Romancing Miss Right (17 page)

There was only one favor left on the pedestal
and he stood beside James and Aidan with their undecorated lapels.
Generic James, Aidan, who almost hadn’t made it past that first
drunken night, and Craig, who had been the last Suitor picked so
many times it was almost ritual—but tonight felt different.

Tonight didn’t feel like Marcy building
suspense for the home audience. Tonight it felt like he might
actually be going home.

Something in his chest clenched at the
thought of leaving and he rubbed a hand against his sternum as
Marcy’s hand floated over the last favor and her gaze flicked
between the three remaining men.

He hadn’t had many relationships. He’d never
had trouble getting dates, but when it got serious he got out. He
was always very upfront with the girls—he wasn’t going to get
involved with anything or anyone who was going to take his focus
away from his career. But these last few weeks, he’d started to
wonder if maybe the right woman couldn’t make him better at his
job.

And who knew when he would ever meet another
woman like Marcy? She was smart and sexy and kept up with his
verbal sparring and laughed at his jokes, but also brought him back
to earth when he got carried away and made him feel grounded. Made
him want to be a better man for her.

Jesus. He sounded like a freaking movie. Was
he really developing feelings for her?

Maybe it would be better if he went home
after all. Maybe this was too much, too fast. And his untried heart
was too raw.

His first love was career. Always had been,
always would be. He couldn’t let anything get in the way of that.
But Marcy didn’t feel like an obstacle.

Her hand hovered over the favors, the seconds
stretching into minutes until the producers began to shift
restlessly. Too much drama even for them.

Should he have said more? Less?

Her hand lowered to the favor…

Chapter Nineteen

“Mom? You home?”

Using his key, Craig opened the door to the
bungalow, calling down the narrow hall inside. He hadn’t really
thought ahead to this part. Facing his mother.

“Craig?” Her voice floated out of the
kitchen. She appeared in a rush of footsteps, flying down the
little hall and hugging him tight. He enclosed her much smaller
frame in his arms, closing his eyes for a moment with the relief of
being home. She tucked her cheek against his chest. “When I got
your call, I called in sick for work tonight. How was it? Tell me
everything. How many episodes did you last?”

Craig cleared his throat. “Yeah. About that.”
He extricated himself from the hug, turning his body to the side so
his mom could see past him in the narrow hallway. “Mom, meet
Marcy.”

His mother’s eyes grew round as saucers.
“Oh.”

Marcy stepped forward, her company manners
firmly in place as she extended her hand and a flawless smile.
“It’s so nice to finally meet you, Ms. Corrow. Craig talks about
you all the time.”

“Hi.” His mom said weakly, grasping Marcy’s
fingers and giving them a tentative shake.

“Surprise,” Craig said, without
enthusiasm.

Marcy grimaced. “Sorry for bursting in on you
like this. I’m afraid the producers like to surprise the
families—trying to get natural reactions and all that.”

“Right,” his mom murmured, continuing to
stare at Marcy like she was a ghost or a Jehovah’s Witness.

Behind Marcy, Linus—the segment producer for
his Meet the In-Laws date—stepped into the narrow foyer. “Speaking
of natural reactions, can we get everyone to hold onto what they’re
feeling right now so we can start again from one? Our camera guys
can’t get an angle for sh---ah, shucks—in this hallway. This time,
Craig, why don’t you ring the doorbell and we’ll do the whole
reunion on the front step so we can see everyone’s faces? All
right?”

Craig glanced to his mom—half expecting her
to balk at the fakeness of it. She was the one who’d taught him
honesty was always the best policy. But her shock seemed to have
evaporated as soon as Linus began to speak and now she grinned,
flashing the dimples that always made her look five years
younger.

“By all means,” she said, “but if we’re
starting from one
, I’m going to freshen up my make-up. It’s
not every day a lady has to get ready for her close-up.” Her gaze
flicked back to Marcy, assessing. “Though I suppose for you it
is.”

Linus stepped in before Marcy could react,
ushering them onto the front step, shooing his mom down the hall to
primp—with a pair of the show’s stylists—and shutting the door
again.

Craig shifted from foot to foot, his nerves
inexplicably returning now that his mom was out of sight. It felt
weird, putting his mother on national television. His job was to
protect her, not expose her to America. He’d almost told the show
that his mother was unavailable. He didn’t have other family, so it
would have been just him and Marcy exploring San Diego. There were
worse ways to spend a day. But in the end he’d realized he actually
wanted his mom to meet Marcy and vice versa. A desire he didn’t
want to examine too closely.

Marcy, seeming to sense his disquiet, slipped
her hand into his as they waited on the front porch. “So, this is
where you grew up, huh?”

“Yeah.” His shoulders stiffened, the muscles
going rigid.

He’d seen her season of
Marrying Mister
Perfect
. He knew her roots were much more solidly middle class
than his. His mom had always kept a roof over their heads, but it
was a two-bedroom shack with peeling paint. He braced for Marcy’s
judgment.

“It’s lovely.”

His head snapped around to see if she was
mocking him, but her smile was genuine as she looked around. “It’s
not much,” he muttered.

“But it’s home,” she completed, as if he’d
been going there all along. And from the look in her eyes, he had a
feeling she meant it. She saw the care put into the gardens and the
curtains his mother had made by hand because it was cheaper. She
saw the way his mom had made a home, no matter how meager.

Some of the knots eased in between his
shoulder blades and Craig squeezed Marcy’s hand.

The door flew open, framing his mother—now in
a skirt rather than baggy yoga pants—as she beamed up at him.
“Craig! What a lovely surprise!” She rushed forward to hug him,
though it was brief. When she drew back, she immediately turned to
Marcy with a broad grin, “And who might this be?”

He rolled his eyes. “Mom. You know who this
is. You’re obsessed with the show.”

His mother flapped a hand at him. “It’s a
figure of speech.”

“I’m Marcy, Ms. Corrow. Sorry for dropping in
on you like this.”

“No, no, I’m delighted to have you. Come
in!”

She stepped back and there was a jostling of
camera crews. There was a moment, just a momentary gap, when no
cameras were on Craig and Marcy. She went up on her toes, murmuring
in his ear, “Your mother is a terrible actress.”

He snorted. “I know. You should have seen her
community theatre production of Othello.”

“Oh no.” Marcy giggled and he caught the hand
he had dropped when his mother hugged him, linking their fingers
together.

Then the cameras were back on them and it was
show time.

#

“So Craig tells me you didn’t want me to be
Miss Right.”

Elaine Corrow turned beet red as they sat
together in the eat-in kitchen, waiting for the coffee to brew.
Craig had been banished outside to repair the fence while they had
some girl talk and got to know one another.

“How ridiculous,” Elaine fluttered her hands.
She was a small, pale woman with dark hair. Black Irish, if Marcy
had to guess. Craig must have gotten his height and his darker
coloring from the father he never spoke of. “Why would he say a
thing like that?”

Marcy grinned. “Because it’s true? You raised
one very honest son.”

Elaine sobered, something genuine—and
protective—lighting in her gaze. “He’s a good boy. He has a good
heart. Even if he doesn’t always show it.”

“So you knew he was coming on the show to be
the villain?”

“I knew he wanted notoriety. I hoped…” She
sighed. “Fine. I’ll admit, I didn’t want it to be you. Like any
mother, I want my boy to find love with a good woman and I thought
you were too emotionally constipated to get my hard-headed,
hard-hearted son to open up.”

Marcy laughed. “He is stubborn.”

She was glad Craig had warned her that the
world thought she was cold and unfeeling. If not, she might have
taken offense at being called emotionally constipated by a
potential in-law. Not that Craig would ever propose—even if he made
it to the finale—but that was the ostensible purpose of these
visits. To meet the future in-laws.

One of whom thought she was a robot,
apparently.

“I know I’m not who you would have
picked—”

“No, no, I’m saying this wrong,” Craig’s
mother interrupted. “I thought you were too closed off and he was
too blocked up, but now, when I see you together, when I see the
way my Craig looks at you. I think maybe you were the right girl
all along.”

Marcy’s heart stuttered for a whole new
reason. If this sweet lady got her hopes dashed… “Ms. Corrow, we’re
not—”

“Please, call me Elaine.” She reached out,
clasping Marcy’s hand on the table.

And a wash of guilt nearly drowned her.

Craig knew it was all a game—he wouldn’t get
hurt. Marcy knew what she was getting herself into—she wouldn’t get
hurt. But this woman. This dear woman with so many hopes for Craig
and Marcy to live happily ever after—she could get hurt.

Marcy wanted to tell her everything—that she
liked Craig but knew he was a bad bet, that whatever his mom
thought she saw in him was all for show, it wasn’t real—but the
cameras were whirring, capturing everything, and keeping her
silent.

And then there was the tempting thought—what
if his mom was right? She knew him better than anyone, didn’t she?
She might know even before he did that he was falling in love.
Could he be? Could this be more than a ploy to gain notoriety?

Marcy’s mouth went dry. Could it be love?

And if it was… what was she supposed to do
about it?

#

“I like her.”

“Yeah?” Craig sprawled on the couch watching
his mother adjusting her knick-knacks in the living room. The crew
had left things spotless—they were good at that—but the urge to
tidy up after them was apparently too much for his mother to
resist.

The visit had gone… well. Far better than
he’d expected. His mom hadn’t seemed bothered by having camera
crews invade her home. Unexpectedly, it had been the most natural
part of the entire show—having Marcy and her media entourage in his
home. He hadn’t bothered to take her to his apartment—it was a
typical bachelor pad, largely undecorated and uninspiring. This was
home. And it didn’t matter how many years ago he’d moved out, it
always would be.

Finally satisfied that everything was back in
its proper place, his mother took her place in the recliner he’d
bought for her three Mother’s Days ago. “Didn’t you want me to like
her?”

Craig hesitated, framing his response, before
realizing he didn’t have to. The cameras were gone. For the first
time in weeks he wasn’t in a
Romancing Miss Right
controlled
environment where everything could be recorded for the
entertainment of the viewing public. He was home and he could
finally talk without guarding every syllable.

And he still didn’t know what to say. He
settled on, “Of course I wanted you to like her. Why wouldn’t
I?”

“Because if I hated her you would have an
excuse to turn tail and run.”

“When have I ever needed an excuse?”

His mother gave him that look. The
I-raised-you-don’t-even-try-to-play-me look. “You like her. It’s
obvious you do.”

“She’s very likeable.”

“Everything doesn’t have to be either or, you
know. It doesn’t have to be a choice between love and success. You
can have it all. And love will make the success so much
sweeter.”

“I have love. I have you.”

Normally she melted when he said that,
letting him get away with the deflection, but tonight her
expression shuttered and sadness filled her eyes. “I hate the idea
that my romantic failures have made you wary about love.”

“Mom—”

“No, let me say this. I loved your
father—”

“We all make mistakes.”

“And it ended badly,” she conceded. “But love
is never a mistake, Craig. I hate that I may have somehow taught
you that by being afraid to love again myself.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong. You’re the
best mom on the planet.” He raised the beer he’d been nursing in a
toast.

“That’s sweet, but I think I let being your
mom be the only focus of my life for too long.” She took a deep
breath, looking him straight in the eye—like she was about to tell
him there was no Santa Claus. “I think you should know I’m on
eHarmony.”

Craig choked on his beer. “What?”

“I joined after you left. I’m putting myself
out there again. Though, admittedly, I haven’t gone on any actual
dates yet, but I’m starting slow and trying to really think about
what I want and what I need.”

He tried to get a hold of his shock. His mom
was still relatively young—barely fifty—but the idea of her dating
just seemed so foreign. “I…”

“I can’t expect you to risk your heart if I’m
not brave enough to do the same. So I’m being brave. And I hope you
will too.”

“You don’t need to prove anything to me,”
Craig protested. “If you’re just doing this—”

“I’m doing this because we both deserve to be
happy and this is going to make me happy.” She looked at him and he
saw a challenge there he’d never seen before. “What will make you
happy, Craig?”

“You know what will make me happy? Buying you
a big fancy house on Coronado. That will make me happy.”