Читать книгу Driven To Distraction - Tina Wainscott - Страница 12

STACY TRIED to forget about that hole in the hedge and the handsome face that had been framed there a few minutes before and especially the flutter in her chest whenever she did think about that handsome face. She knew about the smart scientist-type guy working there—everybody knew everything in Sunset City—but she’d never imagined he’d be so young and yummy. Well, at least as much as she could see of him with the hedge in the way. Vivid blue eyes with a warm tilt to them, almost shaggy blond hair. Dimples! Who would have figured?

She wondered what the rest of him looked like.

Forget it. He’s way too smart for you. What guy’s going to be interested in a skinny chick who lives in a retirement community and has no career? A bit of a tomboy who can’t grow her wispy locks into anything even resembling a sexy mane of hair?

Not that she hadn’t been working on a career. She’d gotten roped into continuing Granny’s T-shirt business out of the garage. Every time she told her customers—mostly the residents of Sunset City—that she was going to sell the equipment and get a real job, T-shirt orders came in like mad.

Last year she stopped letting the orders keep her from looking for a job where she could find purpose in her life and meet people her own age.

“Down.” She pushed Buddy on his haunches to give him the idea. When he complied, she gave him a dog snack. “Good boy!” He pulled his lips back in a dog smile. “Smile,” she encouraged so he’d eventually do it on command. “All right!”

The problem was, she rarely got a chance to meet eligible men. Well, men who were under sixty-five, anyway. On the rare occasion when she did, as soon as he came to Sunset City, he suddenly developed a condition or life situation that kept him from seeing her again. She wasn’t sure if she was a thirty-one-year-old has-been or never-been.

On her last birthday, she was about to once again push back her having-a-baby deadline. At twenty, it had been twenty-five. When she’d approached twenty-four with no prospects, she bumped it to twenty-eight. Then to thirty. Then thirty-two.

She refused to bump it again. Thirty-two was it. She was taking the situation into her own hands.

When she sneezed, she was gratified to hear Barrett say “gesundheit” through the hedge. “Thanks!”

Then the phone rang.

It was Ernie across the street. “God bless you.”

“Thanks,” she said sweetly. “Now turn that sonic ear thing off and stop eavesdropping on people, you nosy old fart!” Ever since he’d gotten that listening device, no one had any privacy.

He chuckled. “I was born to spy. Back in the war, they used to call me—”

“The Black Weasel, I know.”

“Gopher, not weasel! You don’t know nothing ’bout spying.”

“I know I don’t like being spied on.”

“Sorry, Stacy. I won’t do it no more.”

He always sounded so darn sincere, and she always believed him. Until the next time.

“It’s all right. It’s not as if I ever do anything that interesting.” She thought of the interesting science dude and then stopped thinking about him.

“Ain’t that the truth,” Ernie muttered, and he had the nerve to sound disappointed in her!

“You still need help with finding that old book you’re after on the Internet?”

“Sure do. Been looking for the Tall Book of Tall Tales for years now. Appreciate you coming over and helping me climb the Web.”

“Surf the Web, Ernie.”

“How can you surf a Web, now tell me that? I’m climbing it.”

“Fine, climb it,” she said with a laugh. “I’ll be over tomorrow—oh, got another call coming in. Bye!” She pressed the talk button twice and said, “Hello? This is Stacy Jenkins.”

“This is Bob over at Mary’s Grooming. You applied for the grooming position?”

Her heart started thumping. She was a shoe-in! She helped Arlene with her poodles and Betty with her miniature schnauzer. They would give her glowing references, along with her boss over at the shelter. “Yes, yes, I did.”

Finally, a job. A real job with a regular paycheck and benefits. Direction.

“I’m afraid we hired someone else. Now, it’s nothing personal, you’ve got to believe that. We chose someone more qualified, that’s all. Good luck with…finding something else. Just remember that we were real nice about it.”

She dropped the phone on the grass, feeling as deflated as the beach ball Buddy had popped with his teeth earlier. She’d failed again. Not that she necessarily needed the money. Granny’s house was paid off, and her expenses were minimal. The folks at Sunset City always paid her for her help, even though she always refused. What she wanted was purpose and a college fund for the baby.

What she had was a drooling dog staring at her with the phone in his mouth. “Give that to me!”

Buddy took off, ready for the chase. After she finally retrieved the phone and dried it off, she loaded Buddy into her old pink boat of a convertible and headed to the Humane Society. His ears flopped in the wind, but he didn’t seem to mind much. As usual, she got caught up in visiting the other animals at the shelter before she was able to head home. She started the engine and sank into a Celine Dion song while her car idled. A mushy love song, of course. She’d think that love was overrated, except she’d never been in love and couldn’t say for sure.

Then, miracle of miracles, a handsome man had entered her world—and he was all wrong for her. Too smart, too handsome, too temporary. Bummer. That was all right. She’d gotten used to the reality of not finding a soul mate. Well, mostly. And she had three successful men vying to give her what she really wanted—a baby. A software engineer, five foot eleven with blond hair and blue eyes. An artist who painted landscapes and portraits, six feet with brown hair and blue eyes. Or a model, six foot one with brown hair and eyes.

The fact that she didn’t know their names or what they looked like hardly mattered. No, not at all. Oh, there was a fourth candidate, and she did know his name—Ricky Schumaker, the maintenance engineer at Sunset City. He’d seen the three profiles of the sperm donors taped to her dresser mirror when he was fixing a leak in her bathroom. He’d been bugging her ever since to be the father of her child.

When ferrets flew.

For some reason, that face in the hedge popped into her mind as Celine crooned about everlasting love. No, he wasn’t going to be an everlasting love. He’d be a nice distraction for a while, nothing more. The best thing to do would be to forget he was there. Yeah, that’s what she’d do, put him right out of her mind. Not another thought.

She put the car in gear. He probably wasn’t much of a cook. Maybe he was too busy to worry about food. All right, she’d be a good neighbor and bring him dinner. No harm in that. And after that, not another thought.

Decision made, she pulled out onto the highway, images of homemade biscuits, ham and cheese soufflé and apple pie in her head. Unfortunately, she wasn’t much of a cook, so she pulled into a fast-food chicken joint and ordered a bucket of extra crispy.

AFTER NAVIGATING the ten speed bumps leading to her street—some of the residents liked to race down the main drag—Stacy pulled into her driveway. Balancing the bucket and the side containers, she headed next door.

The first sign of trouble was the golf cart parked in the driveway. It, like most of the golf carts and cars in Sunset City, had a poofy flower atop the antenna. That thanks to Granny, who had given one to all her friends one Christmas. Because the flower was blue, she knew it belonged to Arlene of the blue poodles. Said poodles—their silvery-blue fur tinted the exact shade of Arlene’s hair—were sitting in the golf cart in a car baby seat. Arlene also had a niece with a curvy figure. A single niece she’d been trying to find a husband for, because her only offspring had become a priest and wasn’t likely to produce any grandchildren for her. That left Tanya as her only hope for sort-of grandchildren.

Hugging the warm bucket to her belly, Stacy advanced up a walkway lined with pink flamingos—they lit up at night. Arlene was standing at the doorway talking to Barrett.

“It’s called Pissin’ in the Snow, one of my specialty dishes. See, it’s coconut gelatin, that’s the snow part, and the lemon drops spell out your name.” The white mold jiggled obscenely. “Where I was born in the Appalachian mountains, that was a compliment, spelling out someone’s name in the snow. It was trickier for the gals, of course, but we managed.” Arlene chuckled. That was an image Stacy didn’t particularly need. “I guessed at the spelling. My niece, Tanya, now she’s a whiz with names. Did I tell you about her? Beautiful, single, has a great job. Did I mention she’s a mechanic? How handy is that? You probably know how hard it is to find a good mechanic.” She glanced at the black Saab sitting in the driveway. “Are you having any car trouble at all? Any knocks or pings? I could have her come out and take a peek under your hood.”

Barrett’s mouth was slightly open, as though he wasn’t sure what part of that to address.

“Hi, Arlene, Barrett,” Stacy said, taking some delight in the relief that passed over his face when he took her in. Of course, he could have been eyeing her bucket of chicken.

“Tell him how beautiful Tanya is,” Arlene said, beaming as proud as a mother. “And didn’t she get the knock out of your engine just last month?”

Something bugged her about Arlene’s question, but Stacy couldn’t figure out what it was. “She did get the knock out,” she agreed, but let the beautiful part go.

“Exactly!” She turned to Barrett. “I’ll bring her over sometime. Tonight, maybe.”

“I’m not looking—” Barrett tried.

“Everybody says that,” Arlene said with a wave. “I mean, who admits they’re looking, only desperate people if you ask me. And it sure would be nice to have a doctor in the family. Do you know how much it cost me to have my corns removed? Let me tell you, it wasn’t cheap.”

Stacy stepped in for him since he was still obviously trying to get his mind around the corn removal. “He’s not that kind of doctor, Arlene. He does frogs.”

“Tree snails,” he said.

Arlene’s mouth dropped open. “You’re a doctor for tree snails? Good grief, they just have doctors for everything nowadays, don’t they? Maybe you can get a discount when the babies come. That’ll help with the expenses.”

Barrett’s expression bordered on horrified. Sort of like the one he’d had when Buddy had been eying him, only worse. “Babies?”

“Tanya’s a healthy woman in the prime of her life. She’ll give you lots of babies.”

“I…don’t do babies.”

Arlene’s optimistic smile faded. “What do you mean, you don’t do babies?”

He waved his hand as though refusing a pushy cookie salesperson. “All those noises, and the crying, and they can’t tell you what they need or what’s wrong. There’s no rhyme or reason to them. I just don’t do babies.”

Stacy narrowed her eyes. “Are you afraid of babies?”

He took in both their puzzled expressions. “Not in a Godzilla or unknown-bacterial-virus way. It’s more of an extreme-discomfort thing.”

Arlene dismissed that. “You just haven’t been around babies enough, is all.”

“Oh, yes, I have. My sister’s had four of them. In fact, there are two in my condominium right now. She tried to acclimate me, but it hasn’t worked. She’ll take me by surprise, put it in my lap when I’m not paying attention. There it sits, looking up at me wanting something, and then it starts bawling.” He shuddered. “It’s better to keep my distance.”

Arlene was clearly at a loss for words for a moment, a rare thing. Then it dawned on Stacy. Barrett was even smarter than she gave him credit for. Afraid of babies, indeed.

Arlene shook her head and turned to Stacy. “You still working on those T-shirts for my sweetie pies?”

“I’m having trouble finding a size small enough for your poodles, but I’m working on it.”

“That’s going to be so cute, blue shirts with their names on them—Blue, Suede and Shoes.” She winked at Barrett. “I’m a big Elvis fan, long live the king. So, Stacy, heard about that job at the dog salon?”

She felt her shoulders sag and perked them up again. “Not yet. Did they even call you for a reference?”

“Sure did, and I just went on and on about you, how you get the exact right shade of blue and everything, using natural ingredients even. I can’t believe they haven’t called you. Maybe soon, hon.” She patted Stacy’s head, then touched Barrett’s arm. “You enjoy my gelatin, now. Bet you’ve never had anything like that before, course you haven’t. It’s my own creation. I’ll just let you go back to your work, and we’ll be by to see you soon.”

Arlene greeted her three poodles with kisses on their noses when she got in her cart. She tooted her horn and backed out of the driveway.

“That was good, about being afraid of babies. And your expressions! Nice touch. Maybe that’ll detour her matchmaking.”

He gave her a sheepish look.

“It’s true, isn’t it? Just like with dogs, you’re afraid of babies.”

“Not afraid. Uncomfortable.”

Her gaze scanned him. He was surprisingly yummy for a scientific kind of guy—broad shoulders and an unbuttoned white cotton shirt hanging loose over jeans. Bare feet. Now, Stacy had never considered herself a foot person, but his bare feet with the faded jeans tripped her heartbeat big time. She was, however, a flat-stomach kind of gal, and his ridges of muscles sure didn’t hurt. She was so distracted by his stomach that she almost didn’t notice his shirt was inside out.

When she realized she was close to gawking, she snapped to and saw he’d been doing the same thing, making her realize she looked ten degrees off appropriate for a dinnertime visit. She still wore the pink shorts, though she’d thrown a long T-shirt over her tank top. The fact that the shirt read Don’t Treat Me Any Differently Than You Would The Queen probably didn’t lend much appropriateness to it. She should have picked out a more genteel one, but it wasn’t like she was trying to impress him or anything. Supersmart, afraid of dogs and babies…he couldn’t be farther from her type. She redirected her gawking to the sunset. “Wow, look at that sky, will you? It’s almost heavenly.”

“Heavenly?”

She let out a breathy sigh. “Yeah.”

“I don’t understand people’s fascination with the setting sun, like it’s some phenomenon.”

When she turned to him, he was looking at her. He shifted his gaze to the sky. “The colors are just a by product of—”

“Stop! If you’re going to tell me the science behind a sunset, I don’t want to know. How can you think about science when you look at those gorgeous colors?”

“Quite easily,” he said, barely giving the splashes of orange, purple and red a glance.

“No, take a good look.” She waited until he did. Stretched across the horizon was cloud stubble gilded in sunlight. Below that were her favorite kinds of clouds. “See that bunch of clouds over there?”

“Those cumulus—”

“Yeah, those. Doesn’t that one over there look like an angel? Look at the wings. And beside it, a barking dog.” She loved the dog clouds best of all. “And over there is a dragon. Uh-oh, it’s about to eat the dog. Run, pup, run!” When she looked at him, he was watching her with a speculative grin. “What?”

“They’re clouds. Nothing is eating anything.”

“I bet when you look at a starry night, you see burning suns and not magical twinkling lights. I bet you don’t even make wishes on falling stars.”

“Technically, the whole star isn’t falling—”

“I know that. But it’s just kind of magical to think of it as a falling star…and to make a wish.”

Of course, her big wish—meeting her soul mate—hadn’t come true. Since Barrett was still regarding her with that amused smile, she lifted the bucket. “Eaten yet?”

He eyed her offering. “Ah, food I can actually relate to. Join me for dinner?”

She shouldn’t. Let the guy get back to work, don’t spend too much time with him. “I’d love to.”

She followed him inside. Gene and Judy’s place looked like what King Kong would regurgitate if he ate Florida—flowery prints, pink—yes, pink—carpet with green throw rugs in the shape of lily pads, and a three-foot-high neon flamingo. Barrett walked into the kitchen, which had the same fanatical I-love-Florida decor, complete with magnets on the fridge attesting to every attraction they’d ever visited.

“I haven’t had a chance to put these away yet. I guess you can set the bucket between the Spam-and-pea casserole and something called a pretzel salad.” He looked at the orange dish questioningly.

“Scary, isn’t it? That’s Frieda’s speciality. A layer of crushed pretzels, a mushy layer that I think is cream cheese and strawberry gelatin on top, then a layer of grated cheese. I’ve always been afraid to try it.” She eyed the counter full of homemade offerings. “Uh-oh.”

First, they made her fast food look pitiful. Second, all these dishes meant Barrett had been thoroughly checked out by the local populace who had female relations to pawn off. They’d obviously been perusing the gelatin recipe book they’d compiled a few years back.

“It’s a very friendly community,” he commented, taking the Pissin’ in the Snow casserole to the refrigerator. He eyed it as though he expected it to wiggle right off the plate under its own power. “I’ve never lived anywhere where people bring you food.”

Poor guy didn’t have a clue. Or a chance. He bent to slide the gelatin into the fridge, and his jeans molded a very fine behind. It was a very good thing she wasn’t interested in him, because she could have some very fine fantasies about that very fine behind. And, she thought with a sigh as he turned to grab another dish, that very fine face with a mouth that could turn a bad day into ten degrees from Heaven.

“Here, let me help,” she said, setting down her bag and bucket and handing him the remaining three dishes. They sure hadn’t wasted any time, that was for sure.

“Guess I won’t need all these,” he said, opening the freezer door to show her stacks of gourmet TV dinners. “At least for a few days anyway.”

“You’ll be set your whole stay, believe me.”

He must have picked up on the ominous tone in her voice. “You make it sound like that’s a bad thing.”

“That food, my friend, comes with strings attached.” At his blank look, she added, “Obligations. Let me put it this way. You’re going to meet a lot of single women in the next week. Think parade.”

He still didn’t get it, not by his questioning look as he took out two plates from the cabinet.

“Parade of women,” she clarified.

“Women? But why?”

“You’re single. Judy, the owner of this house, considered it her social duty to tell everybody. These women have nieces, daughters, granddaughters…you name it, they’ve got at least one woman in their family who, in their opinion, needs marrying off. And you are the target.”

Ah, the smart guy finally figured it out. His voice cracked when he said, “They’re going to bring women here for me?”

“’Fraid so.” She took the plates from him since her warning had sidetracked him.

“But I’ve got to finish my study in—” he glanced at his watch “—six days, fifteen hours and two minutes or the snails might not get their land. And I’m never late. Parades of women would be worse than having my sister and her four kids cavorting around.” Then he obviously thought of the babies and added, “Maybe not.”

“Well, for one thing, everyone knows about your sister raiding your place. The fact that you let her family stay makes you one swell guy. Any guy who treats his sister so nice is on the A-list right off the bat. You’re smart, another plus. You have a job.” She started to set the plates on the table, but it was covered in papers and books on snails. On half of the table sat an aquarium filled with branches. The bottom was covered in moss. She redirected herself to the vacant counter. “And you’re a hottie, another downfall for you, I’m afraid.”

He lifted his eyebrows. “A hottie?”

“Yeah, you know…you don’t know. Hot. Good-looking.”

He set two cans of lemonade on the counter. “You think I’m good-looking?”

She blinked, holding back the words, Well, duh. He wasn’t kidding, wasn’t fishing for a compliment. She also held back the words, Would telling you I’d love to jump your bones make it any clearer? Nah, probably not. “You’re not so bad.”

He took her in, not with a leer like Ricky the maintenance dude did, but casual curiosity. Still, she felt all twitchy knowing his gaze was on her. “You’re not bad, either.” Merely a scientific observation, that. “Why isn’t anyone trying to pawn you off on me?”

“I, uh…well, I don’t have any relations to pawn since Granny passed on.” Wait a minute. Why wasn’t anyone trying to match her up with the yummy snail doctor? These people were like her family, right? That’s what had bugged her about Arlene’s question. She wasn’t even considering Stacy a contender. “Let’s eat, shall we?”

“I’m sorry about your grandmother.”

She slid onto the stool next to him. “Yeah, me, too. I miss her like the dickens.” She opened the containers and spooned out coleslaw and mashed potatoes. When she spotted a tree snail slithering up a branch, she walked over to investigate.

The swirled shell was banded in yellow, white and brown. The snail itself wasn’t so pretty, gray and slimy-looking, but it looked kind of cute in a snailish sort of way. Little eyeballs were perched on the ends of two long tentacles. Two smaller ones felt along the branch like a blind man using a cane.

“That’s cingulatus, one of the forms of liggus fasciatus.” He was standing so close behind her that his breath tickled her neck.

When she turned to ask him, “Huh?” they bumped noses.

“All tree snails are liggus fasciatus. The one you’re looking at is cingulatus. That’s the name of its color form. There are fifty-two different color forms. See the white one in the back with the faint green and beige bands? That’s septentrionalis. The one moving across the rock with the multicolored bands is vonpaulseni.”

Her knees were going weak. It was partly because he was close and because he smelled really nice. But part of it was those snail names. Or more precisely, him saying those snail names. “Wow,” she said at the realization of how strange that was.

“They’re called the gems of the Everglades,” he said, obviously mistaking her reverence. “Their populations have been decimated by collectors and by development of their habitats, primarily hammocks. The purpose of the study I’m working on is to obtain more land for protected environments.”

“So why do you have some here?” The first snail she’d spotted, cingu-something-or-another, had transferred to the glass. She could see its tiny T-shaped mouth searching for food.

“These are from a collection a botanist raises in his yard to help propagate the species. They’re here to keep me in the mind frame.”

Except he was looking at her. His hands were braced on the table beside hers. She caught herself inhaling his aftershave and covered by saying, “They’re kind of cute. They look like some creature you’d see in a Star Wars movie.”

He regarded the snail. “Cute. Never thought of them that way.”

“You probably never noticed how beautiful they were, either.”

“Er…no, I suppose not. I think they’re an essential link in the food chain and should be preserved.”

She gave him an admonishing look. “You need to stop and smell the snails, fella.”

“Smell…?”

“It’s an expression. Well, sort of. Like stop to smell the roses. Stop to admire the snails. Notice what’s around you!”

He was, only it was her he seemed to be noticing.

She pointed to one of the snails. “What was the name of that one again?”

“Cingulatus.”

“Mm—I mean, mm. As in interesting, mm.” Not as in, I love the sound of your masculine voice saying that foreign-sounding word, especially right next to my ear.

She abruptly stood and returned to her task of spooning out food. Forget about the way his voice sounded around those words, how his breath felt against her neck. “How smart are you, anyway? I mean, what’s your IQ? Or is that one of those improper questions, like how much do you make or do you wear briefs or boxers?”

“I…” He glanced down. “My IQ is one eighty-five. And why would anyone want to know whether I wear briefs or boxers?”

He really didn’t have a clue, which made him so cute, she wanted to crawl into his lap and kiss him silly. Get hold of yourself. You’re not looking, remember? Only desperate women look. Sure, she wanted romance, wanted a man in her life who would cherish and appreciate her, but she’d passed desperate so long ago, she was in a whole new state—acceptance.

“It’s a…woman thing, I guess. Probably like the way men try to figure out if a woman wears a T-back or regular panties.” She waved the image away and grabbed a chicken leg. Tried not to picture him in briefs or boxers. Tried not to picture herself sitting on his lap kissing him silly. Not doing a good job of either.

“Briefs,” he said with a nod. “In case you were wondering.” He bit into a chicken thigh as innocently as if he hadn’t set her imagination off on a Barrett-in-whitebriefs tangent.

“I wasn’t,” she blurted. “Wondering, that is.” She stuck a big spoonful of mashed potatoes in her mouth so no other dumb words could come out. It had been so long since she’d seen either on a man, other than at the men’s underwear section of the department store. But she’d never admit to detouring through the section just to ogle the models on the packages.

Gawd, she was pitiful. She did draw the line at stopping to look, however. She had standards of conduct, after all. It was only a fly-by gawking.

“What’s a T-back?” he asked.

She nearly choked on her spuds. “You know, a thong. A panty that has more material in the front than in the back.” She took a sip of her lemonade and hoped that would be the end of that particular conversation.

“What about you?” Again, he looked totally innocent. “Thong or regular?”

She choked on her drink this time, a mere degree from spewing liquid. Could she really be discussing underwear with a guy she’d only just met? Well, heck, they were moving faster than any date she’d been on in the last four years.

“Thong.” She pushed the word out at last, since he actually looked interested in knowing. She wiggled her fingers to the bucket of chicken. “Eat up, go on.”

“What are the advantages and disadvantages of regular versus thong? Has anyone ever undertaken a study?”

“Uh…huh?”

He shrugged. “It’s what I do, study and research. I’m afraid I look at everything with an eye to analyzing it.”

“I thought you were a snail scientist.”

“I’m a research scientist at the biology department at the University of Miami. The Liggus project—tree snails,” he added at her blank look, “is a one-year grant project on the survival and propagation of tree snails in the Everglades. I have to analyze population changes over the past year, species propagation, variant temperatures of the water…I’m boring you, aren’t I?” He gestured to her face. “The blank stare and open mouth are always a giveaway.”

“I wasn’t bored, just absorbing.”

He took another bite and changed the subject. “So, are there strings attached to your meal?” he asked. “Obligations?”

You could give me a long, wet kiss in gratitude. She blinked and hoped those words had only been in her head. What was wrong with her? “No strings. Just being nice.”

“Nice like making T-shirts for Arlene’s dogs and leading the workout classes?”

“Yeah, just like that.”

Totally, unselfishly nice. No ulterior motives at all. He was way out of her intellectual galaxy, for one thing. And he had an important project to finish, for another thing. It would be unfair to expect him to fall madly in love with her when he was under deadline.

He was looking at her mouth. Not in a sensual way, exactly, but a curious way. Oh, geez, there wasn’t a piece of chicken sticking to her face, was there? How gross would that be? She grabbed up a napkin and rubbed it vigorously across her face. What if she had something between her teeth? Even more gross! She kept her lips together and smiled, since he was still looking at her. Meanwhile, her tongue searched her front teeth for lodged food particles.

Oh, no. What if he wasn’t looking at her mouth at all, but at her nose! That would be even worse, the grossest thing in the whole, wide world. She rubbed her napkin over her nose, trying to be discreet. He continued eating, but his gaze remained on her. He didn’t look grossed out, though, just…curious.

“All right, I give up. Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked at last.

“I was thinking that the grease made your mouth look all shiny and interesting. After that, I was wondering why you were rubbing it all over your face.”

She looked at her rumpled napkin covered in grease and crumbs. “Would you please excuse me while I go stick my head under the faucet?”

This was undoubtedly why no one was trying to pawn her off on the eligible newcomer, she thought as she raced to the bathroom. She took in her shiny face with specks of batter and thought it was a darn good thing she wasn’t interested in snagging the man for herself.