Читать книгу The Perfect Wife - Judy Duarte, Judy Duarte - Страница 10

On Saturday night, Carly, Molly and Rebecca sat at a linen-draped table at Entrée, a charming bistro-style eatery that specialized in nouvelle cuisine and provided jazz in the lounge on weekend evenings.

With its warm yellow walls, dark wood trim and massive stone fireplace, Entrée provided romantic ambiance, as well as great food.

Their neighbors on Danbury Way, Ed and Marti Vincente, owned the restaurant and worked hard to make sure everything ran properly. Marti, an attractive redhead in her thirties, was the hostess and provided a friendly welcome to all who entered.

Ed, who’d been in the kitchen when Carly and her friends arrived, stopped by the table and dropped off a basket of bread. “Hello, ladies. Marti said she’d seated you back here. Can I get you a drink?”

“We’re celebrating,” Rebecca told the thirtysomething owner. “Can you please bring us a bottle of your nicest champagne?”

“Certainly.” Ed grinned and quickly scanned the table. “Did someone get a promotion?”

“I suppose you can call it that.” Rebecca laughed. “Carly’s been promoted to single and available.”

Ed gave Carly a supportive smile followed by a playful wink. “Something tells me a lovely woman like you won’t remain unattached very long, so I’d better hurry and get that bottle of champagne before you don’t need it any longer.”

When he disappeared, Carly said, “He’s sweet. Marti’s a lucky woman.”

“I agree.” Molly reached into the breadbasket, pulled out a baguette slice and dipped it into a saucer of olive oil and balsamic vinegar.

Out of habit, Carly took the basket and peered at a mouthwatering variety of oven-fresh breads. Needless to say, it was all beyond tempting, but she quickly rewrapped the linen and set the basket back on the table, opting to skip the additional calories and carbs.

“You know,” she admitted, “I’m not sure why I let you talk me into celebrating. I’m not looking forward to dating. Most of the good men are already taken, and with my luck, I’ll be looking for Mr. Right only to find Mr. All That’s Left.”

“You don’t have to date the first man who asks you out,” Rebecca said. “Be particular. Some women are so desperate that they jump at the chance to have a lover.”

Been there, done that, Carly realized.

In high school, she’d never been popular with the boys—or the girls, either, for that matter. She’d always blamed it on being overweight and geeky.

Without the distraction of friends and extracurricular activities, she’d concentrated on her studies. And thanks to good grades, she’d received a full scholarship to North Carolina University at Chapel Hill.

When a nasty bout of intestinal flu hit the dorms during that first winter, Carly couldn’t seem to kick the bug, and had lost more than twenty pounds—enough to fit into her stylish roommate’s clothes. And almost immediately men began to notice her—something that made losing that last ten pounds easy.

On a whim, she’d visited a salon near campus, where she’d lightened her dishwater-blond hair and received tips on makeup application. And suddenly she found herself in a brand-new world, the Mars-Venus world of dating.

“Marry money,” her mother used to tell her and Shelby. “It’s just as easy to fall in love with a rich man as it is to fall for a poor one.”

Carly hadn’t been too sure about that.

She’d made the mistake of going out with a couple of jerks at first, but learned to be more particular about the men she dated.

Before long, she’d met Greg at a party. The handsome, bright and personable grad student was pursuing a master’s degree in business administration. And he also had a wealthy family.

Miraculously, they hit it off immediately.

Landing Greg Banning had been an incredible stroke of luck for a poor girl from Nowhere, Texas, and Carly was soon the envy of all the girls in her dorm.

But now her luck had run out.

And she was alone again.

The entire singles scene seemed to be one big crap-shoot, so she wasn’t sure why Molly and Rebecca had insisted she celebrate.

“You know,” Molly said, turning her attention to Rebecca, “while we’re on the subject of men and dating, are you going out with anyone yet?”

“No. Not yet. I’m still settling into the neighborhood.”

“Then maybe we ought to organize another block party,” Molly said. “That way we can be sure you get to meet everyone.”

“I’d like that.” Rebecca took a sip of her water. “But just out of curiosity, what do you two know about Jack Lever?”

Jack was an attorney who lived on Danbury Way. He was also a handsome, thirtysomething widower with blond hair and brown eyes.

“He’s a nice guy,” Molly said. “But I think he’s still grieving for his wife.”

Carly agreed. “Patricia Lever died in a car accident right after their second child, a boy, was born. I’m sure losing his wife and being left with two small children has been tough on him, especially since he’s with a busy firm. But he has a nanny to help.”

“He’s had several,” Molly said. “I heard he can be pretty demanding.”

“But if you’re interested,” Carly added, “why not take a chance?”

If Rebecca had any thoughts about the suggestion, she kept them to herself. But Carly suspected the cogs and wheels were turning.

“Speaking of giving guys a chance…” Molly’s gaze scored a direct hit on Carly. “Why don’t you pursue something with Bo? He’d make a nice transitional relationship.”

“The whole dating thing is pretty overwhelming,” Carly admitted. But she wasn’t about to let on that she actually found Bo interesting—to say the least.

Rebecca reached into the breadbasket and took a slice of pumpernickel. “Maybe, if you decide to have that block party, you should invite Bo, too. There aren’t that many good men out there, and he seems like a decent sort. He’s also nice looking if you’re into the rugged, outdoorsy type.”

Before either of her friends could push the issue, Ed returned with a bottle of champagne, an ice bucket and three crystal flutes. After popping the cork, he poured a bit for Rebecca to taste.

“It’s fine. Thank you.”

Molly placed her hand over the top of her glass. “No, thanks. I’m having water this evening.”

Ed complied, then returned to the kitchen, leaving the women alone.

“You’re passing on champagne?” Rebecca asked.

Carly was going to ask the same question. Not that she was in the mood to celebrate anything, but Molly’s lack of participation was odd.

“I, uh…” Molly cleared her throat, and a sheepish expression crossed her pretty face. “I’m pregnant.”

Rebecca nearly choked on her bite of bread. “Are you serious? I didn’t even know you were dating.”

“I’m not.”

Carly wasn’t sure what to say, other than ask who the father was. Would it be rude of her to do so?

Of course, if Molly wasn’t dating… “You don’t have to answer this if you don’t want to,” she said. After all, she valued her own privacy and owed her friend the same respect. “But did you go to a sperm bank?”

Molly’s cheeks flushed, but she apparently took Carly at her word and didn’t respond.

So Carly let it drop and offered her neighbor her full support. “You’re braver than I am to go it alone. But congratulations, Molly. You’ll make a wonderful mother.”

“A fabulous one,” Rebecca added. “How far along are you?”

“About four months.”

That was a long time to keep a secret like that, especially from friends. Carly leaned forward. “Why didn’t you tell us sooner?”

Molly fingered the stem of her empty glass, then blessed Carly with a sympathetic gaze. “I knew how badly you’d wanted a baby. And…” She shrugged.

Carly had wanted a baby, but not until she realized her marriage was in trouble and she’d been desperate to do whatever she could to hold things together.

In the early years Greg had been the one to bring up the subject of children. But Carly had put him off, telling him she wasn’t ready. The truth was she’d actually been afraid to get pregnant, afraid of the weight gain, the stretch marks. However, even more terrifying had been the fear of losing Greg to someone else if she became fat and frumpy. Losing him to someone who was more his class and style.

Yet Greg had left her, anyway.

Carly placed a hand on top of Molly’s. “It’s okay. Really. I wanted a baby, but for all the wrong reasons. I’d hoped a child would make things better between us.”

But by that time, Greg was no longer interested in having a child. Or at least, he didn’t want to have a baby with Carly.

She wouldn’t rain on Molly’s parade, though. So she gave her friend’s hand a warm squeeze before releasing it. “I’m happy for you.”

And she was. Really. But it was a struggle to smile warmly when Molly’s joyful announcement reminded her how vast and sterile her house was, how empty her life.

But Carly let the subject die a dignified death.

For a woman who kept her fears and worries close to the vest, she’d opened up more with her friends during the past few months than she ever had, especially to Megan Schumacher.

Megan had listened endlessly as Carly poured out her heart about her husband, her failing marriage. And at the time, Megan, who yearned for a family, had seemed sympathetic.

Trustworthy.

But Megan was dating Greg now.

And since Carly had been burned by the woman she’d thought was a friend, she was leery about sharing too much with anyone else.

“I think it’s great,” Rebecca told the expectant mother. “You didn’t flounder around waiting for the right man to propose marriage. Instead, you decided to have a child on your own.”

“Well,” Molly admitted, “to be honest, I didn’t plan this pregnancy. But I have decided to make the best of being a single mom.”

Okay. So Molly hadn’t found the father at the sperm bank.

“Sometimes the best things in life aren’t planned,” Rebecca said. “Isn’t that right, Carly?”

Carly nodded.

But sometimes the worst things were unplanned, too.

“Just think.” Rebecca smiled wistfully. “In five more months you’ll have a baby boy or girl to hold and love.”

That, Carly supposed, would be nice for Molly.

Too bad she and Greg hadn’t conceived a baby years ago—when he’d still wanted one. Having a son or daughter to fill the McMansion with love and laughter, instead of silence and emptiness, certainly would have made Carly feel better about being divorced and single.

Her thoughts drifted to Bo, to the bookshelf she’d hired him to build. The bookshelf she didn’t really need and probably wouldn’t use.

But at least the handsome carpenter would fill her days for a while and make her smile again.

Hopefully that would suffice until Carly could accept the fact that Greg was gone for good.

True to her word—and what was becoming habit— Carly woke early on Monday morning. But instead of rolling over, socking her pillow and grumbling about the hour and the insomnia that had been plaguing her nights, she jumped right up and headed for the shower.

The pounding spray of water felt good and refreshing, so she took her time lathering up with a new aloe-and-pear body soap she’d purchased on her last trip to the mall. Then she shampooed her hair and shaved her legs.

After drying off with a white, fluffy bath towel, she took her time in choosing an outfit.

Initially she pulled out several of her favorite slacks and tops, each one expensive, stylish and protected by a plastic dry-cleaning bag. But when she remembered Bo’s comment about her looking real and more attractive when she was dressed casually, she went back to the walk-in wardrobe. Digging through scads of hangers, she finally found a pair of jeans she hadn’t worn in ages, then pulled out about a dozen blouses until she spotted a simple white cotton T-shirt with a scooped neckline that ought to work.

Next she blew dry her hair in a free and easy style, letting it curl at the shoulders, rather than sweeping it up in a neat twist or chignon like she usually wore.

She was reaching for her makeup when her hand froze.

Apparently Bo liked a simple, no-fuss woman.

Well, that’s what he’d see today.

Carly put on a light coat of mascara and applied a quick but neat layer of pink lipstick—minus a contrasting liner.

When she entered the kitchen, a designer masterpiece that Emeril would love, she went to work mixing up a batch of zucchini muffins. As they baked, she squeezed oranges for juice, then ground fresh coffee beans and brewed a full pot.

It was, she decided, a simple continental style breakfast that Bo wouldn’t be able to resist, even if he’d already eaten at home.

But she’d no more than pulled the muffins out of the oven when she began having second thoughts.

Guilty thoughts.

What in the world was she trying to do?

First she’d ordered a bookcase she didn’t need. Now she was trying her best to impress a man she had no intention of attracting.

Before she could ponder her motives, the doorbell gonged throughout the house.

Uh-oh.

Bo wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting when Carly answered, but certainly not a gorgeous girl-next-door wearing denim and a heart-stopping smile.

“You’re up,” was all he could manage to utter.

“You said bright and early.”

That he had. But last fall, when he’d brought a crew to work on various projects at the McMansion, Greg had asked them to start as late in the day as possible. And when they’d arrived, they’d all tried to tiptoe around the place until Carly managed to wake up and exit the master bedroom, all dolled up, with every hair in place and looking like a model ready to walk down a Paris runway.

“Do you have time for coffee?” she asked.

He’d planned to get a cup along the way, between this estimate and the start of another project down on Whistler Lane.

He glanced at his wristwatch. He’d allotted an extra half hour at Carly’s, since he hadn’t expected her to be ready for him. And he didn’t need to ask if the coffee was ready. Heck, the fresh aroma wafting through the house was enough to tempt a tea-and-crumpets man to ask for an extra-large cup. “Sure. I’ve got a few minutes to spare.”

Carly led him through the vast interior of the house and into the spacious kitchen, where the warm scents of sugar and spice accosted him, making him wish he’d grabbed a bite to eat on the way out of the house.

“How about a muffin with that coffee?” she asked.

“Sure. Thanks.” He watched as she puttered around in a pair of tight jeans. Funny, but he’d never expected to see her in denim. She’d always come across as the linen-and-pearls type.

She’d also filled out some. In his opinion, she’d been too skinny before. But now?

Dang. She ought to wear jeans more often.

Moments later, Bo was seated on one of the pewter barstools that overlooked the kitchen work space, and Carly took the stool next to his.

She wasn’t wearing much makeup today, which he found refreshing for a change. And revealing.

He hadn’t noticed the light scattering of freckles on her nose before. And quite frankly, they lent a girl-next-door appeal.

Her scent, something fresh and feminine, mingled with his aftershave and the coffee-and-spice aromas that could rival any bakery on a Saturday morning.

“I didn’t expect to be fed,” he admitted.

She tossed him a playful smile. “Consider it a bribe so that you’ll give me a better price on that bookshelf.”

He chuckled. “If all my clients went to this much trouble, I’d be cutting deals and struggling to make ends meet.”

They chatted for a while about a lot of inconsequential things, like the weather and how well the South Rosewood Razorbacks were doing this year.

“My family is big on Little League,” he admitted, “even though my youngest brother is now in college.”

“Do you have nieces and nephews who play?”

“Nope. Not yet.”

Carly placed an elbow on the black Corian countertop and studied him as if he were a novelty of some kind. “Then why the interest in Little League? I’d think men like you would be into professional sports.”