He expelled a sigh of self-loathing. “Look at you. Look at how steely your willpower is. Maisy, you’re such an inspiration. Damn, if I only had one ounce of your determination and resolve…” Shaking his head, he flicked his hand through the air. “Aw, what’s the use?”
Maisy’s cheeks heated with guilt. She hadn’t fessed up to Norman about her chocolate orgy the week before and was hoping she wouldn’t have to.
“Norman, you’re being way too hard on yourself. You look absolutely wonderful and you’ve come such a long way. Twenty pounds! You’ve only got another fifteen or twenty to go. You’ve just hit a sticky spot, a plateau, that’s all. You’ll get over it soon enough.”
“You think?” Norman scrutinized his midsection.
“Absolutely. Don’t forget if it weren’t for you, I’d probably still be,” Maisy paused, looked to either side, moved in closer to Norman and whispered, “over three hundred pounds.” She sat back against her chair and smiled at her friend.
A youthful forty-two, Norman was a nice-looking man. Not handsome in the classic sense but certainly attractive. His effusive personality made him even more so. About five-ten and pudgy, he had taffy-blond hair, deceptively innocent hazel eyes and a ruddy complexion. Ties were his fashion-passion, today’s bearing little blue and green fish swimming against a murky tan background in honor of their trek to the new seafood house.
Maisy’s attention was drawn to the hostess, jiggling her pint-sized fanny down the aisle as she ushered a beefy man, mopping sweat from his forehead, past their table. His girth was so vast, his hips brushed against their table and the table across from them at the same time.
Maisy and Norman shot each other wide-eyed looks.
“Come on, tell me the truth, Maisy,” Norman pleaded. “Do I look that bad?” He bit his bottom lip. “Don’t pull any punches, I can take it.”
Maisy turned to Norman, aghast. “Good Lord, Norman, that poor man is huge,” she whispered. “You look a thousand times thinner than him. Sheesh, talk about a distorted body image.” She shook her head in disbelief.
“Besides,” she went on, “men have it so much easier than women. Fat guys are universally thought of as big, cute, cuddly teddy bears while overweight women get all those adorable little terms of endearment tacked on like porker, whale butt and lard ass.”
“I read that in parts of Europe and the Middle East,” Norman said, “men prefer their women zaftig—like you.”
“That’s nice,” Maisy said, “but here in the U. S., men want women who can double for one of these.” Fingering the blade of her butter knife, Maisy smirked.
“Don’t kid yourself, Maisy. Men want their men to look like that too. You have no idea how hard it is to be a soft, middle-aged gay man trying to compete with all those buff young boys out there.” He slapped the table. “There’s the answer to all of our relationship problems. We need to relocate to the Middle East where we can both be worshipped as goddesses.”
Maisy fell into easy laughter. “Sounds like a great plan. Maybe we can get jobs operating camel tours in Egypt.”
“All kidding aside,” Norman said, “I’ve got to lose the rest of this weight before I get seriously depressed.”
“But you’re only talking fifteen measly pounds, Norman. You really need to ease up on yourself. After all, we’re only human. Everybody backslides now and then.”
“No, not everyone. You haven’t,” Norman pointed out. “You’re obviously much stronger than I am, that’s all. I’m nothing but a weak-willed, fat-gram-sucking cow.”
Groaning, Maisy rested her elbows on the table, propping her head in her hands. “Aw jeez, Norman.” She took in a deep breath and sighed. “Now I’m going to have to tell you. Damn it.”
“What?” Norman slanted Maisy a curious look as she sat there suddenly silent. “Come on, you’re scaring me. What happened?”
“Get ready, because Miss Perfect has a juicy little chocolate-covered confession for you.”
Norman gasped. “You mean…”
“Uh-huh. I melted right off my pillar of dieting virtue into a shameful puddle of chocolate transgression.” With an utter lack of enthusiasm Maisy spilled her guts about her spontaneous bakery binge after leaving the funeral home.
After finishing the main course, she and Norman were served coffee and the fresh fruit mélange desserts they’d ordered. As the server departed Maisy noted, “I really liked the Riesling, Norman. Good choice. It was—”
Maisy caught a glimpse of a familiar man walking toward their table, led by the fanny-jiggling hostess and accompanied by two other men. He was one of those men with real presence. A head turner. He looked like he could be a male model, or maybe an actor. Yes, that’s probably why he looked so familiar, because there sure as hell wasn’t anyone in her life who looked even half as delicious as this guy.
“Yes, go on,” Norman encouraged. “The Riesling was…”
Maisy snapped her attention back to the conversation. “I liked the wine because it was…” Her gaze shifted again to the guy strutting down the aisle. The man was tantalizing, a tall, broad-shouldered, mouthwatering specimen of manhood. He was nattily attired in a nutmeg brown suit that complemented his dark hair.
Covertly ogling him over the rim of her coffee cup as he neared, the realization hit Maisy. The guy with the chocolate drop eyes! Sharon Fitch’s…friend. What was his name? Kyle? Kelly? Kellogg? Keller? Yes, that was it. Mr. Keller.
“From the funeral home,” Maisy said absently.
“You liked the Riesling because it was from the funeral home? Maisy girl, you’re losing me.”
Maisy felt certain he wouldn’t recognize her, which was just as well, considering his dubious connection with Sharon. As he strode down the aisle between tables he talked on a cell phone. Narrowing her gaze, Maisy’s lip curled into a sneer as she was reminded of John. Like him, no doubt Mr. Keller was one of those self-important business tycoon types with no time for anything but work. Except, of course, for the occasional roll in the hay with some willing little bimbo like Sharon Fitch.
As the hostess passed their table with the three men in tow, Norman was saying something or other to Maisy, but all she could hear was the pulse-pounding roar in her ears. Angry for reacting like a silly schoolgirl and letting her hormones go haywire, she swallowed hard, trying to dislodge her heart from her throat and guide it back to her chest.
She was doing okay until the man stopped right in front of her, gifting her with a gleaming, drop-dead gorgeous smile.
“It’s you,” he said, slipping his phone into an inside pocket of his suit coat. “I knew I recognized you.” With a few words he motioned to his companions that he’d meet them at their table. When he turned back to Maisy she noticed his eyes were specked with amber and they twinkled when he smiled.
Acknowledging Maisy’s wordless stare, he said, “Oh I’m sorry, you must not remember me. We met at John Morganfield’s wake last week.” He paused and smiled. “Let me rephrase that. We were in the process of meeting when you had to leave rather abruptly.” With a purposeful clearing of his throat, he laughed, revealing wonderful laugh lines around his striking eyes.
Not remember him? What, was he nuts? How could she possibly forget a walking, talking, breathing icon of glorious masculinity with glistening chocolate chip eyes?
Striving to maintain her cool, Maisy returned his smile. “Yes,” she said, with as much nonchalance as she could manage, considering her raging hormone attack. Extending her hand, she cleared her throat. “Of course I remember you.”
His large hand dwarfed hers and she loved how diminutive it made her feel. What she didn’t love was how damned flustered she felt as his magnificent, towering six-foot-whatever frame loomed over her. Something had suddenly made her hot all over and Maisy sincerely doubted it was the Riesling.
If all that weren’t bad enough, her olfactory receptors caught the gentle traces of his hypnotic, woodsy scent. She couldn’t help drawing in a prolonged sniff
. He smelled the way he looked. Good enough to lick.
For God’s sake, get a grip, Mazel Lynn. Remember—this man has probably slept with the enemy!
Maisy’s heart pounded so fiercely she felt as if the beat were being broadcast over the restaurant’s sound system. “Well, I wouldn’t want to keep you from your lunch,” she managed to say. “So, uh…nice seeing you again.” Dragging her attention back to her coffee, she swallowed hard, doing her best to appear casual and thoroughly disinterested.
Mr. Chocolate Chip Eyes hesitated a moment before heaving a shrug and turning to join his lunch companions.
To Maisy’s horror, Norman jumped to his feet, yanked on the sleeve of the man’s jacket and offered an outstretched hand as he motioned for him to be seated.
“Don’t be silly, Maisy,” Norman said through his broad salesman’s smile. “I’m sure the gentleman has time to join us for a quick cup of coffee.” Maisy opened her mouth to protest, but Norman was too fast for her. “Don’t you?” he said to the living, breathing Adonis.
Pumping Norman’s extended hand, Mr. Keller flashed another of his dazzling smiles and nodded. “Sure. I’ve got time for a quick cup.”
“Excellent,” Norman said, his cherubic face captured by a devilish grin that Maisy wished she could scrape right off. “Christopher,” he called to their server as the young man zoomed by their table with another table’s order. “Another cup of coffee here please.”
Retrieving a business card from his pocket, Norman turned his attention to their table guest as Mr. Keller took a seat opposite Maisy. “I’m Norman Stanley. I own Persimmon Travel, about a half mile down the road. And this is my vice-president and the best travel counselor in the Midwest, Maisy Morganfield.”
Whipping his head toward Maisy, the clearly flabbergasted man arched his eyebrows. “Morganfield? You’re John Morganfield’s ex-wife?” Maisy nodded with a slow blink. “But you can’t be. I mean, I heard you were…” Clearly struggling to mask his expression of bewilderment as he gave Maisy an appreciative once-over, he took in a deep breath, expelling it slowly.
A knowing smile crossed Maisy’s lips as she drummed her fingers on the table. “A whale? Is that the word you were searching for?” She batted her lashes.
Wincing, he scanned the floor, perhaps searching for a hole big enough to crawl into. “Whew, nothing like getting off to a bad start, I always say. Name’s Keller. Keller Fitch.” Never taking his eyes off Maisy, his voice was unmistakably hesitant.
Her eyes wide as saucers, Maisy rose halfway out of her chair. “Fitch!” she blurted. Aware that she’d drawn attention with her outburst she quickly took her seat again and modified her voice. “You’re Sharon’s ex-husband?”
Grimacing, Keller shrugged his broad shoulders. “Actually, I’m afraid it’s even worse than that. I’m her brother.” He offered a weak smile while Maisy rolled her eyes skyward and folded her arms beneath her breasts. She had no doubt her narrow-eyed glare was sharp enough to razor Keller Fitch’s suit to ribbons.
After a moment of awkward silence, Norman spooned some fruit into his mouth. “You know,” he said, “this berry mélange is really very tasty. Have you tried any yet, Maisy?” Focusing his wide-eyed gaze on her, Norman cringed when he received only a scowl in reply.
“Well, now I know why my sister stormed off the way she did when I asked her about you at the funeral home,” Keller said. “I brought you up again later that afternoon and all she would say is, ‘Don’t you ever ask me about that…well…expletive deleted, but I’m sure you get the picture.”
“Oh I get the picture all right,” Maisy said, her voice completely devoid of any warmth. “Better not keep your lunch companions waiting, Mr. Fitch.” She shuddered as the repugnant name seeped past her lips.
“That’s okay, I’ve got a few more minutes,” Keller said through a lazy smile as he folded his strapping arms across his chest and settled his back against the chair.
Flashing a look of incredulity, Maisy said, “Well, I don’t. Come on, Norman, we have to get back to the office. I’ve got a one-fifteen appointment coming in.” Pushing back her chair, Maisy deliberately avoided making further eye contact with Keller, focusing instead on brushing nonexistent crumbs from her suit.
“No you don’t,” Norman corrected. “I distinctly remember you telling me that appointment was pushed back to two o’clock.” He leaned toward Keller and whispered, “Great girl, but she has a terrible memory.” Turning back to Maisy, Norman ignored her threatening glare. “Don’t worry, Maisy, we’ve got plenty of time to sit and get acquainted with Mr. Fitch.”
Norman offered a beguiling smile while Maisy’s anger manifested into a swift kick to Norman’s shin under the table.
“Ow!” Norman growled, reaching down to rub his shin.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Norman, was that your leg?” Maisy said in all innocence.
Keller stood up. “Actually, I really should get over to my table. I think I’ve kept my associates waiting long enough.” He extended his hand to Norman. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Norman,” he said as Norman pumped his hand with a firm, enthusiastic salesman’s grip.
Then Keller placed his hand over Maisy’s. “I’m glad we finally had a chance to meet, Maisy. Maybe we could have a cup of coffee or a drink sometime and get better acquainted.”
She answered his ludicrous suggestion with an unwavering, steely glare.
“You know,” he said with an inviting smile, “you just might find out I’m not the demon you apparently think I am.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Fitch,” Maisy ground out the name she loathed between clenched teeth. “But I really don’t think—”
“Hey, Keller, that’s a great idea,” Norman blurted, effectively cutting her off. “I keep telling Maisy she really needs to get out of the office more. She’s such a workaholic.”
Norman grinned and Maisy wondered if he was aware how close she was to stabbing him with her dessert fork at that moment.
“Go ahead and give him one of your business cards, Maisy.”
Maisy narrowed her eyes. “I don’t have any with me, Norman,” she lied, hoping her threatening posture and expression sent an unmistakable message to her meddlesome boss.
Licking his lips, Norman broke into a volley of staccato laughter—his telltale nervous trademark—surely knowing he’d be in for one hell of a browbeating later.
“That’s okay, I just remembered I already gave Keller one of my cards. He can reach you at the same number.” He rose from the table. Finding the tall Keller’s shoulder out of range, Norman gave him a friendly pat on the arm. “Now, Keller, you just feel free to stop by the travel agency any time you’re in the area and I’ll make sure somebody can cover for Maisy while you two go out for a couple of cappuccinos or something.”
“Sounds good, Norman, I think I’ll take you up on your offer. That is, if it’s okay with Maisy.”
Maisy shot Keller a frigid glance. “No, it most certainly—”
Stepping in front of Maisy before she could finish, Norman said, “Are you kidding? Maisy would be delighted, wouldn’t you, Maisy?” Without daring to glimpse Maisy’s way, or risk giving her an opportunity to answer, Norman blurted without pausing, “We’ll see you soon then, Keller?”
“You bet.” Keller gave Norman a wink and a hefty pat on the back before he strode off to meet his lunch companions.
“Enjoy your lunch,” Norman called after him. “The zucchini-crab cakes with pineapple-horseradish sauce are superb.”
“Don’t bother giving my regards to your sister,” Maisy added beneath her breath, purposely too softly for Keller to hear.
“Nice guy, huh?” Norman said as he watched Keller walk away. “Nice ass too. Bet you any money he lifts weights. I could feel those powerful triceps right through his suit coat.” Turning back toward their table, a grinning Norman held a fist up and flexed his biceps.
One look at Maisy’s ice-pick glare wiped the grin right off Norman’s face. He
took his seat and swallowed hard as the sound of Maisy’s fingernails rapped out his death knell on the wood tabletop.
Loosening the tie at his throat, Norman jutted out his chin and ran his fingers beneath his collar to loosen it. Maisy watched as he tried in vain to recapture his lighthearted grin. He cleared his throat. “How tall would you say he is? Six-four, six-five? Nice dark, expressive eyes too, huh?”
Maisy reached over and grabbed his arm, digging her nails into his wrist.
“Ow, Maisy! You need to file those things down, they’re like claws.”
“All the better to scratch your eyes out with,” she seethed. “Norman, how could you? You knew I didn’t want to have anything to do with him. I couldn’t have made it any clearer unless I’d stood on top of the table and screamed it at the top of my lungs.” Releasing the death grip on Norman’s wrist, Maisy raked her fingers through her hair. She picked up the dessert fork, waving it toward him.
“I swear to God, Norman, I could kill you. Just slap you right up on top of this table, eviscerate you with the tines of this little fork and then gleefully feed all the bloody bits into that fish tank over there.” Norman opened his mouth but Maisy kept right on going. “This man is Sharon Fitch’s brother. Her brother for chrissakes! Doesn’t that mean anything to you, you feeble-brained dunderhead? Keller Fitch’s sister is the skinny slut who—”
“Will there be anything else for you today?” Christopher asked, springing to the table.
“No!” Maisy barked and the young man flinched.
“Don’t mind her, Christopher,” Norman said, offering the young man a friendly smile. “She’s suffering from a severe reaction to omega-3 fatty acids. We’ll just take the check, thanks.”
Maintaining her irked expression, Maisy waited for the buoyant Christopher to give Norman the check and bounce out of earshot. Snapping her fingers to draw Norman’s attention away from Christopher’s tight little ass and back to her, she continued her tirade, struggling to keep her volume down.
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