Somewhere on Maui (an Accidental Matchmaker Novel) (16 page)

I love the photo of you and the kids.
They’re adorable and seem so happy to be with you. I hope you are not overwhelmed with it all… I have a feeling things are going to work out. I love the idea of bio-sensitive sustainable buildings—that kind of building could even make life in a city appealing! Since you shared your dreams, I’ll tell you mine—I’m living them. I’ve always wanted to be an independent journalist, to live near the beach and walk my dog out in nature every day. But I never thought I’d be doing it alone and without a family, and that still hurts.

I finished the
Internet dating article today and sent it off to my editor. It was a relief to do that, but in my conclusion I decided to keep my profile up on the dating site. It’s a symbolic thing, showing that I’m open to new relationships and new people. One of those people I hope to get to know better is you. Much aloha, Zoe.

She’d attached another photo. This one was of her writing. A friend must have taken it. She sat upright, her hands on the keyboard, her eyes intent on the computer screen. Her hair was in some sort of topknot pierced by a pencil, but it was falling down her back. The
sight made him want to touch and feel that hair, all the colors that brown could be from blond to almost black. She wore a tank top and athletic shorts, and there was a quality to her pose that showed relaxed, intent concentration. Sylvester was draped over her feet.

Whenever he read an e-mail from her, he knew he’d be picturing the unselfconscious beauty captured by this photo.

He thought for a long moment, staring at the ceiling, then plunged into a reply.

Zoe woke up grumpy the next morning. She’d slept badly and hadn’t even had a cup of coffee yet when she scrolled past an editorial reply to her piece to see if Adam had written her.

He had.

She savored and extended the anticipation of reading his message by getting up and starting the coffeepot. She let Sylvester out and sat on the top step, listening to the mynah birds doing
their morning gossip in the mango tree and the clucking of the wild chickens under the hibiscus bushes. The early-morning sun dropped lances of light through the branches, and a soft breeze was already up. 

Zoe yawned, stood, and stretched. She left the door open as Sylvester continued his perambulation under the trees, walking in to pour herself a cup of coffee.

Her phone rang, an unexpected jangle. She picked it up, still attached to the charge cord, and spotted an unknown number. She never answered those, especially not before the first caffeine hit of the day.

She took her coffee, liberally dosed with cream, over to the computer and clicked on Adam’s message.
There were two photos at the top of the message—one of them was Adam surfing, the other was Adam in one of his work tanks, jeans, and the tool belt she’d found so distracting in his online profile.

“Hmm,” Zoe mused, sipping her coffee while perusing the photos. “Which one do I like better? Adam in surf trunks, carving a turn, or whatever they call it, with his very nice rear in the foreground, or Adam in his tool belt?” She usually addressed these rhetorical questions to Sylvester, who heard her voice and trotted back into the cottage. She patted her robe-covered lap, and he jumped up, pricking his silky, fringed ears as he gazed at the computer screen. She pointed to the pictures. “Nearly naked, abs of steel, tight butt, shiny tan? Or tool belt?”

Sylvester cocked his head, pawed at the screen. She tossed him a tiny dog treat from the jar on the desk. “Tool belt it is. That’s my vote too.” She sighed and hugged the little dog. “I love a tool belt. It says, ‘I know what to do with my hands’ like nothing else.”

Sylvester gave a yap of assent. She tossed him another treat. “Do you think
it’s time to send him a picture? Maybe a sexy one, like me in my robe, with you on my lap?”

Sylvester yapped again.

“Okay. Let’s do it.” She picked up her phone and saw that the unknown number had left a voice mail. Probably one of her magazine editors calling from a different phone than usual. She decided to listen to it later.

“This is just for fun, Sylvester, okay?” Sylvester submitted to being held in her cleavage, draped on her head, even resting on her butt as she
lay on the bed, trying for a playful but sexy shot, chuckling the whole time.

Suddenly, she remembered she hadn’t read Adam’s e-mail, she’d been so distracted by his picture. She hopped up and went back to the message.

Dear Zoe, I love the picture of you at work. Here’s one of me at work and one of me doing my favorite activity when I can, surfing. Surfing is such great exercise. There’s nothing like it for helping me to relax and have fun. I hope you will let me take you out sometime. Anyway, I got fired from my build today, so I imagine I’ll have some more time to surf. It’s working out okay because they bought out my contractor’s bid, and it gives me time for the kids and taking care of my mom—but I’m having trouble accepting it. I’ve never been fired before, and it was unfair how it came about. I wouldn’t participate in an unethical activity, and the owners tried to blackmail me. So I blackmailed them back, and we ended up with a mutual departure yesterday. Anyway, I hope you’ll be ready to see me again soon, because I sure could use something to look forward to. Best, Adam.

“Poor guy,” Zoe muttered. “His life
seems like a total disaster.”

She stared at the pictures of Adam again. Maybe he could wear his tool belt over the surf trunks? Grinning, she decided to listen to the phone message before she sent him her “sexy” picture—though which picture to send? Another dilemma.

“Hi, Zoe. This is Brad. I was wondering if you wanted to take a beach walk. Call or text me back at this number. In any case, Shamu and I will be at the beach this morning.”

Zoe frowned. She didn’t think she’d given Brad her number—had she? She couldn’t remember. In any case, her neck felt stiff, and she didn’t feel like pulling herself together enough to deal with Brad’s high energy. When she was sure Brad would have given up on her, she took Sylvester for a beach walk.

Kicking the foam of waves on the shore, the wind in her hair and the sun on her face, she realized she was really enjoying being by herself. Maybe it was the possibility of company that made being alone sweeter, or maybe it was that she was learning to savor life on her own.

Adam got the kids and Mama settled in watching TV late in the afternoon after driving to and from Lahaina. He was tired, the kind of tiredness that came from keeping a cheerful, energetic demeanor when he didn’t feel that way. He hadn’t told his mother anything about getting fired but that he had the day off. Mama insisted she felt well enough to drive with him to Lahaina, but on the way back she’d fallen asleep, clearly over her energy limit. Now he aimed a fan on her in her lounger and brought each of them a bowl of ice cream.

Not until they were happily engrossed did he go log onto his computer, opening his e-mail with that now-familiar sense of anticipation. He noticed that anticipation had increased and nervousness decreased, and this must be because he and Zoe were passing the barriers each of them presented.

He was glad he’d closed his door when he opened the e-mail from her, because he gasped out loud at the photo she’d sent: She was wrapped in a gold satin robe, her face tilted to look back at the camera across about an acre of glorious long hair spread over the pillow—with Sylvester lying on it, tongue lolling in a happy grin.

In the second one, she
lay on her stomach and Sylvester sat on her round derriere. Her face was bright with laughter, that tumble of multicolored hair tossed over her shoulder, green eyes sparkling.

There
was nothing overtly sexual in the photos other than the fact that she was on her bed wearing nothing but a satin robe, a dog, and her hair… His eyes glazed.

He smacked his own face, checking to see if she’d written a note.

I was feeling playful this morning, and Sylvester puts up with it. Hope you are having a great day!

He got his phone out. Gazed at her number, her face in the little icon next to the number. Texted her for the first time:
Those pictures. You are a cruel and unusual woman, torturing me with them
.

Almost immediately, she texted back:
I hope I wasn’t too forward. Just having a little fun
.

Please, do continue entertaining yourself. Less dog, more hair next time.
He grinned as he hit Send.

A long moment passed. The phone dinged, and this time she’d taken a picture with her phone from above. All he could see was the sun shining on the crown of her head.
Like this?

Ha! I love it.

Well, I want one of you in your surf trunks. With the tool belt on. Nothing else.

He sucked in a breath. She was thinking about him too. That felt good. But what was it with
women and the tool belt? He shook his head, texted back.
I prefer to do that one in person. When can I see you?

I don
’t know. When can you see me?

He paused, considering when and how he could get away. It wasn’t looking good.

“Dad.” Diego knocked on the door. “Tutu’s not waking up.”

Zoe waited for a reply, but none came. Well. He’d probably been interrupted. Besides, she was overdue for a catch-up chat with Michelle. In the uncanny way of these things, her phone rang and it was her friend.

“I was just thinking of calling you.”

“You know we have ESP.” Michelle had always maintained that it was a Vulcan mind meld in kindergarten that had led to these ongoing déjà vu connections. “I missed you. What’s been happening in paradise?”

“It’s getting a little interesting in the man department. But you first. What’s happening with the family?”

Michelle filled her in on the summer activities of her brood, including Arlee’s broken wrist. Zoe massaged her neck as she listened, grateful her whiplash hadn’t persisted past a few chiropractic sessions.

“So. Man department. Spill.”

“Well. I got my
LHJ
piece done, so I’m taking a break from the Internet dating thing, but I’m leaving my profile up. Symbolic, according to Dr. Suzuki.” She filled her friend in on the progression of her relationship with Adam and the emergence of Brad, the dot-com millionaire.

“Oh my. What’s Brad like?”

“Hot. The whole package. He kissed me on our second beach walk. He called this morning, but my neck was kind of hurting and I didn’t feel up to getting pretty for him, so I didn’t meet him at the beach.”

“Zoe. Seriously. Hop on this one like a bird on a bug! I mean, Adam sounds great, but stepkids? A sick mother? Fired from his job? Not good. You need those kinds of complications like a hole in the head. Not to be callous, but that kind of stuff is tough enough when it happens to you. In
your case, getting involved is optional. Run. Far, far away.”

Zoe rolled a bit of hair between her fingers, silent.

“What. Say something. You aren’t falling for this guy, are you? After one bad date, an emergency room random encounter, and some e-mailing?”

“I don’t know.” Zoe blew out a breath. She was lying on the Murphy bed, back in her robe, a fan of magazines spread around her as she studied them, reviewing the kinds of stories editors might want. Sylvester, worried by her tone of voice, sat up and gazed at her, ears cocked from his spot beside her. “I like Adam a lot.”

“Seriously. This is your friend talking who has nothing but your best interests at heart. Brad is the guy you want. You Googled him, didn’t you? No skeletons in the closet?”

“Not immediately apparent. He’s single, forty-two, invented some zillion-dollar widget a few years ago and is working on a few more. If
there are skeletons, I’ll have to dig a little deeper to find them.”

“Doesn’t
seem to have the baggage the other one does. Go out with him. Check it out.”

“All right.
It’s just—he seems a little aggressive.” Zoe described the kiss they’d shared.

“That
seems totally hot to me. The dog is cute, and he seems to be what he says—someone who goes for what he wants. And he seems to want you. C’mon, Zoe. At the very least, you should sleep with him. Get back on the horse, so to speak.”

“Michelle! You know I’m not like that!”

“But maybe you should be. Rex and those infertility treatments did such a number on your head… You need to have a good sexual experience to get over all that.”

Zoe brushed the bit of hair back and forth across her cheek. “I can see why you think that, but you know that’s not my style. I mean, Rex was my first major relationship, so I can’t point to a bunch of notches on a bedpost. I feel really nervous, like I’m in foreign territory here, not sure what I want.”

“Well, you don’t want to jump into a deep relationship with the wrong guy,” Michelle said. “I mean, even the bodybuilder might have been a good idea.”

Zoe laughed. “You should have seen how he could make his muscles ripple. His biceps was so big, it looked like a pregnancy! Speaking of…” She told Michelle about the guided visualization she’d done with Dr. Suzuki. “I feel like it really helped. I can look at a picture now, at least.” She’d flipped one of the magazines to an ad for maternity clothing. The photo showed a
woman in a form-fitting dress, her belly displayed like the prow of a ship. She tapped the photo, holding the phone to her ear with the other hand. “I’m seeing a picture right now and it doesn’t bother me.”

“I picked Dr. Suzuki for you. She had good reviews on Yelp. And now I’m picking Brad for you. Trust
your girlfriend, Zoe. I know what you need, and it’s a good schtupping from a hot guy without a lot of baggage.”

“Michelle! Oh my God.” Zoe laughed. “Okay, I’ll call him back.”

“Promise?”

“Promise. I’ll do it next.”

“Okay. Love you.”

Zoe hung up. Maybe Brad would be up for meeting her even if she’d ignored his beach walk call. She scrolled to his voice mail, hit Call Back.

He picked up on the third ring. “Hello?”

“Brad,
it’s Zoe.”

“Hi. Sorry to miss you at the beach this morning.” His voice was cheerful. “Shamu kept looking for Sylvester.”

“Aw. Yeah, I was working on my story and my neck was feeling a little stiff this morning, so I’ve been taking it easy. But I got my piece done, so I thought I’d reward myself. Want to have dinner?” She pleated the satin of her robe between her fingers, feeling nervous. This was literally the first time she’d asked a guy out on a date.

“Sure. I like the idea of being
your reward. How about that crepe place on Baldwin Avenue?”

“I’ve never eaten
there. Is it any good?” Zoe had walked by the brightly painted Cafe Des Amis with its open-air courtyard any number of times.

“
It’s good. Meet you there at seven?”

“Okay.” Zoe set the phone down thoughtfully. She’d asked him, but
then he’d taken charge. She guessed that might be the pattern. He didn’t seem like someone who spent a lot of time waffling indecisively. 

She had a few hours to go and a few more pitches to make. She got up and went back to her computer, texting Michelle:
Mission accomplished. Dinner with Brad tonight.

Wear something hot. No underwear
, came back instantly from her friend.

Zoe laughed and texted back.
Says the married bad girl with three kids.

That means I know how to get the job done.

Zoe laughed again, but felt a pang as she did. She, apparently, didn’t know how to get the job done, and it still hurt.