Little Miss Lovesick (9 page)

Matt skimmed my appearance and something in his expression lit up. What was he thinking?

Hopefully the same thing I’m thinkin
g
, exclaimed Little Miss Lovesick.

“I’m just doing him a favor.”

I walked farther into the kitchen and stopped a foot or two away. Geez, he was more handsome than I remembered. Not just his looks, his whole
—
sel
f
. “Who?”

Matt’s smile widened. He could tell the effect he was having on me. “GT. I’ve worked with him before on commercial projects. He asked me to help out when the other guy he hired had a family emergency.”

“Oh.”

Damn, but he looked fine. This shirt seemed even tighter on him than the ones he’d worn up north. Of course, it was hotter now and he didn’t have a flannel shirt on. His biceps were…more
…
appealin
g
than I remembered. And his smile
…
m
y
water in the desert.

“So, how’ve you been?” He moved closer, his hand reaching out to touch mine, then pulling back.

His touch made me shiver. I couldn’t stop staring at him, at those incredible blue eyes staring back a
t
m
e
. I reached out my hand. Our fingers touched, intertwining a little, pulling away and coming together again.

I’ve died and gone to heave
n
, breathed Little Miss Lovesick.

“Well, I—”

The door opened behind me. I jumped away from Matt like a junior high kid caught behind the bleachers. Matt moved back to his papers. I looked over my shoulder to see who had come in.

GT, looking spiffy (and expensive) in a short-sleeve silk shirt, lightweight slacks (that also appeared to be made of silk), and leather shoes (probably Italian, it’s GT, after all), filled the room. Of medium height, he had the protruding stomach so many older men get, but he was solid. Still, it wasn’t his size, but his presence. GT moved like the world revolved around him.

“Well now, Syd Riley. How are you, darlin’?” GT stuck out his hand and grasped mine with both hands. He held it rather than shook it. Southern charm, I guess. I pulled my hand back on the pretense of adjusting my purse strap on my shoulder.

We exchanged pleasantries while I pretended Matt was not in the room. But my mind was spinning. Why was he here in Traverse City? Where did he live? I found it difficult to concentrate on my client while thinking about the gorgeous man behind me. My imagination ran wild picturing him working, arms bulging, shirt on the ground…

I swallowed hard. I shouldn’t have watched that Diet Coke commercial on YouTube again when I got home from the trip.

I tried to focus on GT. He pointed around the kitchen and through the window, his lips moving and sound coming out. No idea what he said, though.

“I see you met my contractor here.” GT motioned for Matt to join us near the window. He clapped his meaty hand on Matt’s shoulder with a grip that probably would’ve brought me to my knees. “Matt Engel, builder of dreams, meet Syd Riley, dream weaver.”

Matt and I chuckled politely at GT’s descriptions and quickly shook hands as if we were just meeting. His hand was hard and rough and strong. Mine was shaking.

“Syd here,” GT continued, “can see the potential in anything. I didn’t want this house at first, didn’t want any of the houses she showed me.”

Boy, I remembere
d
tha
t
.

“But she has a way of seeing beyond what’s in front of you. She can give you th
e
visio
n
of what could be.” GT patted my shoulder.

“Matt, now, he’s a man who takes the vision and builds it. Some of this is your idea, Syd. Look around. He’s an artist!”

Matt looked down at his feet, then nodded at GT. He looked at me out of the corner of his eye. I was grinning like a wild woman, I’m sure. His dimple appeared as he kept eye contact.

“You two should work together. You’d make a great team,” GT said, thumping Matt on the back. Then he winked at me and turned back to Matt. “Best be careful, though. She’s spoken for.”

Shi-ii-itt!!

Mayday! Mayday! All the Voices in my head were screaming — or fainting.

Matt’s eyes narrowed. My words stumbled over each other. “Oh — no, GT, that’s — we, uh—” My eyes dropped to my wringing hands. This was embarrassing beyond imagining.

GT looked at me in surprise. “You’re not married? What happened?”

Pull yourself together, woma
n
, yelled Sergeant Pride
.
Repeat after me, things didn’t work out.

I took a deep breath and tried to relax my hands. “Things didn’t work out.” I avoided Matt’s gaze and tried to show a composed, professional demeanor to GT. “It happens.”

Now, hightail it outta there!

“So, shall we look over the listings I brought?” I tried to smile brightly.

“Well, that’s just a damn shame!” GT sputtered. “What a fool to let you get away.” He turned back to Matt. “You’re not seeing anyone, are you?”

CHAPTER 10

I SAT on my balcony Saturday morning, feet up on the railing, chair tipped back the way teachers always yelled at you for in school. A tall glass of orange juice rested on the table. Next to it lay my cell phone. And Matt’s business card. A card that plainly showed a Traverse City area code...had I ever looked.

I stared into the woods that extended behind the back of my apartment building, looking for answers. A pair of chickadees called to each other up in the leaves. I wanted to call Matt, but I didn’t know what to say.

He had my number and hadn’t called, so maybe he wasn’t interested. I remembered how we’d looked at each other earlier at GT’s. He couldn't have shown his disinterest any more plainly.

I thought about calling Emily, but she and Geoffrey went out on a real live date last night, and since I didn’t know what time she got in, I hesitated to call and wake her up. While I tried to decide, the phone rang. I looked at the number but didn’t recognize it. The last thing I wanted to do was talk to clients right now.

By the third ring, I sighed heavily and answered. I love my job, I love my job, I love…

“By the Bay Properties, this is Sydney,” I said with as much enthusiasm as I could muster. I toyed with the edge of the business card waiting for the other person to speak.

“Hi, uh… This is Matt.”

My feet came off the railing so fast I lost my balance and nearly tipped the chair over. The table wobbled precariously. I made a grab for the juice. The phone book landed with a thump on the floor.

“Hello?”

“Uh, hi, sorry, I dropped something.”

“Sydney?”

“Yeah. Hi.” Crap! I had no idea what to say. My heart started such a drumbeat in my ears, I couldn’t hear myself think.

“How’s it going?”

“Uh, it’s good, it’s good. How’s it going with you?” Man, I am a freaking idiot. I think I heard him laugh. Was it a good laugh or a bad laugh?

“I’m good.” He paused. I scrambled to think of something to say but he beat me to it. “So, what’re you doing?”

Easy enough question. Safe.

“Sitting on my balcony with my orange juice.” Okay, that was true. Not very witty. But tone of voice was good. I was smiling while I was speaking, so that’s good. Adds a friendly tone.

“Haven’t, uh, had breakfast yet?”

He’s nervous
!
exclaimed Lovesick
.
Listen to him!

“Not yet, I’m waiting for Wolfgang Puck to start a delivery service. Great omelettes.”

“Really? Huh.” He chuckled.

Good, Syd, good. Make him laugh. Men like women who make them laugh.

“Well, maybe you’d settle for The Omelette Shoppe. They make a pretty mean omelette.”

Pause. What’s the right answer? What exactly is the question? Noncommittal is the best bet when you don’t know what the heck is going on. He didn’t exactly ask me out.

Who cares
?
cried Lovesick
.
Just say yes!

“I’ve never eaten there. Is it good?”

“Wanna find out?” He paused again. I blinked. Was he asking me out? He was totally asking me out! “How about I meet you there in half an hour? My treat?”

I realized my mouth was hanging open when I almost swallowed a mosquito.

“Uh, sure, yes. Which one?”

Matt suggested the downtown location on Cass Street as I looked over what I’d put on this morning. It’s not a date. It’s a let’s-get-together-and-catch-up.

It’s not a date. Emily and I treat each other all the time.

It’s morning. Breakfast. Not a date.

“I’ll see you in half an hour,” he said and just like that he was off the phone.

Holy smokes, I was going on a date with Matt!

I ran and brushed my teeth. It’s ridiculous to brush your teeth right before you eat, I know. Crest and orange juice, yuck! Equally ridiculous, however, was the idea of going on a dat
e
withou
t
brushing my teeth.

I grabbed my purse and headed for the door. I was practically humming. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d hummed. I giggled. I knew I was nuts, but I didn’t care. Thank you, God! Thank you, thank you, thank you!

My tires squealed as I backed out of my parking space. I took a deep breath as I put the SUV in drive. Calm down. You don’t want to get in an accident on the way. It’s Saturday, after all, and every idiot with a car is on the road.

Whew. Okay. Better.

I opened my cell phone, dialed one, and got Em’s voice mail. “Em, call me th
e
minut
e
you get this message. I mean it. You’re never going to believe this! Bye!”

I thought I was going to throw up by the time I pulled into a downtown parking lot. I took a deep breath, then another, trying to calm my nerves.

Don’t check your hair or anythin
g
, warned a Voice
.
He might see you from the restaurant and think you’re vain. Or worse, overeager.

Good point. I hope I look okay.

It doesn’t matter. It’s not really a date; it’s just breakfast.

That’s right, it’s just breakfast.

Breakfast on
a
Saturda
y
, which is like a date because he could be out wit
h
anyon
e
right now and he chose me.

Okay, everyone quiet
!
I can’t breathe.

When I got inside the restaurant, Matt wasn’t there yet. I gave the waitress my name, then saw Matt jogging up the sidewalk.

He’s joggin
g
, Lovesick squeaked
.
That must mean he really wants to see me!

Or it could be starting to sprinkl
e
, said another Voice.

Yeah, it i
s
s
o
not rainin
g
, she purred.

“Hey, sorry I’m late,” he said when he walked in. He wore a rugby shirt, shorts, and Tevas. It was a new look on him. I liked it. There was a rugged manliness barely covered by a civilized veneer.

“No problem, I just got here,” I said, trying not to smile too broadly.

“Good to see you.” Matt leaned in and kissed me on the cheek.

He kissed me
!
shrieked Lovesick
.
At th
e
beginnin
g
of the date!

“You’re looking great today,” he said as his eyes gave me the once-over.

I looked down. White tank top with a blue button down tied at the waist and sleeves rolled up, khaki shorts at mid-thigh, sandals.

“You do the thing—” Matt pointed near my belly button. “With the knot — and the open…” His finger was sort of wiggling around. He reminded me of Joey o
n
Friend
s
. “You know. It’s nice.”

I moved my hand self-consciously over my stomach. Yup, skin showing. I tried not to tug my shirt down, but left my hand covering the open skin. Elle McPherson I was not. I really should work out more if I’m going to be comfortable with the ogling.

I
lov
e
the ogling
!
(Oh, you’ll never guess who sai
d
tha
t
.)

He winked at me.

My stomach did another flip. How was I going to keep breakfast down with him around? I grinned like an idiot and tried not to look at him.

“Your table is right this way.”

I almost tripped the waitress in my hurry to follow her. I let out a breath through pursed lips and tried to act natural. Difficult when I knew he was two steps behind me.

The waitress stopped at a booth and laid down the menus. I slid in one side, half-hoping Matt would slide in right beside me. He thanked the waitress who must’ve said something waitress-y but I didn’t catch it.

“Hungry?” He smiled at me, then looked over the menu.

“You have no idea,” I murmured as I opened mine.

He chuckled.

Oh crappy, did I say that out loud? Recover, recover!

“I usually eat earlier than this.” I moved the tall menu high enough to hide for a moment. Oh geez, I’ve got to gain some control.

“See anything you like?”

“Nope!” Can’t see you. Won’t flirt with you.

He laughed again. The sound made my senses whirl.

I lowered my menu. “I’m not on vacation anymore. No more flirting.” I tried to look like I meant it. Couldn’t hold eye contact. Returned to the menu.

I could feel his stare and looked back at him.

“I’m a big boy. I don’t think you can tell me what to do.”

“Oh really?” Stomach flips! Change the subject, quick!

“So tell me, what brings you to Traverse City, Mr. Fishing Guide?” Okay, getting to the heart of my curiosity was one way to change the subject.

“Dr. Willard. He delivered me thirty-two years ago.”

“Uh, okay.” I chuckled in complete confusion. “I thought you lived in Abundance Creek.”

Matt folded his menu and laid it beside the water glass a bus boy had brought. “That’s my uncle’s place. I was just helping out while GT was in Greece.”

“Ah.” I wasn’t following.

“GT likes to change things, but he’s a bit, uh, controlling. So he doesn’t like the changes to take place when he can’t be there.” Matt shrugged. “It amounted to a ten-day paid vacation for me and my crew.”

“Interesting.” Generous. Quirky, but generous.

I turned another page in the menu. Too many choices. A dozen kinds of omelettes. Eggs and meat. Eggs with biscuits, on croissants, in burritos. Where did it say just “eggs” with nothing else? I couldn't focus.

“So, you’re from here. And you knew I was from here. When we were both up there.” It’s not that I was mad, but if I’d known,
I
definitel
y
wouldn’t have flirted with him. Way too risky.

I looked up to find his eyes measuring me. “Yup.” That’s it. No explanation. Interesting.

I could do that, measure him with a look. I kept looking. The first one to break eye contact loses, right?

Even if I lose, I wi
n
, sighed Lovesick.

“Are you ready to order?” Saved by the waitress.

Matt ordered one of those huge meals that I frankly can’t believe one person can consume alone. I asked if I could have two scrambled eggs with cheese, even though I couldn't find it on the menu. No toast. No bacon. Just eggs.

Matt looked at me like I was crazy. “I take you to the best breakfast place in town and you want plain eggs you could have at home?”

I didn’t know what to say. “I asked for cheese.” Brilliant. Bravo.

He narrowed his eyes. “Are you one of those girls who pretends not to eat in front of people?”

I leaned closer and lowered my voice. “Do you remember how many s’mores I ate on vacation?”

He grinned and leaned closer, lowering his voice. “I can’t count that high.”

I playfully smacked his knuckles with my knife.

“Fine, I’ll have the quiche, please,” I said to the waitress. She took our order and left. “But don’t complain when we can’t eat all of this food you’re buying.”

“You think I can’t eat mine and yours, too? I’d protect my plate if I were you.”

That’s when I decided to just relax and enjoy breakfast. No big deal. We lived in the same town. Yes, we flirted shamelessly for an entire weekend, but that was ages ago. (Okay, two weeks in real time, but it seemed like longer.) We were both adults. We could have a mature relationship working in proximity to each other.

So I decided not to flirt with him. Not vacation flirting anyway. Not the all-out-because-I’m-leaving-tomorrow kind of flirting. Not that I didn’t want to appear cute and funny. I laughed when he was funny and argued when he was wrong. Very normal. Very non-flirting.

Very intoxicating.

By the end of our meal, I was about as relaxed as I could get under the circumstances. I’d eaten, laughed, (been ogled, let’s not forget that), and basically had a great morning.

As I raised my coffee to finish the last swallow, I happened to look out the window. A tall-ish guy with sandy brown hair and a tennis build was walking past.

No way.

He walked with the grace that comes from working out at the gym for two hours a day, four times a week, and playing tennis and racquetball besides.

His clothes were the “look at me” kind that make you look in the beginning and make you sick at the end.

No freaking way!

A moment later, a red Beamer pulled onto the street.