No Foolin' (Willowdale Romance Novel) (23 page)

“You’re right. It does sound like a good plan. Kind of makes me wish I wasn’t married,” Kate said, tucking her silky blond hair behind her ears.

Jeanne gave her a look. “Right. You’d give up the hottest guy in Hollywood for a shot at some of Brad’s redneck friends.” Kate had married actor Teague Reynolds in the biggest slice of gossip ever served up around these parts. But news of this resolution would get tongues wagging, too. Jeanne rolled her eyes just thinking of it. Maybe she should buy a honkin’ pair of sunglasses and a great big hat to disguise herself on these dates.

Tonya looked down and tapped a shiny blue nail on the table. After a deep breath, she lowered her voice and took on a serious tone. “Alright, I’m just gonna come out and say it. You don’t think it’s a little strange to be in love with him after what happened with your parents? Why him, of all people?” Her eyes slowly met Jeanne’s. “You might want to sit down and make a list of all the reasons you love him and ask yourself what’s really going on here.” She shrugged. “Lists always help me. It’s just—I know Dr. Phil would have something to say about this.”

Jeanne’s mouth opened and closed a few times and she looked away. “No! I’m not in love with him. We worked that all out. He’s out of my system. And that would be weird, right?”

Neither of them answered and she noticed Rita’s daughters taking their time cleaning up two booths over. The diner and the beauty shop were the two biggest transmission points for gossip in this town. News of these monthly blind dates would spread like a pandemic.

Kate snagged an onion ring from Jeanne’s plate. “And you two are so different. He’s a total control freak and you like the unexpected.”

“I wouldn’t call him a freak,” Jeanne said. “He just likes things to be planned and orderly. I really admire that.”

“He washes his truck every Saturday morning, rain, shine, snow, or hail,” Tonya said. “While your apartment hasn’t been clean since you moved in.”

Jeanne glared at her.

Tonya held up her hands. “Hey, I’m not saying we’re going to call Hoarders or anything, you just like to be surrounded by stuff. And he is not a stuff kind of guy.”

“And don’t forget he alphabetized your spice rack,” Kate added.

Jeanne threw up her hands. “And it’s so much easier to find things now. Except for turmeric. I always spell that wrong.”

Kate sighed. “We just want you to be happy, Jeanne. Whatever it takes. You deserve it.”

“Why don’t we set you up with Tommy, instead?” Tonya asked. “If you like one brother, the other might do.”

“Now why would we do that?” Kate asked.

Tonya shrugged. “We’ve both dated him and can vouch he’s a good kisser.” Tonya pointed at her. “Plus, he’s got a kid, so we know he can make ’em and take care of ’em.”

Jeanne balled up her napkin and tossed it at Tonya. “Is today January first or April first—because you have got to be kidding me. Getting Ellen Lewis pregnant by mistake while he was on break with Kate doesn’t count as wanting children.” She tipped her chin in the air. “Plus, he’s nothing like Brad.”

“You’re mighty quick to defend Brad.” Tonya’s eyes narrowed to devious slits. “Admitting it is the first step to solving the problem.”

Jeanne’s voice strained with a thread of hysteria as she rose to her feet. “There’s no problem. Why would I agree to a year’s worth of blind dates if I wanted to be with Brad instead?”

Plenty of heads turned at that, and Kate pulled her back into the booth. “You’re absolutely right. You and Brad are just friends.”

They poked at their food, but ate nothing. The three of them without empty plates was like two-stepping to rap—it just wasn’t right.

Tonya finally piped up, her good-natured mood returning. “Keep us updated, girl. We want to dish after every date. Who knows, maybe Mr. January will be the one?”

“When’s your first date?” Kate asked, finishing her milkshake but stopping when it got to the noisy slurping part. Gotta ramp up the class once you marry into
Hollywood. “Jeanne, you should wear that silk V-neck cream dress. It makes you look like a B cup.”

Tonya raised an eyebrow. “Or maybe even a C cup if you get him drunk.”

“Hey, you’re a real C cup, Tonya. Maybe you should go on the date,” Jeanne said. Tonya was sorry and single, too.

Tonya ignored her. “Whenever it is, stop by the salon first. I’ll hook you up with some highlights and make this brown hair sing,” she said, fingering Jeanne’s hair.

Jeanne slapped Tonya’s hand away and shrugged. “I’m not doing a makeover for this. And I’m not sure when the first date is. Suppose I’ll find out in a bit. We’re catering a party in Whitesville tonight. Gotta get to the kitchen, hangover and all.” She slid out of the red leather booth and waved goodbye to the girls and wondered if she could ever shut off her feelings for Brad, because lying about it was certainly taking its toll. Slumping behind the wheel of her car, she asked herself if Man of the Month might be the way to finally do it.

“Yeah, when the devil starts serving sweet tea, heavy on the ice.”

Jeanne dropped the stack of linen napkins she was folding. “My first date is Friday? This Friday?” She grasped the table to catch her balance.

Brad folded his arms and gave her a smile she wanted to smack right off his face. “It came to me first thing when I woke up this morning. The guy who rents from my brother, Jake, in Whitesville would be perfect for you. Sam’s Mr. Environment; he rides his bike everywhere. That’s important, now that you’re going green these days.”

She rubbed her temples, but nothing was making this headache go away. “I put in energy-saving light bulbs because they were handing out free samples at the hardware store.” She planted a fist on her hip, her silver bracelets clinking. “I’m not exactly green, Brad. But I guess concern about the environment is good. He’s not out saving whales or anything is he? Not that I don’t like whales
 . . .
What does he do for a living?”

Brad shrugged. “Not sure.”

“Is he good-looking?”
Say, someone well past six feet, broad shoulders, thick, black hair, such as yourself?

Brad stroked his chin.
A strong jaw like that would be nice as well
, she thought. With a dimple smack dab in the middle, too. Made her melt whenever she looked at it too long. He’d been so intriguing back in school when Principal Willis made sure not to put any of the Larsen boys in class with any of the Clark girls after the crash. Too awkward, she’d heard the teachers say. But she could always spot Brad a mile away in the hallway, thanks to the dimple. The one that was currently winking at her.

“Is he good looking?” Brad repeated. “I guess. It’s hard for me to say. I’m a guy.” He dropped another stack of laundered napkins on the table to be folded.

“So, you don’t really know him, you don’t know what he does, and you can’t say if he’s good-looking or not.” She counted off the disturbing facts one by one on her fingers. “Basically, you’re setting me up with this guy just because he has a bike?”

Brad set his hands on her arms and pulled her close. “He was the first guy I thought of.”

A laugh escaped from her pursed lips. “Perfect qualification right there.”

“I didn’t want you to chicken out. I figured we’d better strike while the iron was hot, while you were still keen on the idea.”

“Still
keen
? I wasn’t keen about it last night, and I’m still not.” But she did like the way Brad was holding her in his arms like that. Possibly to shake some sense into her, but still, it felt nice. And he smelled good, too. Always did. “This is stupid, looking at it now that I’m not drunk and crying in the dark. You had me at a disadvantage last night.” She raised an eyebrow. “One might even argue you tricked me.”

A hurt look crossed his face, like a kid who learned he wasn’t going out for an ice cream after all. “But you promised, J.”

She pushed past him and picked up the linens she’d dropped. “This is the thanks I get for giving you an antique butter churn for Christmas? Do you know how many shops I scoured to find that?”
“Hey, it was my favorite gift this year. I’m going to put it front and center in the entryway and tell everyone it’s yours.”

“No room for it at home, huh?” She thought about his everything-in-its-place lifestyle the girls had been mocking. They weren’t off base on that one.

He scratched his head. “Someone might see it there. It’s better suited here.”

Brad admired old kitchen gadgets, but didn’t like admitting it to anyone else. She lowered her voice. “And what if I tell everyone that’s your collection out in the lobby?”

His jaw dropped. “You wouldn’t. Don’t use my love of vintage kitchen tools to get out of this. You know I love it. And I
 . . .
” He fumbled for his words. “And I just want you to find someone.”

“Why do you care? You said it yourself—I should be concentrating on the business, not my love life.” Hard to believe they had once put pleasure before business when they were a couple working together at The Hideaway.
That was a long time ago.

He grabbed a few napkins from her and helped fold them. “I just hate seeing you so sad. You deserve to be happy.”

She nodded, wishing she felt the same way, wishing she could be happy without him. He reached for another napkin and their fingers brushed. Just that little swipe of flesh sent an embarrassing surge of lust straight down to her toes. She jerked her hand back.

She thought she’d had her feelings for him under control for a while, that she’d shut them off completely after they decided they’d never work as a couple. But the feelings were back full force. “You’re right. How bad could one blind date be?”

Brad rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s the spirit. I’ll call and tell him you’re in, then I’ll give him your number.”

Jeanne hoped her heart would flutter just a whisper at the idea. But it dropped like a brick in her chest. “Great. Thanks, Brad. I’m so lucky to have you
 . . .
as a friend.”

He nodded and finished folding the last napkins. “So, back to business. The desserts are prepped for the banquet tonight. We’ve got three cases of champagne coming in. I’ll be handling those.” He winked at her and she winced.

“Don’t worry.” She held up a hand. “I won’t be drinking champagne again until we ring in the next decade.”

“Or maybe at your wedding?” He waggled his eyebrows. “I’ve got a good feeling about this.”

SHE GROANED WHEN he said it, but Brad kept his smile wide and tried his best to sound encouraging. He wasn’t sure if he was pulling it off. Despite everything he felt for her, he knew damn well he wasn’t the guy to deliver Jeanne’s happily-ever-after dreams. And she deserved nothing less. Bottom line, she wanted a kid, the dogs, the big back yard—and he didn’t. After his mom had died in the crash, his dad started drinking more. While his mother had been a weepy drunk, his father was a mean drunk who seemed to find a reason to smack him and his brothers every day—him, especially. Brad wasn’t so sure that mean streak hadn’t carried on down the line. He would not screw up a kid like that. He wasn’t going to perpetuate those bum genes by having a kid. No, parenthood wasn’t for him, no matter how much he loved Jeanne.

He looked at her brunette waves tumbling over her shoulders, imagining her hair spread out on his bed, her bright green eyes looking up at him longingly. Damn, the things he wanted to do to her. Their month together three years ago hadn’t been enough.

He finished folding the napkin and went into the kitchen to get away from the one thing he wanted but could never have.

But she followed him in, creamy skin, perky nose, and all. “So, I was thinking. Since you forced me into a New Year’s resolution, it’s only fair I come up with one for you, too.” Her grin left him tingling in all the right places.

He draped a dishcloth over his shoulder. “Stop right there. I am not agreeing to the woman of the month club. I’m all business these days. I told you that.”

Jeanne frowned at him and even looked cute doing that. “Fine. Then let’s come up with some resolutions for Elegant Eats.” She hopped up on the counter.

“That’s not a bad idea. What are you thinking?”

She crossed her legs and leaned back. “We should aim for ten new clients.”

“Sounds good.”
Looks good
, he thought, surveying her long, lean body.
Knock it the hell off.
He studied the tile floor but couldn’t get rid of his randy thoughts.

“And booking more parties than Events Extraordinaire.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Okay
 . . .
we could try. But they’re in Whitesville and they’ve been in business longer than us, remember.”

Ignoring him, she continued. “And finally, landing the next New Year’s Eve Bash.”

He whistled. “That’s an ambitious list. Makes Man of the Month look amateur. We should step that up to Man of the Week.” Only because he liked to make an art of torturing himself.

She whacked him with her towel. “No way. You’re lucky I was drunk and defenseless when you concocted this fool plan for once a month. I should have whooped your butt last night just for suggesting it.”

He uncovered a tray of desserts at the end of the workstation, prepped for the party that night. “Good thing I can always buy you with sweets.” He brought a Mexican wedding cake cookie to her lips, the tip of his thumb brushing her lower lip. It was soft and warm and he remembered how nicely it had fit against his that time they’d kissed.

Her eyes fluttered up to meet his. Then she closed them and took a bite of the powdery cookie; crumbs of sugar stuck to her lips. Damn, he loved watching her eat. Sinful. If she were his, he’d feed her like this every night.

He cleared his throat. “That’s what I’m going to do every time you complain about this—feed you. That’ll keep you on board.”

“You’re evil.”

He winked at her. “I know.” But if he was one-hundred- percent honest with himself, this resolution was more for him than her. Because the sooner Jeanne was taken, the sooner he’d be forced to move on from the woman with the lips and the eyes and the laugh that killed him. The woman who could never be his. The woman he’d wanted since he’d snuck a kiss during naptime in kindergarten.