Betty Jo Schuler

Finding Mr. Romantic

Chapter One, continued

Cee pressed her shirt to her body, blotting the perspiration that had begun to form between her breasts. She couldn't remember ever being so turned on by a man, and it wasn't a good thing now. Not with a guy like Nick. She wanted to change her life, but was she ready to throw it into chaos?

Shoving the obscene gown in a drawer, under the familiar flannel robe Marianne had forbidden her to bring, Cee opened the windows to the breeze. Standing to one side, she peeked out the window over the kitchen table. Nick's hammock hung loosely. His undershirt lay on their picnic table. Was he marking the table his for the evening meal? A distant aroma of meat barbecuing drifted through the open window making her stomach growl. She washed the spilled fruit and ate some grapes while putting her books back on the shelf. That done, she began arranging spices she'd brought in a rack over the stove. "Basil. Cumin. Garlic."

"Do you always do things alphabetically?"

Cee whirled and saw Nick's face pressed against the screen door.

"You were naming your spices aloud and I overheard," he said, grinning. "It's anal-retentive, you know."

She stalked to the door, hands on hips. "It's practical."

"And predictable."

Practical and predictable, and she'd come to break out of such a mold. Sighing, Cee leaned against the cabinet next to the door. He was as exasperating as he was appealing. "Why are you here?"

He stuck out a liquid measuring cup. "To borrow wine, if you have some to spare."

"Changing your drink of choice?"

"It's hard to see you through the screen. May I come in?"

Opening the door, she waved him inside. He wore a soft blue chambray shirt, unbuttoned. She kept her gaze on his chin. "Why do you need to see me?"

"I don't like talking to people I can't see. I hate answering machines and those automated voice things."

She hated them too and couldn't resist smiling. "Push one if you want to complain. Push two if you need help. Push three if you want to complain about waiting so long for help."

Nick's laughter rumbled through the living area as he plopped down in the RV's only armchair.

She folded her arms. "Make yourself at home, why don't you?"

"Nice place. Big compared to mine." He propped his feet up on the needlepoint footstool. Her creation, she'd brought it along as a touch of home. She eyed his dusty feet pointedly, and he took them down. "I want the wine for a marinade."

She surveyed him with interest. "You cook?"

"I'm a bachelor. No choice."

She rose to open a bottle of cooking wine and filled his cup. With looks like his, Nick must have spent his life fighting off women. "You've never been married?"

"Nope." Wine sounded like something you'd use in a gourmet dish. He looked like an outdoorsman. She could see him cutting tree branches for a campfire. Skinning rabbits...she shuddered at the thought...for dinner. Roasting them over an open fire. She couldn't imagine him at a kitchen range.

Finding Mr. Romantic, continued >>> | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 |