Not Quite Perfect (Not Quite Series Book 5) (8 page)

Mary saw the notepad in question and brought it over. “So what are you going to wear?” Dakota asked.

“On my date?”

Dakota rolled her eyes as she kept writing. “No, to bed. Yes on your date!”

“He suggested a dress.”

“Nothing floral.” Dakota waved the end of her pen in Mary’s direction. “I know you have two perfect little black dresses.”

Power dresses, as Dakota had called them when they’d gone shopping the last time they were in New York.

“Not that I don’t love women’s fashion and hate to change the subject . . . but why are the plumbers always at your house?” Walt asked.

While they ate dinner, Mary explained her plumbing dilemma and the money it would cost to fix it. “I guess it’s time for me to put in those wood floors I’ve been threatening to do since I moved in.”

“Yeah, if the insurance company is going to help with the cost, you might as well get something shiny for all your trouble.”

Dakota glanced around her kitchen and into the living space. Her place had come with hardwood floors, only the honey oak color wasn’t something any of them were excited about. “I’d switch these out if it would make a difference on resale.”

Mary felt a chill of shock run through her. “Are you thinking of moving?”

Dakota exchanged glances with Walt. “We’re keeping our options open. This place is going to get smaller as Leo gets bigger.”

“And the market is turning around,” Walt added.

She hated the thought of her friend moving away but smiled and agreed anyway. “Any idea where you guys will move?”

“We haven’t really thought about location . . . just that here isn’t going to work long-term.”

Mary painted on a fake smile and pushed her plate away. “You know how much I love shopping with other people’s money.”

“I won’t be up for house shopping until this thing comes off.” Dakota patted the blue cast on her leg and groaned. “I still can’t believe I broke my damn leg.”

The conversation drifted to the cast, baby Leo, and the excitement over midday napping while Mary helped Walt with the dishes.

As Leo started to stir Mary started to make her excuses.

“I want to hear all about tomorrow’s date,” Dakota said.

“I don’t.” Walt laughed.

“I’ll come over Sunday.” Mary let herself out and turned to look back. She hated the
poor me
thoughts coursing through her veins. Despised the feeling of loneliness when she walked past her car in the garage and into her place.

It was quiet.

Too quiet.

No wonder women pushing thirty owned cats.

Mary shook her head and muttered to the wall, “I hate cats.”

Chapter Nine

Dakota had the best shoes, and Mary felt no shame in borrowing a pricey pair for her date.

“You’re like a sister I never had,” Mary called out as she ran back home with a pair of Pradas dangling from her fingertips.

“I want details.”

Dakota stood in the doorway with crutches. She’d managed to get dressed in something other than sweatpants and was starting to lose the dark circles from under her eyes.

Something told Mary that Dakota would be sitting at her living room window peeking out when Glen was due to pick her up. The thought delighted her.

She hadn’t been much of a girlie girl before she’d met Dakota. But her friend had taught her the finer things about being a woman. From the dresses she wore that were snug on her hips and made her sensible “girls” have a little more pow, to the extra eye liner and red on her lips. This was the
let’s go out and have fun
Mary . . . the Mary that didn’t present herself to her clients, and didn’t appear too often.

She slid her hands down her hips and turned to the side. The newest of her black power dresses hugged her waist and stopped short of her knees. The cap sleeves offered style to the neckline that dipped low enough to be enticing but high enough to avoid advertising her cup size. Not bad.

Her mass of curly blonde hair had a mind of its own. She messed with a few bits in the front, put way too much hair spray over them to tame them down, and left it alone. She’d considered putting it up, but Dakota usually helped her with that style and Mary wasn’t about to ask.

She was sliding her feet into her borrowed strappy Pradas when the doorbell rang.

One look out the front window showed her a black sedan, the kind that had a hired driver, sat at the curb.

She unzipped the plastic divider and stepped over the broken out tile.

There were butterflies in her belly. The giddy girlie kind that were a little out of place considering she’d seen Glen on so many occasions the newness should have worn off.

She opened the door and sighed. He wore a jacket, minus the tie . . . and dark slacks. Even from where she stood she could smell he’d just taken a shower. And he held flowers in his hand.

While she was looking at him, his ever-ready cocky smile slowly dropped as his eyes swept over her twice. “I’m sorry, I’m looking for Miss Kildare.” He looked beyond her at the tarp and tapped the concrete floor with the toe of his dress shoe. “I’m not sure I have the right house.”

“My plumbing problem turned into a nightmare.”

His gaze returned to hers. “You’re, uhm . . . wow!”

Glen speechless was a rarity.

She liked it.

“Are those for me?”

He lifted the bouquet. “First date flowers. It’s in the rule book.”

She took them, smelled one of the half dozen roses in the mix, and smiled. “Not everyone read that book.”

“Makes those of us who did look even better.”

She nodded toward the inside. “Let me put these in water and grab my purse.”

Glen followed her through the tarp and into her kitchen.

The four-inch heels made it easier for her to reach the shelf where she stored her vase, but as she reached for it, Glen stood beside her and helped.

God he smelled good.

“Thanks.”

He simply hummed as he handed it to her.

She tried to ignore the heat in his eyes as he stared.

“I’d say you didn’t have to.”

“But that wouldn’t be sincere.”

“You can’t go wrong with flowers. Candy is hit and miss.”

She removed the wrap and fanned the arrangement in the vase as it filled with water. When she was done she set it in the window and turned to find Glen still staring.

“Ready?”

He didn’t move. “Have you ever had dessert before dinner?”

She shook her head. “Are you trying to tell me we’re having cheesecake for dinner?”

He smiled, took a step closer. “When we were kids, every once in a while my mom would have some kind of bridge night, or girls’ night . . . I don’t know what it was. But we loved it, Trent, Jason, and I. Our dad always brought out the pie, cake, even ice cream sundaes before we’d have dinner.”

“Did you finish your dinner?”

“Not always. But we enjoyed it more because we’d done it backwards.”

“That’s sweet. If we’re not having cake first . . . then what made you think of that story?”

Glen took another step closer and reached over to push one of the curls from her shoulder. Heat rose in his eyes, and the response of her body was chemical. “Because of this.”

His hand slid behind her neck and encouraged her into his arms as he lowered his lips to hers.

She was stunned. From head to toe her body short-circuited. He was warm and smelled delicious . . . and utterly confident as he pressed her body next to his. The span of his hand wrapped around her waist but didn’t move beyond that spot. She slowly woke up, closed her eyes, and kissed him back. It felt good to be kissed. She barely tasted his tongue before he backed away.

With her eyes closed she felt his stare.

“I wanted to do that for a very long time,” he confessed.

She slowly opened her eyes and kept looking at his chest. “You caught me off guard.”

He placed his finger under her chin and forced her to look at him. “We’re even then. Now we can have a nice evening without either of us wondering what that was going to taste like.”

“You had your dessert first.”

Glen shrugged. “What can I say? I have a sweet tooth.”

She grabbed her clutch on the counter. “Shall we?”

He placed his hand on the small of her back and led her outside.

Glen had been told by one of his very first girlfriends that women obsess over the good night kiss on the first date. Through all the years of dating, all the women he’d played tonsil hockey with while in college, he’d never kissed one when she opened the door.

Damn, he was happy he’d done it with Mary. She tasted like cinnamon, which was probably gum, or maybe toothpaste, but she smelled like an ocean breeze. He glanced over at her, sitting in the seat beside him in the back of the Lincoln Town Car. She had long legs and wore sexy heels that should be impossible to walk in. Damn, the dress. He envied the fabric that hugged her skin. Mary was a beautiful woman, a fact he’d known since they met . . . but tonight she was sexy. Something in the way she smiled . . . or maybe it was the lack of challenging him with every word? He didn’t want to question it.

“So where are you taking me?”

This was where Glen had all his cards. “Have you ever had a progressive dinner?”

“Like hopping from one place to another?”

“Yeah, I have a great place for drinks before dinner. The view is spectacular. A short ride from there we have dinner reservations.”

He liked when she smiled at him. “And dessert?”

“You want more dessert?” he asked.

Her eyes narrowed.

“You mean something with sugar?”

She lost her frown and giggled.

“You need to do that more,” he said.

“Do what?”

“Laugh.”

“I laugh all the time.”

“Not around me.”

She sighed. “When you’re not infuriating me, you’re quite witty.”

“I’m witty
when
I’m infuriating you.”

She giggled again.

The driver pulled through the gates and onto the tarmac.

“I should have guessed,” she said under her breath.

“Yes, you should have.”

A Hawker 800 stood ready. Mary presented her ID to airport security as a precaution, and he helped her up the small staircase and into the plane. It wasn’t a huge aircraft, but it wasn’t without its bragging points either. “Sit wherever you like,” Glen encouraged her as he took the three-step detour to the cockpit. “Ready when you are, gentlemen.”

The copilot followed him back and secured the door. “If there is anything you need, Mr. Fairchild, let us know.”

“We will.”

The plane started moving nearly as quickly as the copilot closed the cockpit door.

“I thought you’d be the one flying.”

He took the seat across from her and fastened his belt. “I like being in control, but I don’t always have to be the pilot. Besides, I’d need a bigger plane for there to be enough room for you to join me up there.”

She smiled again.

He was on a roll.

“Do you take all your first dates on planes?”

“You might assume that, but no. Never.”

“Really? Why?”

So many reasons
, he thought but didn’t say. “I guess it comes down to expectations.”

“Expectation of taking a private flight for a date every time?”

“There is that.”

“There is more you’re not saying.”

Glen took in her expression. She had this shine behind her eyes when she was reading you. Something that made you hope the closet you wanted closed was firmly shut because if it wasn’t, she was going to bust that shit open and find all the laundry you shoved in the corner. He wasn’t ready to reveal all his reasons, but he had a few he could disclose. “I’m a pilot, and one of three brothers who own and operate one of the largest personal jet charter companies out there. I know my mode of transportation is set aside for a very few of us in the world. I’m also aware that plenty of people would use any one of us to tap into that ride. When you take that away from the start when you’re dating, it lets you know if you’re being used.”

Mary started to chew on that.

“No one likes being used.”

The pilot took that moment to call into the cabin, “We’re next for takeoff, Mr. Fairchild.”

Glen reached over and pressed an intercom button to reach the pilot. “We’re ready.”

Even though he trusted the pilots, Glen still felt a tiny bit of tension in his spine until they leveled off in the air.

“So why did you break your rules with me?” Mary asked.

He unbuckled his seat belt and tapped her knee before he stood. “Because you’re not a user. Now, what can I get you to drink?”

“I
could
be a user.”

Glen did a little eye roll. “No, you can’t. It’s not in your DNA.” He opened the compact icebox that held all the liquor and removed what he’d seen Mary drink in the past. “Red or white?”

“White. How can you be so certain about my character when we’ve only seen each other, what . . . half a dozen times?”

He considered pointing out that on three of those occasions Mary went out of her way to attempt to pay her share. If she was shot down, she made sure to send a thoughtful gift pack, or wine basket . . . or some such thing to let her host know she appreciated the invitation. “Give me one example of when you used someone for something.”

She opened her mouth, closed it, then looked at her shoes. “Does borrowing shoes count?”

That brought his eye to the sexy shoes on those sexy legs. “If you broke them and didn’t replace them, then yes.”

“That would be rude.”

He made quick use of the wine opener and poured them both a glass. “A user wouldn’t care about appearing rude.”

“I suppose.” She took the glass with a thank-you and leaned back in the plush leather seat. “I’m not going to pretend that sitting in a private jet isn’t amazing.”

He glanced around the cabin and wondered how she saw it.

“It’s a luxury that’s easy to get used to.”

“That’s the truth. When Dakota and I traveled to her conferences before her books hit, we always flew coach.” She cringed. “The first time Dakota sat in first class we argued for a week about me letting her help with my ticket so we could fly together.”

“See, not a user.”

Mary sipped her wine and continued, “On the way home she used her miles and upgraded me. Now I save a little bit every month to sit in the front. It’s worth it.”

“I’ve never flown coach,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Really?”

“Never. I learned to fly before I could drive a car. We all did. Our father was adamant about it. Some people switch drivers while on their family vacations, we switched pilots.” He remembered the first time he’d joined his father in the cockpit with his entire family in the back.
You have their lives in your hands, Glen. Always fly like your family is riding with you.