferably one with a full dinner prepared and hot on the table. Say, in the next hour.”

I smiled. “We can all dream, can’t we? Is this Matt?”

“Hey, Syd, how’s it going?

“Fine, now.” Oh gosh, that sounds like I was waiting for his call. “I mean, the first half of the day was filled with disaster after disaster—”

Which, by the way, you were a part o
f
, grumbled Sergeant Pride.

“—but I’m home with dry clothes on so…” Geez, could I sound more stupid? I closed my eyes and covered my face with my free hand.

“I was wondering…are you busy tonight?” He didn’t sound like the confident, knows-where-he-belongs-in-the-world guy from the fishing trip. Which — ironically — gave me more confidence.

I thought of this morning’s “business or pleasure” conversation. It had been kind of funny to me, which apparently aggravated him. Which I suppose was the reason he ignored me in GT’s driveway. Which pretty much ticked me off.

“You didn’t seem like you wanted to be seen with me this morning,” I said, swirling patterns around the egg salad with my fork.

He cleared his throat. “Yeah, well…like I said, I don’t like to mix my business and personal life. GT can be…I like my privacy.”

I thought about GT’s intrusion int
o
m
y
personal life earlier. “I understand.”

“So…have you had dinner?”

I laughed and glanced down at my artwork. “I was standing at the counter eating egg salad out of a bowl when you called.”

Matt chuckled. “Sounds delicious. Can you drag yourself away?”

He was too funny to stay mad at. I wanted to say yes to dinner, but how was I going to feel later when he again acted like he barely knew me? “I’d like to, but…” My feelings had been trampled on too much lately for me to walk willingly into a risky situation.

“You can choose the restaurant,” he urged.

I wasn’t trying to make him beg. “Can I tell you why I’m not sure it’s a good idea?” My stomach rolled. I wasn’t used to being so honest.

“How about you give me your address and we’ll talk about it over dinner. Can I pick you up around seven?”

Pick me up? Holy cow! Like
a
dat
e
date. A real date. I looked around my little apartment. Well, there’s no time to get ready for a date and clean the place up, too. I just won’t let him in.

“Seven sounds great.” Oh geez, I sound breathless, breathe girlfriend, it’s-cool-it’s-no-big-deal.

The calming pep talk at the speed of an auctioneer di
d
no
t
help me relax.

I’m going on a date with Matt! A real date where he picks me up and everything
!
Lovesick practically swooned.

Don’t do it
,
warned Fear
.
You’re setting yourself up for a fall.

I ignored the warning, gave Matt my address, and hung up. I stood there for a second then threw my arms up in the air and whooped!

I hurried to put away the egg salad, shut down my computer — oh, leave the papers, I’m not letting him in anyway — and ran to my room. If I hurried, there was time for a shower and fixing my hair.

I looked in the mirror as I shed my clothes. Oh yeah, the hair was just a big mess of brown frizz springing everywhere. Out of the shower, I rubbed some no-frizz, leave-in conditioner into my wet hair, dried it, and worked on taming it with my straightener.

I opened my closet to see what was available. Huh. I looked over at the dirty clothes hamper. Brimming over. Okay, so the good stuff was gone.

I whisked through all the hangers. Nope, nope, absolutely not, huh-uh, nope. Hmm, I came to the black lace top Emily gave me for Christmas last year. Lined in front, and short enough that an inch or so of stomach showed.

I don’t know, too sexy? I remembered how Matt looked at my skin showing Saturday at breakfast.

Do it! Wear it
!
urged Little Miss Lovesick.

I pulled it out of the closet. What else? Oh, I’ve got that cute black skirt I bought a couple months ago when Em thought shopping would cheer me up. That would look great with this.

I got dressed and looked in the mirror. Hmm. I looked like a girl who wants to impress a guy on a date. I looked good, but… I pulled off the skirt and grabbed a pair of newer, nice-looking jeans from the closet.

Back to the mirror. Yeah, nice. Casual, but obvious that I dressed with care. Jeans on a date on a summer evening? Sheesh. And I had freshly shaven legs so…

Do it
!
yelled a couple different Voices.

I put the skirt back on.

Time. I looked at my alarm clock. 6:45.

I ran to the bathroom and grabbed some eye shadow and mascara. I brushed my teeth and put on some lip-gloss. (Again with the teeth brushing before eating.)

Time. 6:53.

Oh, I know! I grabbed a black Scrunchi and pulled my hair back into a cute little ponytail. It would do. One last look and I went to grab some black sandals.

I heard a knock, grabbed my purse, and looked through the peephole. Matt. I took a deep breath, turned off the lights, and opened the door.

The crisp, cool scent of the recent rain washed over me. As did the light scent of men’s cologne. Matt looked great in jeans and a dark blue golf shirt, hair still wet from his shower.

“Hi there,” I said cheerfully as I stepped out and closed the door. I locked it, then turned to face him. He looked me over in the fading light.

“You look…great.”

I grinned up at him. “Thanks!” Feeling frisky, I gave him that same once-over look he’d given me. “You look…blue.”

It loosened him up. He grinned and took my hand, pulling me close as we walked down the stairs. “I hope you’re hungry.”

“I’m starving. Drive fast.”

“Did you decide where you want to go?”

“Are you sure you’re letting me choose?”

Matt glanced at me warily as he opened the passenger door of his black Dodge Ram pickup. The inside was significantly cleaner than I expected from a construction worker. I wondered if he’d cleaned it before he came over. “Yeah,” he said in response to my question. But it came out more like “Ye-ah?” I smiled mischievously just to make him worry.

Twenty minutes later we walked into a tiny little Asian restaurant off the beaten path. Nonetheless, it was full of customers.

“I can’t believe you’ve never had Mongolian barbeque. It rocks!” I showed him how to choose one of the frozen meats and press it down into the bowl. Then add noodles and sprouts and pineapple and tofu and — I can’t even remember what all we stuffed into our bowls.

We handed them over to the cook. Matt watched him as he spread out the food over the round grill, keeping each bowlful separate for each customer, turning the food with wooden sticks. Then the mess was scraped onto a plate and handed over.

“You’re gonna love this,” I told him. We slipped back to our little table for two.

After the first bite, Matt smiled. “This is good stuff.”

We ate. And talked. A lot. About hiking and fishing and water sports and movies and everything that came to mind.

“Maybe you’d like to go out on my boat with me sometime,” Matt asked, taking another bite of food.

“You have a boat?” I speared a piece of pineapple and ate it. My stomach felt stretched already and I was only halfway done.

He shrugged. “It’s not that big. Twenty-foot motor boat. I tool around the bay in it, go out to Lake Michigan, tow it to the smaller lakes around here to go fishing.”

“Sounds great. I’d love to.” Funny how much easier it was to say yes to Matt than to accept a similar invitation from Trent.

He grinned at me with a devilish look in his eye. “I promise I won’t make you fish,” he said, “if you promise to wear a life jacket in case you fall in.”

I slapped at his hand. Quick as a rattlesnake, he grabbed my offending hand and didn’t let go. I felt breathless laughter escaping. I loved the way Matt was looking at me, like I was fun and cute and maybe even interesting. Without breaking eye contact, he kissed my fingers.

Little Miss Lovesick sighed.

I’m sure I was all googly-eyed, but I didn’t care. This guy was fabulous.

Still holding my hand, he said, “You finished?”

My food was only half-eaten, but I was full. “Yeah. I’ll eat the rest tomorrow.”

Matt gestured to the waitress to bring a to-go box. “All right. You chose dinner, so I get to choose dessert.”

He took my hand as we walked back to his truck. I don’t know what it is about holding hands, but…I love it.

Matt drove (both hands on the wheel now) downtown and parked across the street from the beach. Even after eight on a damp Tuesday night, there were dozens of people milling around. The shops stayed open late in the summer because of the tourists. That made it fun for the locals, too.

We walked a couple blocks and stopped in front of a dark storefront.

“Noo!” Matt put his free hand on his hip. “How can they be closed?”

I looked in the darkened window of Kilwin's, one of Traverse City's famous fudge shops. At this one, they rolled out the fudge in the front window. Definitely brought people in. In fact, I’d seen people stand on the sidewalk watching even if they weren’t buying. A bigger crowd meant the confectioners were pulling taffy inside. Pretty cool.

Matt pulled me closer and wrapped his arms around me. “Huh? How?” He put his chin on my head and sighed.

Okay
,
seriousl
y
lovin
g
thi
s
. I don’t care how goofy it sounds, it’s the little gestures that please me most.

“Um, they turn off the lights and lock the door?”

Matt leaned down and nipped my neck. It tickled and I shrieked.

“Be good, smarty-pants, or I won’t bring you back. Trust me, this is the best chocolate shop in town.”

He let me go, but took my hand again. He looked up and down the street, then decided to go back the way we came. We walked and talked and looked in the store windows. As we approached a shop that sold Moomers ice cream, Matt asked, “Like ice cream?”

“You have no idea!” I went crazy and ordered a scoop of cherry praline pecan and a scoop of chocolate raspberry cabernet. Matt got the chocolate orange and the mocha almond fudge. We laughed as we fed each other a bite of our desserts.

“Well, lookey here! If it ain’t my contractor and my realtor, out for a stroll together.”

Matt and I looked up to see GT and a beautiful blond woman walking toward us.

Matt’s laughing grin morphed into a professional smile. He dropped my hand and stepped away from me. His tension washed over to me, and I pasted a professional smile on my face as well.

“Honey, you know Matt,” GT said to the blonde. “And this here’s Sydney Riley, the lovely lady who’s finding your mama a summer cottage. Sydney, this beautiful young thing is my wife, Mercedes.”

Matt and I both shook Mercedes’ hand as she giggled and said, “How do you do?”

How do you do? My grandmother was the only person I knew who said “how do you do.” Huh. Maybe it was another Southern thing. Though I wondered sometimes if GT really was from the South or if he used the charm to manipulate people.

“What are you doing out with this alley cat, darlin?” GT asked me.

I laughed nervously and tried not to look at Matt. Alley cat? Southern charm or not, the only images that came to mind were derogatory. Did GT know something I didn’t, or did he think that was funny?

“Oh, we’re just…out having dinner.” I glanced at Matt.

“So, are you up for the rest of the summer, Mercedes?” Matt asked.

“Oh, you silly!” She giggled again. “I can’t live in the house if you’re still working on it.” She laughed and batted at Matt’s arm with one hand. The other one was clinging to GT’s arm.

My gosh. It was Marilyn Monroe. Mercedes could’ve been Norma Jean’s sister.