Man of the Month (Willowdale Romance Novel) (5 page)

“Why do this now? Why after so many years?” His gaze drifted off to the map of Willowdale hanging on the wall. His eyes went right to the intersection where his life had been forever changed.

Tommy sat back down. “It’s some safety initiative. I reckon some busybody down at the capitol paged through decades of dramatic crash records and came up with a few beauties to rectify. Good PR for the Governor in an election year.”

Brad swore. He didn’t like it. Not one bit. It would just stir up old wounds and a new round of gossip.
But business is business
, he thought, and they certainly needed some. “And what would you need from Elegant Eats?”

“A nice catered lunch for eight. Some of the dignitaries are coming down for a photo op, to view the intersection.” He sighed. “I understand if you don’t want to do it. I was reluctant to mention it. But if you need the work
 . . .
”

Brad nodded. “I’ll see if I can handle it without Jeanne. It might be too hard for her to be there.” Not that he’d be able to keep the lid on this news. She’d find out.

Tommy crossed his arms and studied Brad. “Take some time to figure out what’s really going on with you two.”

Brad sighed. “I don’t have to, because nothing is going on and never will be. We’ll take that job if you’ll have us.”

Tommy. “’Course we will.”

JEANNE’S FEBRUARY date was circled on the calendar for the first Friday of the month. February fourth. She wanted to get it out of the way. She frowned at it each time she walked by, like it was an upcoming gyno appointment taunting her. Not that Mr. February would be getting that far with her, no ma’am.

When the night finally arrived, it was cold and rainy, and she looked longingly at the couch. A bowl of popcorn, a good movie, and some quiet time with Scooter sounded like the perfect date, not another awkward dinner. She shooed Scooter off her coat and tried to brush off as much of his kitty fur as she could. The fact that she didn’t bother brushing all of it off just showed how much she was not looking forward to Mr. February. It didn’t seem worth the bother to go hunting for the lint brush, and how pathetic was that?

Michael Green was driving in to Willowdale for their seven o’clock reservations at Scalia’s. She arrived at seven-ten, not so much because she was trying to be fashionable or anything, but because that’s how long it had taken her to gather up the enthusiasm to get out of her car and head in. She got shivers remembering her date with Sam. But then she remembered how good Scalia’s chicken scaloppini was and headed inside. The promise of a good meal could get Jeanne to do a lot of things she didn’t want to, which was one more great quality about Brad—his fabulous cooking.

She popped open an umbrella and dashed to the restaurant. Standing at the hostess station, she scanned the restaurant for a lone male.

Kate’s stepsister, Dina, plucked a menu from behind the desk and smiled. “Whatcha doing here, Jeanne?”

Maybe meeting up in Willowdale was a bad idea. This was how things ended up in the gossip pipeline throughout the diners and beauty shops in town.

Jeanne opened her mouth, but Dina leaned forward and whispered, “Are you here on one of your blind dates? The Man of the Month thing? That’s really cool.”

Jeanne hitched her purse on her shoulder and put her hand on her hip. “Your sister wasn’t supposed to tell.”

“She didn’t. I heard Mrs. Johnson talking about it at Tonya’s salon.” She slapped her hand over her heart. “Tonya didn’t say a thing, swear to God.”

Jeanne just closed her eyes and shook her head. “Yep. Blind date. Lucky that you won’t ever have to endure one of those, being a married gal and all.” Dina had married Brad’s little brother Mitch—and delivered their baby—all in one night, two years ago.

Dina scrunched up her nose and gave a soft squeal. “I know! But, I thought it would be cool if you and Brad got back together, and then you and I could be sisters-in-law.” She shrugged. “Ah, well. Maybe Mr. Right’s waiting for you right now. I think that’s him over there.” She tipped her chin toward the far corner and handed Jeanne her menu. “Not bad looking. Good luck.”

She didn’t even bother correcting Dina that no, she wasn’t interested in Brad. Nobody believed her, anyway. Jeanne squared her shoulders and told herself to stop pouting. Michael looked to be a big improvement from Sam, and he’d been willing to drive out here—in his car—so that scored some bonus points.

Maybe Brad’s right. Maybe I can find a nice guy this way.

She set her umbrella by the coat rack and walked over.

He stood up as she approached. “Jeanne? So nice to meet you, I’m Michael Green.” He held out his hand.

“I’m Jeanne Clark.” He was at least six foot two, and she gave him a few points for that, too.

He pulled out her chair and she sat down. He swallowed hard and blinked a few times as he made his way to his seat. “I ordered us a bottle of wine, hope that was okay with you. Do you like Chardonnay?”

“Very nice. Thank you.”
Okay, this isn’t so bad.
She smoothed her napkin on her lap.

“My pleasure.” He rubbed his eyes. They were a nice hazel color, although a bit bloodshot.

She opened the menu, even though she knew what she was going to order. “What do you do for a living?”

“I’m a physician’s assistant.” He sneezed.

“Bless you.”
Good. Brad hadn’t been lying. He’s actually employed.
“That sounds really interesting. Do you like it?”

“Very much.” He rubbed his eyes, which suddenly seemed quite red. “And you run a catering business with Brad, right?” he asked. “I guess you’d know what’s good to order here.” Another sneeze.

“Bless you again. Are you sick?” If she ended up in bed with the flu for a week after this day, Brad really would get the potato peeler treatment.

Michael shook his head and pulled out a handkerchief from his suit pocket. “Do you by any chance have a cat?”

Heat warmed her cheeks. “Yes.”
Along with cat fur on my coat.

He nodded and sneezed. “Thought so. I’m allergic.” His eyes started watering. “Really allergic. Usually it doesn’t bother me this bad, unless I’m right in the same room with a cat.” Another sneeze. “I didn’t think it could possibly be a problem at a restaurant.”

She could feel the blush spreading down her neck and looked away. “Maybe I have a few stray cat hairs on me
 . . .
”

He sneezed again. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to use the restroom.”

She downed her glass of wine and groaned. Why bother dating a guy who couldn’t be around cats? It’s not like she’d get rid of Scooter for a guy. No way. She’d been with Scooter longer than she’d ever lasted with any man. She dropped her head in her hands and thought about laughing. Or crying.

Dina came over with her order pad ready. “Where’s your date? Do you need a few minutes?”

Jeanne rested her chin in her hand and looked up. “I have a feeling we won’t be eating. Things aren’t going so hot. My date’s allergic to me. Or to my cat, anyway.”

Dina’s eyes widened. “Never heard that one before. Sorry, Jeanne. He was cute.”

Michael returned from the bathroom but stood a few feet away from the table. “I’m sorry, I’m going to have to call it a night. My medication is at home, and my throat is closing up. The closest ER is back in Whitesville. Should we try this another time?” His eyes were swollen.

Jeanne tilted her head. “You seem like a real nice guy, but I don’t think so. I’m a confirmed cat girl, and it looks like dating me could kill you.”

He laughed. “Sorry, Jeanne. I’ll get the check after you leave.” Another sneeze.

She walked over to shake his hand goodbye, but he held up his hands telling her to stay back. “Right, sorry. Well, see you. I mean, bye. Have a good life.”

She forgot her umbrella, but zipped out to the car through the rain anyway, so she wouldn’t have to go back in and face him again. She slid behind the steering wheel and started laughing and crying and feeling all around pathetic. That dinner had been quick enough to qualify for speed dating.

Whose shoulder was she going to cry on? Tonya’s? Kate’s? She narrowed her eyes. Better yet, whose butt was she going to kick?

THE KITCHEN TIMER went off just as someone starting pounding on Brad’s front door.

“Hang on!” He pulled the hors d’oeuvres out of the oven and dashed to the hall. There were a few more rapid-fire knocks before he could fling open the door. “What is it?” Jeanne was the last person he’d expected to see. “What are you doing here? Wait, he didn’t stand you up, did he?” He gritted his teeth.

Pushing past him, she made her way to his couch and plopped down. “Oh no, he showed up. And then I almost killed him.”

He scratched his head. “Huh?”

“He’s allergic to cats, Brad. You were his college roommate. How could you not know that?”

More head scratching. “No, I just lived next door to him. But I guess now that you mention it, I remember him being allergic to something. Like shrimp. Or shellfish.”
Right?

“Not exactly. A little bigger and a lot furrier. How could you confuse shellfish with a cat?” Jeanne’s eyes were bright beads of anger.

“Well, it’s not like you brought the cat with you.”

“No. But I might have had some fur on my coat,” she mumbled.

“Man. Sorry. I thought I did good with this one.” Although that cat business did ring a bell. He wouldn’t have purposely done that
 . . .
hell, no. He was trying to find someone for his
 . . .
his
 . . .
damn, what was she? His best friend? No, more than that, really. At least, he wanted more than that. The sooner she was off the market the better. He had to get this matchmaker thing right.

“What smells so good?” Jeanne sniffed her way toward the kitchen, suddenly sounding a lot less angry.

Too bad they’d never get married. Their fights would never last long. He’d be able to smooth over any rough spots with her favorite foods.

He untied his apron and tossed it on the kitchen table. “The latest appetizer for Elegant Eats. Wanna taste?”

She popped her behind onto one of the stools at his tiny island. “I’ll hurt you if I don’t. I’m starving. I didn’t get dinner out of the deal. Just a few sips of wine.”

“Well, let me get you a few sips more and a sample of what’s sure to be a hot new seller.” He scanned the kitchen. Seemed like every pot and pan he owned was out on the counter or sitting dirty in the sink. The disorder made him antsy. He pulled a bottle of wine from the fridge, poured her half a glass, and slid it in front of her.

“Thanks.” She smiled at him, and he felt his Adam’s apple catch in his throat. Damn, she looked good in a deep-blue dress with a vee-neck, that was a bit lower than he’d like other men to be looking at. Her hair was wet and sticking to her cheeks, but she looked bright and beautiful.

He pulled a clean plate out of his dishwasher, and piled a few appetizers on it. “Now close your eyes and see if you can guess what this is.”

“I guess you missed the part when I said I was starving. Hand it over!”

“Close your eyes.”

She gave him her best annoyed look and closed her eyes.

He stared at her beautiful face for a moment, wishing his could trace a finger down her cheek and under her chin. He figured her skin was cold from the rain. He was just the man to warm her up. He could spend hours running his fingers over her soft skin.
Like hell you could. You’d never last that long.

His throat clenched, and then he stabbed one of the coconut shrimp, dunked it in the butter-rum sauce and brought it to her lips. “Open wide.”

Her lips parted, and he set the shrimp on her tongue. The look of ecstasy on her face felt like a kick in the gut. He wanted to make her look like that, and no, not with food.

“Oh. My. God.”

She licked her lips, and he had to look away. “Want more?”

Her eyes flew open, and she grabbed the plate from him. “Where’s that dipping sauce? I could drink it. I swear our food is so much better than what we served back at The Hideaway.”

He laughed and handed her the bowl of sauce. “Your Friday specials were always a hit. Don’t sell yourself short. We kept that place packed.” He could still remember the shock he’d felt when she’d showed up for an interview one day while he was tending bar. The owner, Butch, wanted to bring on a chef and start serving real food instead of the bar chum they offered. He and Jeanne had ended up working in the kitchen together. After so many years of avoiding each other, it was a surprise to have become such fast friends.

And then to almost ruin it all with their short-lived romance.

Jeanne poured the sauce over the shrimp and crossed her legs, which tugged the fabric of her dress higher up her thighs. Just when he thought her eyes were her best feature, she’d show off a flash of leg. Or bend over in a low-cut shirt. Truth was, he loved everything about her.

She smiled at him.
Another great feature.
“You talk while I eat. Tell me how you made these.”

He leaned against the counter across from her. “Wasn’t too hard. I soaked the shrimp in a lime garlic marinade and then dredged them through a coconut flour mix, broiled it, and made a rum butter sauce.”

“Sure. Easy peasy.” She popped another shrimp in her mouth. “Poor Mark couldn’t enjoy this, what with his allergy and all.”

Oh, she wasn’t going to let him live this down. “His name is Mike, and I swear to God I didn’t remember about the cat.”

“Mark, Mike, I’m never going to see him again.” She finished off another shrimp. “Guess you never made these for your college buddies. Allergic to cats
 . . .
” She shook her head and grabbed a pinch of flour and coconut from a bowl on the counter and flicked it at him.

He jerked back. “Hey! I just vacuumed yesterday.” He flung some back at her, and she dashed into the living room. “What was that for?” he asked.

“For setting me up on the worst blind date ever.” She ducked behind the couch and then sprinted back into the kitchen. She picked up the pastry brush and spattered rum butter sauce at him. Droplets sprayed his face and splattered against the wall behind him.

“Well, I suppose the walls needed a good cleaning.” He wiped his face with the back of his hand.

She laughed. “Wait, no, the two worst blind dates ever. You owe me! You owe me big time. Do you know what that does to a girl’s self-esteem when she almost kills her date?”

He grabbed the bag of shredded coconut and threw the rest of that at her. It fell like snow on his couch and coffee table.

“Looks like you’re dusting tomorrow, too.” She slipped past him back into the living room. He doubled back around the couch and caught her in his arms, his fingers sticky on her skin. “So I owe you, do I? What do you want?”

“I’m not sure,” she said in a breathy voice. Her heaving chest pressed against his, and her tongue swiped her lips.

“I’d say you owe me for this mess, J.”

She looked up at him and blinked. His breath hitched. He was a whisper away from kissing her. Every part of his body was screaming for it.

She reached up and brushed his eyebrow with her thumb. “You’ve got a little bit of coconut.” Her fingers trailed down his face and lingered over his lips. “And here.” Then she rubbed her thumb across his chin and licked her finger. “And some sauce.”

He wanted to walk her up against the wall and take those fingers and
 . . .
But he stepped back. “I’m sorry
 . . .
I should, I should clean this up.” He rubbed the back of his head and looked at the floor, sucking in a deep breath.

She cleared her throat. “No, this is totally my fault.” She smoothed her hands down her thighs and darted to the kitchen where she grabbed a broom.

Brad was humming, but he couldn’t stop it. “So you like them. Good. I’m going to make another batch and hand out some samples Monday.” His heart was still pounding.
That was close.

She nodded, but wouldn’t look at him. “It’s a great idea. Business will be booming before we know it.”

He cursed himself for having let things get out of hand. He was disappointing her in more ways than one. He wasn’t keeping things professional, and he wasn’t being honest about their shaky finances.

I can handle this. I’ll get us back on solid ground, and I’ll get her out of my heart.

He wiped the flour off the counter. “If you liked those, check out the Reuben wraps in the refrigerator.”

She rinsed her hands off and dried them on a paper towel. “I should get going. I’ve got to babysit for my sister tomorrow morning. She’s getting her hair done and all that jazz before Rick comes home from deployment.”

The atmosphere had definitely chilled. Like meat-locker chilled. “How’s Becca doing?”

Jeanne lingered by the counter and ran her finger across the plate, licking the last dregs of the butter rum sauce. “It’s tough for her without Rick.”

“He still hasn’t proposed?”

Jeanne shook her head.

Brad frowned. “When’s he going to man up and take care of this situation? That’s what you do when you get in trouble like that. It’s what Tommy did. It’s what I’d do.”

Pausing mid-lick, she glared at him. “Get in trouble? Trouble? That’s how you see it?”

Brad sighed, crossed his arms, and got ready for an ear-scorching lecture.

But even worse, she said nothing. Jeanne held up her hand. “Let’s just leave it at that. I’ll see you Monday. Mr. March better be a big improvement, or there really will be hell to pay.” She grabbed her purse and pushed her way out of the house before Brad could say goodbye, or thanks for stopping by, or it was nice almost kissing you.

JEANNE WAS still annoyed the next morning when she drove by Brad’s place on the way to Becca’s.
Trouble.
She sighed. It was a good reminder how serious he was about no babies. He’d never change his mind, not if that’s what he truly thought about a child. Her dream was his worst nightmare. Without realizing it, she was going nearly fifteen miles over the speed limit. Good thing the cop on duty was surely down at the Jelly Jar knocking back a coffee and Danish at this hour.

She slowed down, released her stranglehold on the steering wheel, and pulled into the driveway of the duplex Becca was renting. Walking up to her sister’s door, she forced a smile, knowing time with her niece created a unique combination of love, regret, and envy.

The door flew open, and Becca was yanking on her boots. “Emmy just ate, I changed her, and she’ll be ready for a nap at one o’clock, right after lunch.” She kissed Jeanne on the cheek then flew out the door. “Thanks, sweetie. Be back by three.”

Jeanne just barely had time to wave goodbye before Becca was in her car and out the driveway.

“Bye,” she whispered to Becca’s taillights.

She closed the door and dropped her purse before wandering back to the family room. Emma sat in the baby swing, whooshing back and forth and sucking on her fist.

Jeanne’s throat tightened, and tears pricked her eyes.

“Hey, Baby Boo,” she said, turning off the swing and then scooping Emma into her arms. Emma looked up at her with big eyes and her wet mouth, puckered like a little bird. A string of drool hung from her chin. Jeanne plopped down on the couch and spent the next few hours reading books, singing songs, and making silly faces at her niece, trying to push down the lump in her throat the entire time.

Sure enough, Emma was asleep in her arms, napping right after lunch. Jeanne didn’t want to let her go, so she let her stay snuggled in the crook of her arm, pursing her lips in her sleep. Jeanne kicked her feet up on the coffee table and clicked on one of her favorite cooking channels.