Cedar Cove Collection. Debbie MacomberЧитать онлайн книгу.
“Hey, how often does a man get the chance to be seen with three beautiful women?”
“This is very thoughtful of you,” Charlotte said and patted his hand, sending Olivia a sharp glance. Sighing, Olivia decided to accept graciously and murmured her thanks.
Grace chuckled. “Are you sure you’re not using my credit card?”
They all laughed and after savoring the last of their coffee, they parted for the night.
“Is everything okay?” Grace asked as they strolled to the parking lot next to the library. “You’ve been quiet all evening.” Olivia had hoped for a few minutes to speak privately to Grace, but with her mother and Cliff present that hadn’t been possible.
“Who can get a word in edgewise with my mother?” Olivia joked.
“Is everything okay between you and Jack?” How like Grace to care about her friend’s petty concerns when she was the one whose life was in upheaval.
“I think so,” Olivia told her, and then added, “I hope so.”
“So do I.”
They parted with promises to talk soon, and Olivia drove home. As she walked into the hallway, she saw that the message light on her answering machine was flashing. She stared down at it for a few hopeful seconds. Pressing the button, she waited and was rewarded by the craggy sound of Jack’s voice.
“Olivia, hi. Sorry I haven’t been in touch lately, but I’ve had my hands full with Eric. I was hoping you’d be home so we could talk. You’re not out with some other guy, are you?” There was a forced laugh. “Listen, I’m really sorry about last week, but I hope to make it up to you. Phone me back, all right? I’ve got a special birthday gift for you. Can we get together soon?”
Olivia checked her watch. It was close to eleven and too late to return his call. Anyway, he’d kept her waiting all week; she’d keep him guessing until morning. As she readied for bed, Olivia was smiling.
Maryellen wanted to kick herself for coming up with this ridiculous “swap meet for men” idea. It’d all started out innocently enough with her mentioning the article she’d read about that town in Ireland. Next thing she knew, she was part of the party-planning. By her following nail appointment, this Halloween get-together had gathered momentum to the point that she’d lost count of how many people were attending.
“You’re still bringing that chef friend of yours, aren’t you?” Terri asked. Maryellen had barely sat down when Terri started grilling her with questions she couldn’t answer about Jon.
“Like I said, he’s just a friend—no,” she amended. “Jon’s more of a business acquaintance. And he hasn’t given me an answer yet.”
“Oh.” Terri sounded disappointed. “So you don’t know if he’s coming or not?”
“I can’t say for sure.” She hadn’t talked to him since that initial conversation a week ago. “If he’s not there, I’ll make sure you get introduced some other time.”
Terri’s dark eyes lit up. “Great.”
The following evening—Halloween night—Maryellen stood in the darkest, creepiest corner of the decorated bar with a fake spider dangling from the ceiling directly above her. More than ever, she felt convinced that this had all been a mistake. The room was crowded with maybe a hundred men and women, some in costume, some not.
Then without warning, without her seeing him arrive, Jon was standing next to her. He held a frosty mug of beer. “Hi,” he said, looking out over the crowded room.
“You came.” Now that was brilliant. Nothing like stating the obvious. “I mean…you didn’t call me back and when I didn’t hear, I assumed you wouldn’t show up.”
“I should’ve phoned, but I wanted to make sure I could get the evening off first.”
“It’s all right—don’t apologize.” He hadn’t but…
“Between the restaurant and my photography, I’ve been working a lot of hours. Sometimes I lose track of time.”
An artist’s working habits weren’t new to Maryellen. “I understand.”
He took a sip of beer. “Can I get you anything?”
“I’m fine, thanks.” Then, glancing around the room, she saw Terri, who’d dressed as Cleopatra complete with heavy eye makeup and black wig. “There’s the woman I wanted you to meet.”
“All right,” Jon said, following as she wove her way through the crowd.
“Terri,” Maryellen said, interrupting the other woman’s conversation with someone—male or female?—dressed as a wizard in voluminous robes. “This is Jon, the man I was telling you about.”
“Hello, Jon,” Terri returned, as though she’d waited her entire life for precisely this moment. The wizard, having lost her attention, drifted off.
“Pleased to meet you, Terri,” Jon said.
“I hear you’re a chef.” Terri edged closer to him, and Maryellen could see she’d already had more than enough to drink. She bit her lip, wanting to suggest that it might be best if they talked another time. “I know my way around a kitchen, too. Want to stir up something together?”
“That might be interesting.” Jon took another sip of beer, and Maryellen could see he was trying hard to disguise a smile.
“Maryellen said you also take pictures.”
“I do a little of that on the side.”
“Actually, Jon’s a brilliant photographer,” Maryellen rushed to explain, mortified at what he must think.
Trying not to be conspicuous about it, she wandered away and eventually returned to her protective corner. She wasn’t there long before Jon joined her.
“So, Terri’s the woman you wanted to set me up with?” he asked.
“Have you ever done something you regret?” she asked. “I’m afraid this is one of those situations.”
He nodded, but didn’t respond, and they stood in silence for a few minutes.
Someone put a bunch of quarters in the jukebox, and the music started. Several couples formed an impromptu dance floor. Jon made a sweeping gesture. “Shall we?”
Jon didn’t give her a chance to object. He put his beer aside and gently pulled her into his arms.
He felt strong and solid against her, but Maryellen was having none of it. “I don’t think we should,” she said, her posture rigid. She didn’t want Jon to hold her, didn’t want this relationship to be anything but professional. Yet she recognized that she’d broken her own rule in calling him, inviting him here—in acknowledging her attraction to Jon Bowman.
“Relax,” he whispered close to her ear.
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
She sighed. “It’s a long story. Jon, I’m serious, this isn’t a good idea.”
“One dance,” he said. “Okay? Think of it as your penance for setting me up with your friend.”
Refusing would be ungracious. “Okay,” she agreed, but reluctantly. She tried to keep her distance, although it was difficult with Jon’s arms around her, urging her closer. The song was that slow-dance classic, “Cherish,” and she couldn’t help feeling affected. If Jon wasn’t so gentle and warm and considerate, it would’ve been easier to maintain her reserve. She began to relax in his embrace.
“Better, much better,” he whispered, leading her across the floor. He stroked her back in a slow circular motion that was doing crazy things to her pulse. The music ended