The Matchmaker's Happy Ending: Boardroom Bride and Groom

by Shirley Jump

  “It’s a benefit picnic. For needy children.”

  Daniel laughed. “And the children really needed you to wear cologne, trim your nails and press your shirt?”

  “I wanted to look...” Nick cut himself off before he said the word good, which would imply that he cared what Carolyn thought of his appearance. And he didn’t care. At all. “Professional.”

  “Let’s see how ‘professional’ Carolyn looks in your eyes today.” Daniel winked. “And like I said, how long the two of you resist each other.”

  * * *

  Carolyn sat at a picnic table on the fairgrounds of the Lawford City Park, surrounded by busy, chattering children, and did her best to keep her gaze off the park’s gaily decorated entrance and on the task at hand. The problem was, she wasn’t very good at either.

  She’d bought a new dress—darn Mary and her suggestion—just that morning. She shifted on the bench, acutely aware of the bright-blue-and-white dress and how she had gone to an awful lot of work on her appearance for something that was supposed to be casual.

  “Geez, Miss Duff, can’t you make an eagle?” a little girl with a name tag that read Kimberly asked. “I learned how to make birds in kindergarten.”

  Carolyn cursed whoever had come up with the craft for this table. A bald eagle paper bag puppet, AKA a torture marathon with paper. There were wings and talons and a beak to make. Little pieces of construction paper to glue all over the place. One side had to be the front, and Lord forgive if she got it wrong because then, apparently, the eagle couldn’t eat.

  The kids had already informed her, with a look of disdain, that her first eagle attempt would have died of starvation. So now Carolyn was making her second lunch bag bird.

  And clearly mangling the thing into a version of roadkill. “There aren’t any rules decreeing we have to make an American eagle. What about a Monarch butterfly? Or a nice little robin?” She gave Kimberly an encouraging, work-with-me smile.

  Kimberly returned a blank stare. “Isn’t this a birthday party for our country? And isn’t the eagle our country’s bird?”

  The kid had her there. Darn, these third-graders were awfully smart.

  This was one more reason why Carolyn hadn’t had children. Because she wouldn’t know what on earth to do with one after delivery. Why she’d been assigned to this table, she’d never know. It had to be one of Mary’s brainstorms.

  Speaking of whom, Mary waved to her from across the field. Carolyn gave her a grimace back. Mary either didn’t see the facial gesture or chose to ignore it. She just went back to blithely setting up the food. The younger children were attending a puppet show put on by a local bookstore. The performance was due to end any second and thus the children would be arriving soon. Then the rest of the festivities would get underway. The third-graders at Carolyn’s table had pronounced themselves too “old” for such a babyish activity, so Carolyn had been asked to oversee them and keep them busy in the meantime.

  A flutter of nerves ran through Carolyn at the thought of meeting her sponsored child. She chided herself. She was an attorney. She’d faced down threatening criminals. Blustering defense attorneys. Stern-faced judges. She shouldn’t be nervous about meeting a five-year-old, for Pete’s sake.

  “Uh, Kimberly, let’s forget the eagle. And create another display of patriotism.” Carolyn crumpled the lunch bag into a ball and reached into the craft bucket for new supplies. “Here we are, children. Flags. The perfect Fourth of July symbol.” She handed each child squares of red, white and blue paper, then cut out red strips. This she could do. She hoped. Carolyn began gluing, drizzling the white Elmer’s along the edge of the red strips, then laying them on top of the white squares. The glue smeared out from under the red strips, turning it into a messy puddle, dampening the construction paper and turning the tips of her fingers pink.

  Kimberly, who had already completed a flag and whose paper was neat and nearly perfect, just shook her head.

  Carolyn sighed. Too much glue. Geez, what had she been doing during her childhood years? She’d forgotten the simplest of crafts. And then she remembered why with a pang in her chest. She knew the exact minute she stopped being a little girl and turned into a grown-up.

  The day she’d watched her father die. No, not die—he’d been murdered. Shot right in front of her.

  Because he’d sacrificed himself for her.

  The memory sliced through Carolyn with a sharp ache, like a break that had never healed properly. She drew in a breath, sucked the pain back to the recesses of her mind. Carolyn had lost her father, lost her entire world, and been sent to live with her aunt Greta, who didn’t believe in bringing children up with tea parties and construction paper, but with discipline and hard work.

  She’d been nine, probably the same age as the kids around her. And much too young, she knew now, to quit working with construction paper.

  Carolyn shook off the maudlin thoughts and returned her attention to the half-dozen kids and the stacks of red, white and blue paper. The children were all busily making their versions of Fourth of July festivity, seemingly unaware that many of them lived with families whose income fell in the shadows of poverty level. Hence, the benefit picnic. For the kids, at least, Carolyn would do her best and make a flag.

  Oh, for Pete’s sake. A flag was about as simple as crafts got. Then one glance at the crumpled roadkill eagle project reminded Carolyn looks could be deceiving, particularly when there was craft glue involved.

  “I’ve passed the bar exam. I can do this,” she muttered. She wasn’t going to let a third-grader show her up. She’d do this—and do it even cooler than her young charges.

  And it would keep her mind off expecting to see Nick at any moment. If she was lucky, he’d just drop off the toys and skip the main event, especially after their earlier exchange at the toy store.

  Carolyn reached into the center of the table, grabbed a ruler and a fresh sheet of red paper, traced exact lines from corner to corner, then cut out new stripes. Kimberly watched her for a second, then elbowed the other little girl beside her, Veronica, according to her name tag. The two of them stopped their flag construction to watch as Carolyn measured a perfect rectangle of white, then carefully applied dots of glue to her stripes, marked their placement with the ruler and affixed them.

  “My teacher would like your flag,” said a little boy with tousled brown hair. His name tag, placed upside down on his chest, read Paul. “She likes everything neat. I’m messy.” He held up his flag, which looked so much like Carolyn’s first attempt, it was embarrassing.

  “She’s getting better,” Kimberly said to Veronica.

  “At least this one doesn’t look dead.” Veronica pointed at Carolyn’s first beakless eagle.

  Carolyn didn’t spare her peanut gallery a look. She simply went on with her project, adding a perfect square of blue to the upper left corner. Kimberly slipped her the packet of silver stars. “Thank you,” Carolyn said.

  “There should be fifty of them, in case you didn’t know. I know because Miss Laramie told me. She’s really smart.”

  “And I can see that you are quite intelligent, too,” Carolyn said.

  Kimberly beamed.

  Carolyn withdrew the first stars from the packet and was about to stick them on when she realized exactly why Mary had sat her at this table. So Carolyn could interact with the children.

  Work with them.

  Get to know them.

  Duh. She’d done about as much interacting as a potted plant. She probably had more experience with philodendrons, too. Once again, Carolyn slapped on a smile. “Kimberly, Veronica. Would you two assist me in affixing the stars?” Carolyn gestured toward the pile of shiny five-pointers. “And then Paul can finish the task?”

  “What’s ‘affix’?” Veronica asked. “Is that like a kind of glue?”

 
“I think it’s a color,” Paul suggested. “Isn’t it?” He gave Carolyn a confused look, then worried his lower lip.

  “Affix means to fasten, to attach,” Carolyn explained, then noticed she was still surrounded by blank looks. “Yes, glue.”

  “Uh, Miss Duff, those are stickers,” Veronica said, then peeled off the paper backing and stuck one of the stars on her flag. “See?”

  “Oh. Of course. Well, will you help me stick them on, then? Please?”

  At that, the girls brightened. They dug into the package and started slapping them onto the blue square, not in the neat rows that Carolyn would have preferred, but in a slipshod fashion that soon took the shape of a flower. Carolyn smiled and praised their creativity, telling herself that she was here to relax, not become an anal-retentive craft woman.

  And as Paul added his stars at the bottom, forming “grass” for the flower, Carolyn had to admit the new version of the flag was cute. Different. A true melting pot of other people. “This is perfect,” she told the kids. “You’ve managed to capture the spirit of democracy in America. Excellent attention to detail.”

  The kids just blinked, jaws slack.

  “I see you’ve managed to make some friends,” said a familiar voice.

  Nick.

  Carolyn turned around, trying to stay aloof, cool as an ice cube. Not an easy feat, considering Nick managed to look both handsome and boyish in shorts and a golf shirt.

  Then she caught a glimpse of his tattoo, peeking out from under the sleeve of his light cream-colored shirt and a hit of desire slammed into her so hard, she had to hold her breath to keep from betraying the feeling. He still had it. Well, of course he would. A tattoo was a permanent kind of thing.

  The memory careened through her mind. Meeting him that first day, her gaze sliding to that left arm, seeing the unconventional, unexpected adornment on his upper arm, and immediately being intrigued. Attracted. After his magic trick, they’d talked, and she’d done something she’d never done before—

  Asked him out on a date, a date that had lasted long into the next day. Not because they’d slept together, but because they hadn’t stopped talking. For days they’d talked, about everything under the sun. In him she’d found someone so different, so open, she’d become a human conversational waterfall. Three weeks later they’d been married.

  Four days later, divorced.

  And three years later, she still couldn’t forget him. Or that tattoo. “Here to join in on the crafts, Mr. Gilbert?”

  “Uh...no. I’m not exactly crafter material.” He glanced at the table of children, now arguing over the supply of scissors and paper. “Besides, I think you have it under control.”

  Carolyn laughed. “That’s an illusion.”

  He cleared his throat. “Actually, I came over to see if you’d seen Mary yet. I know the younger children are due to arrive soon and I was looking forward to meeting Angela.”

  Why did disappointment ripple through her when he didn’t mention anything about seeing her? Noticing her dress? That she’d left her hair down, instead of putting it back into her usual chignon? She didn’t want Nick to be interested in her again. She didn’t want to relive her past. “Mary was over at the food table, last I saw her.”

  Instead of glancing in that direction, Nick considered Carolyn for a long second. She felt as if he could see past every wall she’d constructed, every bit of armor she’d put in place over the years.

  He leaned down, until his mouth met her ear, his breath whispered past a lock of her hair. “You look beautiful today, Carolyn.”

  Something hot and warm raced through her veins. She refused to react to him, though her hormones didn’t seem to be riding the same resolve wagon.

  “Thank you.”

  He was still close, so close she could see the flecks of gold in his eyes. If she leaned a few inches to the right, she could touch him. Feel his cheek against hers.

  “Oooh, Miss Duff has a boyfriend,” Veronica sing-songed. “Miss Duff and Mr. Stranger, up in a tree—”

  “K-I-S-S-I-N-G,” joined in a chorus of young voices.

  What were they teaching these kids in school nowadays? A lot more than reading and writing, that was for sure. Carolyn turned her Evil Eye on the group, the one parenting trick she’d learned from her aunt. “We’re just colleagues. And we’re not kissing.”

  Not now. Not later. Not ever again.

  “I thought a collie was a dog,” Paul said, his face scrunched up in confusion.

  “It is, Paul.” Nick slipped onto the wooden bench and took a seat beside Carolyn. “Now, what are you making here?”

  “A flag.”

  “A flag, huh? Cool.” He glanced at Carolyn. The tension of the day knotted her shoulders, surely showed in her face. Nick gave her a grin—the grin that said he had read her and her unease with both her charges and the task as easily as the newspaper—then turned back to the kids. “You want to know what else is cool?” He withdrew a deck of cards from his pocket, slid them out of the box and laid the stack on the table. “Who wants to see a little magic?” All three kids raised their hands. But Nick turned to her. He held her gaze for a split second, long enough to communicate that it would all work out, if she would just trust him. “Miss Duff, do you want to do the honors and pick a card?” He pushed the deck in front of her.

  Just trust him.

  Carolyn hesitated. She glanced at the kids. They stared at her. Her stomach clenched, and she looked back at Nick, suddenly terrified he’d leave her alone with them and more of those stupid paper-bag eagles. “Okay, Nick,” she said, then she reached forward, cut the deck and picked one of the red-backed cards. She showed the three of diamonds to the children, keeping it from Nick’s view. Then she slipped it back into the deck.

  Paul’s eyes were wide with excitement. “Oh, did you see that card? It was the—”

  “No, don’t tell me,” Nick said, putting up a finger. “I’m going to read Carolyn’s mind and tell all of you what her card is.” He squeezed his eyes shut, making a big production out of the whole trick. He put out a hand, touched his fingertips to Carolyn’s forehead. “I’m seeing...something red.”

  Veronica and Kimberly gasped. Carolyn smiled. Paul’s jaw dropped.

  “And in diamonds.”

  The kids looked at each other, shock and awe written all over their features. Carolyn kept a bemused smile on her face, giving nothing away. This was Nick at his best, taking center stage, working a group, creating his magic.

  Nick pretended to concentrate more, his fingers fluttering over Carolyn’s face. He drew back, opened his eyes. “Is your card...the three of diamonds?”

  The kids exploded in wonder. “How did you know that?”

  “That’s cool!”

  “Oh, my goodness! He really does know magic!”

  And just like that, Nick had the children at Carolyn’s table chattering with him, laughing and showing off their flags and eagles. He marveled over each one like they were the next Picasso. In an instant he’d accumulated a Nick fan club. And Carolyn, who hadn’t managed any of that, was left feeling like the lunchroom lady dispensing the broccoli.

  On the other side of the park, a big yellow bus pulled up, announcing the arrival of the younger children. Mary signaled to Nick and Carolyn. “You ready?” Nick asked.

  “Sure.” Though she felt anything but. Her success rate thus far had been zero.

  Nick laid a hand on hers. “I’m sure you and Bobby are going to get along just fine.”

  Nevertheless, a quiver of doubt rose in her stomach. As the other children dispersed to find their sponsors, Carolyn rose to clean up the mess on the table. Before she could protest, she found Nick by her side, helping. She scooped the scraps of paper into a nearby trash bag. Nick did the same, and for an instant his hand brushed against hers
.

  A surge of want rushed through her, as if she’d been denied water for a month and had just come into contact with a pool of it. It was only because she hadn’t touched him in three years. That was all.

  Damn that Nick Gilbert. Being around him was always like this—distracting, crazy.

  He made her forget. Forget her priorities. Forget what was important. And most of all, forget that when she needed him, he wouldn’t be there.

  If there was one thing Aunt Greta had drilled into Carolyn’s head, it was this: Losing focus created mistakes. And mistakes led to people getting hurt, to losing the ones you loved. It led to showdowns in convenience stores, with men who should have been behind bars instead of holding guns to people’s heads.

  No. She wouldn’t get involved with Nick. Not again.

  Carolyn yanked her hand back, opting to stack the pile of scissors instead. If she were smart, she’d poke Nick with one and make him go away. But in a park full of lawyers, assault with a cutting implement probably wasn’t a good idea.

  “Carolyn...”

  The way he said her name, in the same soft, hushed tone he’d used years before, made her pause. She didn’t move, didn’t turn around. Didn’t look in those blue eyes. Because she knew if she did she’d be a goner. “What?”

  “Today will go just fine. You’ll be okay.”

  The man knew her too well. Knew her past. Knew her secrets. And that gave him an unfair advantage that choked her throat.

  Carolyn finished clearing the table, avoiding his gaze. She loaded the containers into her arms and turned to face him. “Of course it will. And for you, too. Enjoy your day, Nick.”

  The temperature between them dropped.

  “You as well, Miss Duff.” Then he turned on his heel and walked away.

  The bus carrying the younger children emptied out, spilling children into the park like water emptying from a pitcher. In a second Bobby would be here. Carolyn would give him the presents, they’d eat lunch and then the picnic would end. Nick would go home and so would Carolyn, their temporary association over. Just as well.