Charming You

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

MickyAfter calling off the roadside assistance, I headed up to the north Dallas suburb where Pete lived with his soon-to-be fiancée. It was nearly eight o'clock by the I pulled in front of the two-story brick home because I stopped to pick up a bottle of red wine.

"Hello, hello!" Clarissa greeted with a smile.

As I walked through the front door, the warm smell of roast hit me.

"Mmmm. You've been cooking. Sorry I'm late. How are you?" Before Clarissa could answer, a slow southern drawl drifted toward us.

"Peter says you had car trouble." Lila shook her head. "I suppose that's to be expected. You really ought to get a new car. I don't know how you drive that thing."

"Hello, Lila." I summoned the effort to be polite. That "thing" was a Toyota that was barely five years old. Normally, it was perfectly reliable. "I probably just need a new battery, which I'll take care of tomorrow." Pete appeared behind his mother, saying hello and prompting a change of topic.

"So, I take it you didn't have to wait for AAA. Hermes tie must have been pretty handy," he quipped.

I laughed, but didn't respond. The image of Nick Halden stuck in my mind—his dazzling smile, sparkling eyes, and tall, hard body. I warmed remembering what it felt like to be next to him. It had been too long since I’d been that close to any man, let alone one as devastatingly handsome as Mr. Halden. I wondered if he would call and then promptly chastised myself. What was I twelve?

"Hermes tie?" Lila's question brought me back to reality. "What on earth does that have to do with a car battery?"

"A man who works in my building gave my car a jump start. I happened to mention to Pete that he was wearing an Hermes tie," I explained.

"That's hardly your usual type. Don't tell me you've snagged a winner this time!" Lila raised her hands to heaven.

"I know. Will wonders never cease," I countered dryly. I had no interest in recounting the sad tales of my recent love life, but I had to admit I’d kissed a few frogs without exactly fairy tale results.

Eric. The slime of that relationship still clung to my psyche. He'd had me completely snowed. I should have had a clue that something wasn't right. The abruptly ended phone conversations. The times when he would get a call or a text message and his entire mood would change. Classic signs. Still, I’d been a fool.

Before Eric had been Stefan. His stealing jewelry from my house had been the first indication of his d**g problem. Psycho Dan and his anger issues preceded Stefan. And before that? I didn't care to remember.

These days, I’d adjusted to a sort of laissez-faire attitude about dating. I didn't have the energy or desire to keep sifting through the bargain bin of men. Plus, my work was becoming more demanding. I longed to change the subject. "Pete, show me the new kitchen."

Pete took my cue and guided me through his beautifully remodeled kitchen. Old, dingy appliances had given way to shiny stainless steel and laminate countertops to sleek granite. In his hardcore single days, Pete wouldn't have noticed or bothered. The only thing on his countertops had been Styrofoam take-out containers. Clarissa had him thoroughly domesticated.

Now, Pete spoke like an authority about his kitchen's newly-installed advanced features. He wouldn't know anything about convection ovens without his girlfriend, a gourmet chef with her own catering business. I smiled.

Pete and I had both grown up with parents who married, divorced, and remarried with alarming frequency. My mother was on marriage number four. Our father was on marriage number three, as was Pete's mother. Our mothers kept trading up for wealthier, more adoring men, and our father for younger, more adoring women. So cliché, and so frightening for the two children who had the misfortune to be born into our parents' mess.

Pete had been a notorious commitment-phobe until he met Clarissa a few months ago at a friend's house party. She was catering the elaborate affair. One taste of her beef bourguignon, and he was smitten.

I glanced at Lila as she eyed Clarissa, who was stirring something savory and wonderful in a pot on the stove. As startlingly unsuccessful at relationships as Lila was, it didn't stop her from having strong opinions about the sort of woman Pete should marry. The few times he'd introduced a woman to her, she hadn't been kind.

"You're quite the gourmet," Lila mused. "I can see why Pete is so taken with you. Normally, he dates tiny little things who hardly eat, let alone cook."

"I certainly love to cook, and Pete loves to eat, so I guess we're a great match." Clarissa grabbed a small spoon to taste her dish, then discarded it in the sink.

"I, for one, am very glad. I've never eaten as well as I have since you and Pete started dating," I added. "Just wait until you taste Clarissa's sauces, Lila. She's a genius."

"That's high praise." Lila eyed me. "Micky has always loved a meal. I used to be so worried about you when you were a teenager. Most men do prefer a slim woman."

"Micky's always been fit, mother. And I think most men prefer a woman who looks like a woman, not one who eats like a bird and looks like she might peck him to death." Pete interjected. "Why don't we get out of the kitchen so Clarissa can finish up? I've opened the wine in the dining room."

I headed directly into the other room as Pete guided his mother away from the kitchen. We exchanged glances and the common silent wish that Lila would trend toward being her charming, evasive self instead of the critical, snobbish woman she was often known to be. So far, not so good.

I sipped my wine. "How are things with you in Jackson, Lila?"

Pete's mother lived in Jackson, Mississippi, with her latest husband Donald, a former telecommunications executive. He had settled down South for the warm weather, golf, and Lila, who would never agree to live anywhere north of the Mason-Dixon.

In between rounds, he dedicated himself to keeping his new wife—who at sixty was twenty years his junior—happy. Lila finally seemed content enough to quit trading up and let him.

"Just wonderful. We had the most delightful party last week. Sort of a farewell to summer. Donald insisted on grilling," Lila paused. "Normally, of course, we leave the cooking to the help. But he does love being master and commander of his outdoor kitchen." She laughed, oblivious to how this might sound.

"Clarissa thinks cooking for friends is a joy," Pete responded. "I can certainly understand the appeal."

"Of course. And she’s a professional, not just... Well..." Lila broke off, suddenly realizing what she'd said. "Everything does smell heavenly." She smiled broadly as Clarissa brought in her roast.

"Thank you." Clarissa smiled in return. "We're just about ready if you want to sit down. I'll bring out the sides."

The meal went by fairly smoothly, with Lila making an effort to be kind to Clarissa after her earlier insults, and enough wine flowing to keep everyone's mood light.

"Another wonderful dinner, Clarissa. I may have to get you to teach me a few things," I said, admiringly.

"Maybe you can cook dinner for Hermes tie." Pete laughed.

"What is the deal with this guy?" Clarissa asked.

"Nothing. He works in my building and happened to come out when I was having car trouble. It was very nice of him to help."

"Who is he? Old? Young? Hunchbacked?" Clarissa asked with a chuckle.

"Not hunchbacked, I don't think. She said he looked like Cary Grant." Pete moved his eyebrows up and down with the teasing expression of a big brother.

"Well, that sounds promising." Clarissa smiled.

"I was just making a point that he didn't look like anyone to be frightened of," I explained. "He's probably about my age, maybe older, and he works at the law firm in my building."

"Really." Clarissa drew the word out with a plotting tone. "Does he have a name? You can't just keep calling him Hermes tie."

"I don't see that I'll be calling him anything." I attempted a nonchalant tone, but it clearly wasn’t effective.

"Oh, come on, dear," Lila said. "Why not? You should make an effort. He sounds perfectly charming. What's his name?"

"Nick Halden."

"Nick Halden, as in Nicholas Halden?" Lila laughed. "Oh heavens, he's engaged!"

"Engaged?" I nearly choked on my wine. What was it with men and their lackadaisical approach to commitment? And why was a pique of jealousy worming its way through me? I had absolutely no reason to be disappointed.

"Practically. You remember Sheila Moran's daughter, Vivienne? She and Nicholas have been together for ages. I talked with Sheila last week. I've been trying to convince her and her husband to join Donald and me on a Greek cruise in the spring. She won't commit because he and Vivienne are talking marriage." Lila paused. "Apparently, Vivienne has always wanted a traditional June wedding, and Sheila expects to be busy making that happen."

The twists and turns of Lila's social scene baffled me. I didn't know any of these people. So I speared my meat and tried not let the news about Nick get to me.

"See there. That's what I've been saying. He helped me with my car, and that was it. Now, shouldn't we be helping Clarissa clear the table?" Anything to change the subject. Draining the last of my wine, I jumped up from the table, and took my dishes and silverware into the kitchen. Pete followed.

"You don't know that he's engaged. I mean, you're taking my mother's word for it?"

"Jesus, Pete! You're making too much of this."

"Am I? The look on your face when my mother said 'engaged.' I thought you were going to drown in your pinot. You keep blushing every time you hear his name." Pete grinned. "Why do you think I keep bringing him up?"

"Unbelievable." I snapped Pete's leg with a dishtowel.

"Things go much better when mother focuses on you. Sorry!"

He wasn't the least bit sorry, but I figured I wouldn't call him on it.

And engaged or not, it sounded as if Nick Halden—or Nicholas or whatever his name was—was already in a relationship. A serious one at that. What's the deal with asking me out? Just friendly flirting, or was he a player?

It didn't matter. I couldn't afford to get wrapped up in another drama. My stomach tightened. Eric had seemed like the catch of the millennium at first. He was tall, handsome, sensitive, and charming. Normally, I was buried in the day-to-day of my life and my all-consuming job with its long hours in the office and bringing work home. Keeping the clients happy. Keeping my boss happy. That's what I did every day. All day.

Then I’d met Eric King through Tony Harcourt, my company's head of sales who worked in the Chicago office. I’d invited my visiting colleague and his friend to a party one weekend in Dallas. Eric and I hit it off, and he introduced me to a new kind of focus—where I was happy. When we were together, it had been magic. The only downside was he didn't live in Dallas, where I’d lived since I finished college ten years ago.

Fortunately, his job in sales meant he traveled into town at least every other week from his hometown of Chicago, but he always made it home for the weekend to care for his chronically ill mother—or so he'd said.

"I wish you could just stay the weekend," I said to him once. "If not this weekend, maybe in a few weeks. Isn't your brother visiting Chicago next month? Maybe he can give you a break that weekend." I was kissing his neck, but Eric had stiffened up—and not in the good way.

"I can't. I wish I could. My sister would kill me."

I didn't press him. His sister helped take care of their mother during the week, but the weekends were his turn, he always said.

"I understand. I miss you when you're gone," I said, sliding over to straddle him and bending down to kiss him on the mouth. "I guess we need to make the best of the time we have."

Eric hadn't said anything else, not that I would have expected a confession mid-c****s.

I gripped the dish towel harder, thinking about the times I had admired his dedication to getting home every Friday evening so his sister could have a break. It had made me love him even more. I’d offered to come up with him on a weekend to help. When he'd hesitated and evaded, I thought it was because it was too soon to meet his family.

As it turned out, I wasn't entirely wrong.

I scraped the plates with a vengeance, thinking more about Nick now than Eric. So typical of a man to keep several lines in the water even though he already had a big one in the boat. I certainly didn't have time to be the plaything of some oversexed, socialite-screwing stud. As I scrubbed away at the pots and pans, I vowed to scrub any thoughts of Nick Halden right out of my mind as well.