Читать книгу Mission: Marriage - Hannah Bernard - Страница 7

BABIES are obnoxious, Lea decided, balancing her friend’s eleven-month-old on her lap. Yes. Totally obnoxious. Not only did bringing them into this world involve hours—if not nine months—of suffering, but once they were there, they were loud, filthy, demanding, and never gave a moment’s peace from cleaning and feeding and everything else that needed to be done. They consumed their parents’ lives, swallowed them up whole, leaving no time or energy for anything else. Then they grew up to be sullen, ungrateful, troublesome teenagers, who after years of turning their parents’ hair gray, finally became adults, left the nest, and never bothered to call or visit with their own little brats.

Yes. Babies were obnoxious.

And, God, how she wanted one.

Unexpected moisture in her eyes blurred the sight of obnoxious little Danny, and the bowl of food she was currently try to get on the inside of him. What was wrong with her? She ripped a tissue out of her purse and managed to get rid of the tears under the pretext of cleaning some of the mashed bananas from the tip of Danny’s snubby little nose.

“Everything okay?” Anne chirped from where she was loading the fridge with groceries.

“Why shouldn’t everything be okay?” Lea snapped back, nerves suddenly too fragile to deal with her friend’s inquisitions. Anne raised an eyebrow in surprise.

“Danny isn’t always fond of bananas,” she said. “Sometimes he spits everything out. I was just wondering if he was behaving.”

Lea shook her head. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you. Yeah, he’s eating.” Eating was one way of putting it. The mashed banana was on his face, in his downy black hair, on his chest—not to mention all over her own shirt—but she did believe some of it had made it into his mouth. From there, some of it had probably followed the standard path down to his stomach, but percentage wise, it wasn’t a lot of the original product. She added another negative thing to her I’m-better-off-without-a-baby list: inefficient eating habits.

“He tends to eat more when strangers feed him, actually,” Anne said. “Gives him something to think about other than finding new ways to make us tear our hair out in frustration.”

Lea tilted another spoonful of banana into Danny’s mouth and watched half of it slide down his chin and drop onto his colorful terry bib. The child slapped the glob with his fist, splashing some on the wall and on Lea’s face. For a moment she wondered about the status of the floor, but decided not to look down. Ignorance really was bliss. “He’s a lot of work, isn’t he?”

“Endless,” Anne sighed with a smile and plopped down in a chair on the other side of the table. “And will be even more work once he’s moving around on his own. But he’s sleeping through the night now, did I tell you?” Excitement made her nearly bounce in her seat. “Last Saturday night was the first night in a whole year that I got whole seven hours of uninterrupted sleep. I couldn’t believe it when he finally woke me up and I saw what time it was.”

“Yes, I know, you told me.” Anne had called at seven o’clock on Sunday morning with this exciting news, nearly incoherent with exhilaration—or maybe it was sleep overdose. She’d woken Lea up, who in her sleepy state had committed the nearly unforgivable crime of failing to register the importance of this event. Another vote against babies: lack of sleep at night, no weekend lie-ins. For years.

Yup. Better off without one. Definitely. Are you listening, biological clock?

“I’m sorry,” Anne laughed, looking embarrassed. “The universe shrinks after you have a baby and are staying at home. Suddenly the tiny everyday miracles are such a big deal, and you automatically assume everyone else is interested in them.” She smiled wryly. “You also tend to assume the rest of the world gets up at six o’clock, weekend or not.”

“I’m interested,” Lea protested. “And it was fine. I shouldn’t waste my weekends sleeping away the mornings, anyway.”

“You can put Danny in the chair, if you like. You’d get less food on you that way.”

“It’s okay. I like holding him.”

In fact, she didn’t want to let go. When she’d picked up Danny this afternoon, she’d suddenly identified the stark feeling of emptiness that had invaded her life recently.

She wanted a baby. She needed a baby.

It made no sense. She wasn’t married, didn’t even have a boyfriend, had a busy and fulfilling career, and no reason in the world to want a baby in her life at this time.

Yet she did. Nature was making her wishes clear. Logic didn’t stand a chance against the devious lady, who’d obviously been counting up the years, tallying each of the wasted eggs that vanished one by one each month.

The intensity of the longing was almost frightening. She must have hit the snooze button on her biological clock one time too many. It was now ringing with a vengeance.

It was that birthday, she thought with a silent sigh. The dreaded, looming thirtieth birthday was approaching rapidly with all its connotations. Add to that the gruesome fact that this week also happened to mark one year since she’d kicked Harry out of her life. Her Prince Charming who’d turned out to be the biggest toad of all. She’d wasted years on Mr. Wrong, and what did she have to show for it? Yup, a distrust of human nature and a bottomed-out self-esteem. Not to mention a butchered CD collection.

But her year of wallowing in self-pity, nursing her broken heart, was up. It was time to move on. Meet new people.

Meet new men.

If only she could figure out the basics. How did one even go about meeting men these days? Meeting the right men? They certainly weren’t showing up out of the blue.

“So, are you seeing anyone?”

Anne the mind reader. Lea shrugged. “No one special.” She didn’t know what it was, a matter of pride or dignity, perhaps, but she felt uncomfortable, sharing her feelings with her settled friends, who had their future all figured out with their husbands and their babies. It felt awkward.

“No one at all, isn’t it?”

Lea shrugged again. “I’ve been busy.”

“It’s been forever since you broke up with the rat. Isn’t it about time you started dating again?” Now her friend’s voice was reproachful. Not a first, either. Emancipation be damned, apparently it was still the single woman’s sacred duty to keep husband-hunting until she found one.

Danny snuggled up to her and yawned.

Husbands did have their advantages. She wouldn’t be getting an obnoxious brat of her own without one, would she?

But the very words “start dating” sent shivers down her back. “Again? What do you mean again? I met Harry my first week in college. Unless you count high school, I’ve never dated in my life.”

“Well, it can’t be that difficult. Everybody’s doing it.”

Lea shook her head. “I’d screw it up. Have you read the women’s magazines lately? They’re writing ten-page articles just on the anatomy of first kisses, let alone anything….” She covered Danny’s ears, just in case what she was about to say would warp him for life. “I glanced at one article at the dentist’s last week. There are rules for what kind of things you can do with a guy your first time together. Can you believe it? You can’t do this, unless he does that, and then only if you’ve done this previously…” She groaned and allowed Danny to twist his head out of her grasp. He waved his fists around, then settled down to sucking his thumb, grumbling quietly to himself, no doubt about the injustice of having been cut off from this educational conversation.

“Rules? Really?” Anne looked fascinated. “I haven’t read those magazines for ages. What kind of things can’t you do unless he does what? Who made up those rules? How do you even know they’re for real? How can you be sure the guy knows about them? What happens if one of you breaks them?”

Lea refused to grin at her friend’s teasing, and took her questions at face value instead. “I don’t know. I barely glanced at the headlines.”

“Did it come with some kind of a flowchart? You know, something like ‘If male does A, do B, else C, unless he does D, in which case go straight to XXX’? Or maybe a checklist to put in your bedside drawer?”

“I don’t know,” Lea repeated, feeling grumpy. This wasn’t funny. Well, maybe it was funny to people to whom it wasn’t relevant, but it was deadly serious to her, who might have to deal with these situations. “I wasn’t interested.”

“You don’t have to be interested. Look at it as homework for dating school.”

Lea rested her head on top of Danny’s head. “I don’t want to learn. It’s scary. Somehow dating has evolved into this intricate game with all kinds of subtle rules and scripts.” She shuddered. “Just thinking about it frightens the hell out of me.”

“Well, if you want to meet guys, you’ll have to,” Anne said rationally. “Mr. Rights don’t show up on their own. You have to go find them.” She snapped her fingers. “Tell you what, I’ll ask Brian if there isn’t someone at work we can set you up with. He works with literally hundreds of guys, after all—there has to be one there for you.”

“No!” Oh, God no, not a blind date. “Anne, I’m not ready. I haven’t even read the first-kiss articles! I’ll have to do some serious research before I dive in.”

“You’ll never be ‘ready,’ Lea. It doesn’t work that way. You just have to do it. Why not give it a chance? One date won’t kill you.” She smiled and held her hands out for her child. Danny squealed with pleasure, squirming to push himself into his mother’s arms.

Lea felt bereft, her arms empty without the child.

“One date?” Anne pushed. “Just to get your toes wet. Look at it as practice.”

Lea began to shake her head, but Danny chose that exact moment to look up at his mother and laugh, then wrapped his arms around her neck and gave her a wet, banana kiss on her chin. Lea felt her heart liquefy and head straight for her ovaries with instructions to prepare for immediate procreation.

If she were planned on ever having children, a man was kind of a necessary evil in the whole process, not only making the child, but caring for it. Being a single mother was not something she had a desire for. A child needed two parents.

Anne was right. It was time. It wasn’t about just grabbing anyone for procreation, but if she had hopes for a future with a family, now was the time to start looking. Who knew how many years that would take? She didn’t have all the time in the world any more. It was time to test the waters.

“Okay,” she conceded. “Just as a practice date. But you better pick someone…not dreadful.”

Anne hesitated. “What’s your definition of dreadful?”

Uh, oh.

Could this be any worse?

Lea groaned under her breath as her date tried for another footsie. She sat up straighter and tucked her feet under her chair. It hadn’t looked too bad at first, not compared to some of the blind dates horror stories she’d read. James was presentable, didn’t pick his nose over the appetizer, and was even a semi-interesting conversationalist, even though his topics of choice all seemed rather similar.

But that was it, as far as the good side went.

For one, he yelled at the waiters and waitresses. Not even in an impolite way—yet—but just as a routine way of getting their attention, his shrill voice echoing from the dark wooden walls of the cozy restaurant. Lea had nearly jumped out of her too-tight heels the first time. The second time, when every single eye in the restaurant had turned on them, a couple of people out of eyeshot even standing up to check what the ruckus was all about, she’d almost slid all the way under the table in an effort to pretend she wasn’t with that man. Her foot had accidentally brushed his—which was when the footsie had started.

Things had gone downhill from there, and they weren’t even halfway through the appetizer yet. Thank God for cocktails.

Anne and Brian would be hearing about this for a long, long time, Lea thought grimly.

There was another couple just two tables away, also on their first date, judging from the snatches of conversation that drifted over. They too were making their way through the appetizer. As James called the waiter over for the fourth time, Lea occupied herself by concentrating on the other couple. The guy was probably in his early thirties, and didn’t yell at the waiters, which currently made him a dream date in her book. Not that his looks hurt any either. The woman was several years younger, her hair long and blond, her laughter loud, and she seemed to have a black belt in flirting.

The blonde obviously knew all the rules, all the in and outs of this mysterious dating culture, Lea thought enviously. She should be taking notes. The show was fascinating. Flip hair, lean forward, show cleavage, tilt head sideways and smile coyly.

Hmm. Only, it didn’t seem to be working. The guy leaned back and seemed rather bored, although his smile was polite enough. He picked up his fork and speared his shrimp, his attention wandering to James who was waving the menu in front of the waiter.

The blonde made another attempt to draw her date’s attention with the flip hair, coy smile routine. The man seemed to realize what was expected of him. He put his fork down, leaned forward and talked for a bit, seemingly answering a question.

Meanwhile, his date was scouting the restaurant, and then stood up, and headed for the rest room.

Maybe she should follow the blonde to the rest room for some girl talk. That girl looked like she knew a thing or two. She could drill her about all the details that were nagging at her. Like, was she expected to kiss her date tonight? Would she be breaking all the rules if she didn’t? Would James charge her with violations of dating ethics if she made do with a handshake and then escaped into her apartment?

She glanced at her date and decided she really, really didn’t want to kiss him if there was any way out of it.

He was bashing the poor waiter again, but at least that activity was distracting him from the footsie game. Apparently there was a typo on the menu. His monologue was drawing more and more attention from the neighboring tables, not the least from the blonde’s date, who was looking at her with certain sympathy in his gaze and a weak smile pulling at one corner of his mouth.

Oh, Lord. Not only was she on her first date since high school, she had strangers pitying her.

Blind date, she mouthed at the stranger on an impulse, shrugging helplessly.

The man raised his eyebrows, then grimaced. Me too, he mouthed back, sending her a sympathetic grin and a rueful shake of his head.

That one, she might not mind kissing at the end of the evening, she conceded. Gorgeous eyes—dark blue, from what she could tell from here—and the smile was even better. The blonde had nothing to complain about. Some girls had all the luck.

The third waiter incident was over at last. Lea tried to catch the waiter’s eye for an apologetic look, but the harassed young man was hurrying away from the table, and she didn’t blame him. Worse, James’s toes were digging into her foot again. She pulled her legs under the chair once more, but he seemed to consider that a coy game of playing hard to get, and his foot was now on her calf.

What the hell was he thinking?

Once again she cursed her inexperience at this thing. Was this a normal part of whatever activities were involved in a first date in today’s world, or would she be justified in being insulted enough to throw down her napkin and stalk out of the restaurant?

She didn’t want to make a scene. She hated making scenes but that man wasn’t taking a hint, was he?

She’d try an unsubtle one.

“I’m sorry, but your foot keeps bumping into me,” she said with a polite laugh, once again moving her legs. “Not a lot of room under these tables, is there?”

Doggone it, it worked. James’s face froze in astonished shock, then his feet were mercifully withdrawn.

So was conversation. So were smiles.

Which only left arguments with the waiter, didn’t it?

Lea groaned under her breath after making several attempts to start a conversation, all met with an icy yes, no, or noncommittal grunts if she asked open-ended questions.

What a guy.

She gave up for the time being, and instead went for another glass of wine. She picked at the smoked salmon, but there was no way anything could have a taste in these circumstances. This was dreadful. If she clicked her heels three times, would she be transported out of here? Anywhere, anytime, would be better than right here, right now. She was being ignored by her date, who’d obviously been insulted by her refusal to be toe-groped under the table. For all she knew, she was being terribly unfair. Maybe there was even something she should be doing in return. Like scratching behind his ears with her fork.

She might as well have stepped onto another planet.

Their next-table neighbors weren’t doing much better, although she could see under their table and at least the blue-eyed guy didn’t seem to belong to the Footsie Cult. He seemed, however, to have lost his appetite and was leaning back in his seat, looking with a bit of a terror at the blonde, who had finished her appetizer and was now blowing green bubble gum bubbles in between her energetic chatting. Her voice was loud, and her favorite subject matter seemed to be celebrity gossip. Then she stuck her gum on her plate and jumped to her feet, heading for the rest room for the second time in twenty minutes.

Mr. Blue Eyes slumped in relief and took a deep breath, rubbing his face with both hands. He then picked up his fork and started pushing his food around his plate. He met Lea’s gaze again, and they sighed silently in unison.

James started hollering for the waiter again, and Lea stood up so quickly that the heavy wooden chair almost toppled. “I’ll just…” she waved a hand in the direction of the rest room. “I’ll be right back…” she murmured. She’d probably be able to hear the one-sided argument in there. Hopefully she could just stay locked in there until everything was silent again.

“Darling…I’m sorry. So sorry.”

Lea almost flew up the wall in shock. The blue-eyed stranger was all of a sudden at her side, his hand on her shoulder, intense regret in his voice, She nearly panicked. Two psychos in one night, what were the odds?

Then she noticed him winking at her.

“Can you forgive me?” he continued, the look in his eyes beseeching, and behind the playacting, a wicked glint of humor. And they were blue. Very blue, she noticed vaguely, before she was distracted by a warm kiss pressed to the back of her hand. “I’ve missed you so much, darling,” he said, his voice low and intimate, but just loud enough to make sure James would hear. “I’ve been going out of my mind. When I saw you again, I knew we’d been so wrong to break up.”

Lea hesitated, her mind racing to keep up with the sudden galloping of her heart. What’s a girl to do?

She glanced once at Mr. Footsie and made up her mind. Sometimes, the devil you didn’t know was the better choice. “I’m sorry too,” she said, throwing her arms around the stranger’s neck. “It was a such a mistake,” she mumbled into his chest, feeling exhilarated by her uncharacteristic behavior. The man’s arms came around her in a tight hug and she felt his breath against her hair as her nose squashed against his shoulder.

Oh, wow. This was interesting. No wonder people went out on dates if this sort of thing happened to them on a regular basis.

“What’s going on?” a familiar whiny voice demanded. Lea pulled away from the stranger, who kept his arm around her shoulders, and tried to look contrite and deliriously happy at the same time. Good thing she’d taken those acting lessons back in high school, but then again, the prospect of escaping Mr. Footsie the Sulk was indeed occasion for delirious happiness. That last glass of wine hadn’t hurt either.

“I’m sorry, James, but this is my…fiancé,” she told him. “We recently broke up…but…” she tightened her hold of her savior’s arm and smiled up at him. “It was a mistake. We belong together.”

The blonde, back from the rest room, joined them, looking furious at seeing her date with another woman in his arms. “What the hell is going on? Who’s that?”

“I’m sorry, Beth,” he said. “I’m in love with her. I always was. I thought we were over, but when I saw her again…” The stranger smiled down at Lea, and once again the look in his eyes was so loving and passionate that she was almost fooled herself.

He was good.

“Beth…” He looked at the blonde. “I’m sorry. I thought I was ready to date again, but when I saw her again, I just knew…I’m sorry to cut our date so short. Can you understand?”

“Of course. It’s okay,” the blonde said, her eyes widening. “Oh, this is so romantic…I’m so happy for you.” Lea was astonished to see tears fill the blonde’s eyes. “So romantic,” she sniffed. “Just like on Rendezvous with Romance. I haven’t missed an episode since I was sixteen. This could be Pierre and Paradise, realizing they’re still in love despite everything.” She jumped at them, wrapping one arm around each of their necks, giving Lea a constructive lesson in perfumes-to-wear-on-first-dates. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you, Beth.” Blue Eyes kissed the blonde on the cheek. “Thank you for being so understanding.”

Lea sneaked a peek at James. She imagined he wouldn’t be quite so understanding. More likely that he was on the verge of another tantrum.

James’s jaw was working, his face flushed in anger, but he seemed to be working on a way to save his wounded pride. He stared at Beth for a while and took a deep breath, collecting his dignity. Then he stood up, gave a small bow and gestured toward Lea’s abandoned chair, ignoring Lea and Blue Eyes completely. “Why don’t you join me?” he offered. “It looks like we’re both getting dumped, so we might as well finish our meals together, don’t you think?”

Beth’s cherubic face lit up and she wasted no time in claiming her seat. “Absolutely. Thank you!”

Lea stuttered some hurried goodbyes as her savior insisting on leaving money on the table to pay for all four meals, then put his arm over her shoulder and pulled her toward the exit. She made a mental note of remembering to pay him back, but then everything was drowned in cheerful applause from every corner of the restaurant. Blue Eyes turned around and bowed, his arm still tight around her. Lea felt her face catch fire. She glanced up at him, and he grinned back. Was this something he did every day? All in a dating day’s work?

She waved weakly to their audience, shrugged his arm from her shoulder and grabbed his hand. She’d do the leading. She wanted out of here. Now.

Her motives for the sudden escape got the predictable interpretation, and laughter and a few wolf whistles slid through the door as it closed behind them.

What an evening.

This was it. Hand kisses from hunky strangers or not—dating was definitely not for her. Too risky. Too dangerous. Too unsettling.

She glanced sideways to the man holding her hand.

Too…exciting?

“Wow,” she breathed as soon as they had turned the corner and were out of sight of the restaurant windows. She stopped, almost stumbling on her heels, and glanced back toward the restaurant, relieved despite everything. She wouldn’t have to go through the rest of the evening. The kissing dilemma had mercifully vanished. “Did that really happen, or am I having a very surreal dream?”

“It happened, believe it or not.” The stranger grinned as he released her hand. “We’re off the hook. Thank you for the rescue.”

“Thank you.” She shuddered. “What was happening to me was infinitely worse than green bubble gum.”

He nodded. “Yeah. I noticed the cat and mouse game under the table. Not exactly a gentleman, is he?”

Lea shrugged. “You tell me. That’s not a part of the regular dating ritual?”

The man frowned in confusion. “Ritual? Uh, no. Not that I know of, anyway.”

“I don’t do this a lot, you see. It’s good to hear that’s not the standard. He…Oh! Poor Beth!” Lea groaned. “No, we can’t do this. We can’t leave her like this.”

“Don’t worry about Beth. She’s a bit of a man-eater. A sentimental, cries at the drop of a hat, man-eater. If that guy goes out of line, he’s likely to find himself with a lapful of gravy.” He held out a hand. “I’m Thomas Carlisle.”

“Lea Rhodes.”

Thomas smiled. “Nice to meet you. Can I call you a taxi? Walk you to your car? Give you a ride home?”

“Taxi would be good. I just want to get home, curl up with my cat and cry my mascara off.”

“Was it that bad?”

“I believe I’ve got the imprint of his toes on my ankle.”

He winced. “Ouch. My sympathies. Some guys have no class.”

“Dating sucks,” she muttered. “And I’m no good at it.”

“It’s an art form,” he agreed. “An acquired skill, definitely. Acquired taste, too. Not for everybody.”

“You sound like an expert.”

He grinned. “Yeah, well, when you’re not interested in wedding bells and not looking to settle down, you get an extended run at the dating part. As they say, practice makes perfect, doesn’t it?”

“Practice makes perfect?” She stared at him, wheels struggling to churn in her head. She wasn’t drunk yet,—but after a cocktail and two glasses of Chardonnay on an empty stomach she was damn close.

Practice? Hmm…Here she had run into someone not interested in commitment, just in casual dating. A serial dater. Someone with plenty of experience in this, someone who knew all about what, when and how when it came to the dating game.

He was right. He was perfect.