Wrapped Up in a Beau

by Angelita Gill

  “You didn’t tell me you were going to play with some young stud.”

  She grinned. “I knew it. You’re jealous?”

  “You’re damn right,” he admitted easily, sliding her a glance. “I saw the way he smiled at you. Then he made you laugh before you even walked in the door. I know competition when I see it.”

  “Well, check your jealousy, Mr. Renclair, because the doctor is only being friendly.”

  “Right. Well, I’m here to make sure. You wanted me to do this with you anyway.”

  “True, but not because you have some thwarted territorial thing going on,” she teased. “I have zero interest in the doctor and vice versa. He’s got his eye on someone else close to you.”

  Taking off his jacket and hanging it over a chair, he looked over at her in question. “Who?”

  Men could be so dense. “Oh come on, Mason, think about it for two seconds.”

  As he regarded the dark blond with the medical-school hoodie, he mumbled, “Sophie? No kidding.” He gave the doctor a thorough once-over as if seeing him in a new view. “Not her type. She’ll turn him down.”

  “Shows how much you know. He’s exactly her type. You should’ve seen the two of them interact yesterday. It was adorable. She was actually blushing.”

  “Sophie blushed?” he asked skeptically.

  “My thoughts exactly! He’s special. That’s why I’m here,” she whispered, leaning in. “To sort of play matchmaker for her.”

  “She asked you to do that?”

  “Of course she didn’t, but I know for a fact he likes her, too. They just need a little push from moi,” she declared, wiggling her fingers.

  “I see.” After a moment, he raised a brow and crossed his strong arms. “Good luck with that. Now that I know why you’re really here, I can go.”

  She caught his bicep as he playfully turned. “Don’t even think about it, Renclair. You’re committed now.”

  His mouth curved wryly. “I knew you’d say that.”

  “And don’t blurt out anything you know will embarrass your sister. This is a top-secret mission.”

  “If he’s not man enough to ask her out on a date, he’s not good enough for her.”

  She set her hands on her hips. “Not everyone is as brazen and aggressive as you are.”

  Taking the statement as a compliment, he lifted a corner of his mouth. “You thought I was brazen and aggressive?”

  “You wouldn’t take no for an answer.” She shrugged matter-of-factly.

  “That’s because I knew you wanted me as much as I wanted you,” he pointed out.

  “Well, I don’t think Dr. Kessman is all that certain the interest is mutual. He doesn’t follow her around town, corner her into submission and flirt shamelessly in front of her friends and family.”

  He quirked his head thoughtfully. “Is that how I won you over? I thought it was the first kiss that finally convinced you.”

  She lowered her lashes, a slow, knowing smile spread across her lips.

  Blake gestured them to another room, seeming to have pleased the little crowd of admirers, now able to make an escape.

  The room next door was where the arts and crafts took place, set with picnic tables, bean bags and a CD player. The bubbly Mrs. Carlton seemed to be the appointed supervisor for this room by herself, and by the contentment of the children, the lady clearly knew what she was doing. Down the hall was the gymnasium, where the majority of the boys were, bouncing basketballs and running back and forth playing tag.

  Blake introduced them to the other two chaperones in the gym, the portly Mr. Jessup, who loved to use his whistle to get the children’s attention, and Mrs. Freisling, a soft-spoken retired schoolteacher with black hair down to her waist who was the epitome of the gentle moderator.

  “Don’t let her fool you,” Blake muttered from the corner of his mouth, bumping Greta with his elbow. “She owns a Harley-Davidson and has perfected the stern look that will whip any kid into good behavior.”

  Mason meanwhile caught the eye of a few boys who automatically assumed a man who walked around with a confident air was worth talking to.

  “What did you play in school?” a small boy with a mop of blond curls, maybe eight years old, asked Mason.

  “Track.”

  “What’s track?”

  “Running. As fast as you can in circles.”

  “Huh?” The boy’s young voice broke. “I do that all the time. Watch!” And he proceeded to bolt around the space in a full-on sprint as fast as his little legs would go. Mason slowly started to smile as he tracked the boy’s progress. Once the child came back, barely breathless and with a proud smile on his face, he asked, “How fast was that? Did you time me?”

  “Super fast. I lost count,” Mason exclaimed.

  Another boy, maybe the same age or a little older than this one, with a Mohawk-style haircut, bounded up to him. “Wanna race?”

  “Not today, boys. I didn’t bring my gym shoes.”

  The blond boy slumped his shoulders with a disappointed whine and the Mohawk kid made a face.

  Mason bent over, hands on knees. “Tell you what. I’ll come back when the snow melts and we’ll have an honest race outside. Deal?”

  “Deal!” they exclaimed.

  A tug on Greta’s hand. She looked down to the girl with long red hair and smiled. “Hello there.”

  “What’s your name?” the freckle-faced girl asked.

  “Greta. What’s yours?”

  “Beth!”

  “Nice to meet you, Beth.”

  “You have long hair like mine. Can I brush it? I have a brush. We could play beauty school. You, me and my friends.”

  “Maybe later. For now, I have to keep an eye in here for a little while.”

  Satisfied with the answer, Beth nodded and pulled out a red marker from her pocket. “Okay. This totally smells like strawberries! Wanna smell it?”

  Obeying, Greta bent over and took a little sniff. “It sure does.”

  As she straightened, Beth grabbed her hand and began to doodle on it before Greta could protest. Not that she would deny the cute little girl. Beth took her time doodling a heart and filling it in. “Now you’re part of the red hearts club. Like me, Katie, Willow and Sabrina.” Finishing her handmade stamp, she held up her right hand to showcase the identical artwork.

  “How sweet. Thank you for letting me join the club, Beth.”

  The youngster replaced the cap on her marker. “If the boys get on your nerves, let one of us know. We red hearts stick together.”

  A little leader in the making no doubt. Beth skipped over to the trio she’d referred to and the four of them jumped up and down, laughing about something. Greta missed having a group of tight girlfriends. They were scattered around the globe, in their own worlds, with separate lives. She longed to have girlfriends in the same city to run to and share things with.

  Another item to add to her list when she flew back. Easier said than done, she knew. While school and small-town living made it easier to make friendships, it wasn’t as effortless as an adult, she’d learned.

  Over by the basketball hoop, she spotted Mason as he approached a little girl desperately trying to dribble a basketball. Her being no older than six or seven she didn’t have the power to make it bounce. Greta couldn’t hear what he was saying when he crouched down to talk to her, but seconds later she trusted him enough to hoist her on his shoulders. Seeming to follow his instruction, she dropped the basketball, and he hit it high enough to reach her little hand, so she could bounce it back. Her childish squeals echoed over and over. Greta turned away with a growing smile. What a cute, attentive father he’d make one day. Some lucky woman would eventually win him over and she had no doubt he’d be a good family man and husband.

  A ball formed in her chest suddenly. Ugh! Why even think
about things like that? She swallowed the knot in her throat and mentally kicked herself. Even though the connection to Mason was strong, she had no idea what he’d be like in a committed relationship, let alone as a dad or husband. Maybe spending so much time in this tight-knit community really brought out her desire to make a life, a home. A family.

  Greta took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. Scary thing in a way, to know one was ready to make a serious change.

  “Okay,” Blake yelled over the squeals and shouts, then clapped his hands. “Who wants to play dodgeball?”

  Shouts of “me!” and “I do!” echoed through the gym.

  “Renclair, would you mind being the ref?” Blake directed, and Mason gave an affirming nod before sauntering to the other side of the gym. The doctor pointed to Greta. “Are you game?”

  “Of course she is!” cried Beth, grabbing her hand. “Come on! We need more girls on this side!”

  Shaking her thoughts away, laughingly, Greta trotted to the others and warned them she was very out of practice. The last thing she’d dodged was a flying paper plane at a café in Prague.

  “This is going to be fun,” Mason predicted behind her.

  “You’re not even playing,” she tossed over her shoulder, watching Blake huddle with his side as if they were forming a strategy.

  “I’m terribly curious to see how you move.” He slowly bent down and removed the girl from his shoulders and she took off toward Mrs. Freisling.

  Greta sent him a look of reproach, sure she would last all of thirty seconds in this game. If she had any coordination that is. Some boys on Blake’s team gave her the impression she was a target. Did they think she would be so easily intimidated? Well, she may be a girl but she was no wimp. Blake briefly went over the rules, which were informal, considering they were playing with a bunch of kids who mainly wanted to throw bouncy balls off each other. If you got hit, you were out. You could catch the ball and throw it back to hit an opponent. No directly aiming for the face—yeah, right like they wouldn’t try!—and, of course, have fun. The balls were lined up in the middle of the court, and the first one to grab a ball, got the first shot.

  Mr. Jessup blew the whistle. The mayhem began.

  Greta bolted to try to get the ball first before the boy across from her could. She succeeded and the young boy laughed with a roll of his eyes and backed up. He was too quick! She aimed for the next kid who appeared unawares and missed as he jumped up as if he saw her coming a mile away. Mason’s laughter rang in the background while Greta screeched, turning her body to avoid an oncoming ball to the chest. She ran around with the other girls, grabbed a ball and tried half-heartedly to hit the leader, the nice doctor. In turn, he gave her a playful look of vengeance as he whipped a ball one-handed straight for her feet.

  She was out.

  Laughing, and a little winded, she jogged over to Mason, who casually swung an arm over her shoulders.

  “Running around with kids reminds me to do more cardio.” She laughed.

  Keeping his voice low, Mason murmured in her ear, “Are you hinting I need to work you a little harder tonight?”

  A hot flash hit her cheeks. She elbowed him in the ribs. “You’re incorrigible.”

  “You speak cold facts, Greta.” He slanted a smile.

  They played several quick games of dodgeball and Greta had to beg off for water. She’d turned to head back when she saw Blake disappear into a room. This was her chance. Mason was in a serious game of HORSE with a group of kids and Mr. Jessup and Mrs. Reisling seemed to have the rest under control. Just her luck, Blake was by himself in the room littered with sandwich crusts, juice boxes and paper plates. He was picking up some of the garbage when she grabbed a bag to help.

  He smiled at her. “Thanks. You know kids. Eat and run.” She smiled with a nod and started at the other side of the room. “Having some fun at least?” he asked.

  He gave her the perfect opening. “More than fun. I’m so glad Sophie put me up to it.”

  “She was right; you’re really good with kids. It shows.”

  “Thanks. I used to be an au pair for twins, so I’ve got experience on my side. It’s what brought me overseas for so many years.”

  “How did you and Sophie meet?” he asked.

  “At the Uffizi gallery in Florence. She was so spirited and funny, I adored her on the spot. Even though email was more inconvenient, she insisted on handwritten letters and I loved that.”

  “Kindred spirits?” he asked with a smile, stooping to pick up discarded paper napkins.

  Greta beamed. “Exactly. Friends like her don’t come along every day.” She couldn’t help but praise her good friend, even if the move might be seen as an obvious endorsement.

  “That she is,” he murmured.

  At least, she thought she heard him murmur, as his back was to her and she couldn’t be sure. Men didn’t readily give themselves away like women did, but going on the instinct she’d heard him correctly, Greta decided to keep treading toward her main goal. “She told me you’ve only been in Swan’s Crossing a year. Where do you originally hail from?” There. A soft hint Sophie spoke of him in detail and a simple question to answer.

  “Nebraska,” he replied proudly.

  “A Midwestern man. What brought you to this little neck of the woods?”

  “The job and a significantly smaller chance of tornados. I have family in Pennsylvania so it’s nice to be closer to them, too. I debated moving to a big city, like Boston or Atlanta, but you can’t beat small-town living. So far, I’m happy where I ended up. Swan’s Crossing has everything I need. I keep busy with my practice and yet the stress factor barely spikes. I can go home for lunch some days. It’s quiet. And instead of living in a dime-size apartment I have a whole house to myself for the same price in a city.”

  “A whole house? Must get a little lonely.”

  Blake shrugged. “Sometimes, but my neighbors make sure I’m never alone for long. There are always questions for someone in my field of work,” he added with a smile.

  “I’m sure! Sophie said besides being a doctor you are also quite the dancer,” she tried to subtly add, dipping down to pick up an empty juice box off the floor.

  “If you call a two-step and a conga line dancing,” he imparted with a chuckle.

  “Either way, she had nothing but nice things to say about you last night.”

  “Really? What else did she say?”

  Knowing she should keep it a little vague, Greta affected a casual shrug. “All good things. Though…I have to mention, she did say with all your admirable traits, you didn’t seem to have any bad ones, and to Sophie that’s a warning sign. A man who appears to be perfect is trouble.”

  He found this amusing, but scoffed at the statement. “Perfect? I haven’t claimed to be anywhere near it.”

  His degree of offense almost made Greta wince, wishing she’d worded it differently. She decided to try again. “She didn’t imply you claimed to be, just that by what she knows of you, she has yet to find a real flaw.”

  Tying up the garbage bag, he appeared thoughtful, murmuring, “Now I get it.”

  Greta feigned ignorance. “Get what?”

  “Why she finds me so exasperating. Who wants to go out with a perfect jerk?”

  Usually she was much better than this. Greta rushed to assure him. “You’re not a jerk at all. Sophie…” She fumbled for the right verbiage. “…just wishes she knew you a little better.”

  “She does?”

  Her friend would kill her for that comment, all but gushing about her friend’s crush. The doctor, however, seemed a little pleased to hear it, and therefore it had been worth blurting.

  She nodded, smiling into his eyes. You know she likes you and I know you like her. Please do something about it. Sophie deserves some romance. Of course he couldn’t read her mind, but he seemed to get
some of the message and nodded thoughtfully, eyes twinkling.

  There. The seed had been planted. Even though she wanted to follow it up with, So are you going to ask her out or what? she didn’t. Her hunch he liked Sophie—while very confident—wasn’t an exact science. He could be a total player, especially with any number of women eyeing him like a prized stud. However, his vibe didn’t scream town playboy and Sophie hadn’t said anything about Blake taking advantage of his popularity with the ladies.

  After finishing up in the snack room, she went and joined Mason, who was now in the arts and crafts room. He was sitting next to a little girl and watching her paint.

  “What’s this?” Greta asked curiously.

  “I’m getting a self-portrait made,” Mason explained. He patted the seat next to him. “Saw you corner Blake.”

  Flouncing down on the miniature bench, she made a face. “I didn’t corner him.”

  “How did it go? I suspect you were as subtle as an ax.”

  She lightly smacked him, but conceded it could’ve gone better. “I wasn’t as smooth as I imagined I would be, no, but I’m still glad I talked to him. Now he knows Sophie is interested.”

  “Regardless of what you said, if he wants to ask her out, he will.”

  “And you approve?”

  “I hardly know him but he’s okay in my book.”

  “Oh really?”

  “Sure. He’s patient to the point of saintly,” he said dryly, as though it was a partly negative attribute. “He’ll need plenty of that with Sophie. Good sense of humor, which my sister will appreciate since above all things, she loves to laugh. And,” he slid her a glance, “even with a woman like you walking around charming the kids like a pied piper, he barely paid you any attention. Which either makes him blind and dense or he honestly only has eyes for someone else.” As Greta was about to comment, there was a hard tug on Mason’s sleeve and he turned his attention to the small girl in bright pink corduroy overalls. “All done?”

  She nodded, picked up the paper with both chubby hands and gave it to him.

  Greta grinned at the “painting” of Mason. He bore a giant head, big, serious round blue eyes and a wide smile drawn outside the lines of his face. His body was about two inches tall and he had a huge curly head of black hair atop.