[Dating by Design 02.0] Statistically Improbable

by Jennifer Peel

His eyes landed on me and penetrated me in ways that were unexplainable. He thought for a moment about what he was going to say. I saw turmoil in his eyes. “You make me . . .”

  I bit my lip waiting to see what he was going to say.

  In the end, he focused back on the garland he was making. “There is nothing for you to be sorry about.”

  Maybe I should have apologized to myself for falling for a man who would never be mine.

  ~*~

  I was happy for the short work week. Tensions in the office were getting higher. In Eva’s office, which was next to mine, I overheard Cara and Eva making fun of the bridal shower invitations I had made. They were a little too sparkly for their taste, and apparently I really knew how to suck up to our boss. I was about ready to call them on it, but I held my tongue. I thought the invitations were beautiful. Mrs. Marshall and Lana sure thought so, even Kenadie had praised them. And what was I supposed to do? Turn away Mrs. Marshall’s affection? Tell Kenadie no when she asked me to do something?

  I think the greatest thing I was thankful for that week was that we had no meetings since we were closed on Thanksgiving and the day after. The less I saw of Eva and Cara, the better. We only saw new prospective clients if they came in to fill out a profile. It was a multi-step process to be accepted at Binary Search. You had to submit to a background check, a psych evaluation, and of course the final test of the client date. You could be rejected at any step along the way. And the final step was being able to afford it. I was surprised how many people could and were willing to pay for the service. I wasn’t complaining; it paid my bills.

  Even though we weren’t having a typical work week, I was busy doing research for Kenadie. A picture of Nicholas Wells was starting to emerge, and he sounded a lot like Zander, except that he had been married for a short time when he was younger and had a fifteen-year-old daughter named Skylar. Nicholas, like Zander, had been through a string of high-profile relationships. At one point, it seemed like he was Hollywood’s most eligible bachelor, but since the wildly popular On the Edge ended ten years ago, his acting career took a hit. He starred in some low-budget films, and he tried another series, but it was cancelled after the first season. From what I could gather, he had custody of his daughter, but he had kept her out of the spotlight. He now mainly worked behind the scenes. An interesting tidbit was that he had a Georgia connection—he grew up here and his father, Jack, still called Georgia home.

  I was so curious as to why he was of interest to Kenadie. Zander was tight-lipped about it. Speaking of him, he wasn’t feeling all that well and was working from home. I offered to bring him soup, but he still wasn’t giving in to me visiting his apartment. It was another mystery about him to solve. I was beginning to see that maybe Mrs. Marshall was right. Zander’s parents and his upbringing had followed him into his adult relationships, but he didn’t want to admit it.

  I wondered what he was afraid of.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I woke up early on Thanksgiving, happy to have a day off and looking forward to spending the day with some of my new favorite people. I hadn’t seen Zander since Monday night and I was surprised how much I missed him. It wasn’t a good thing.

  I was making cranberry apple pie to take to Mrs. Marshall’s since I had some leftover cranberries and she wouldn’t let me bring anything else. I was afraid she was going to wear herself thin with all that she had going on. She needed to step back and let Ellen, the wedding planner, do her job, but Mrs. Marshall and her friends felt like they needed to be in the middle of it all. It was entertaining watching them, at least for me. I don’t know if Kenadie appreciated all the interference. From what Zander said, Ellen was no longer answering her phone if she saw any of the Nanettes’ numbers pop up on her screen. Poor Ellen had already had to reorder the tablecloths three times because the color didn’t sit well with the best friends.

  I got the crumble on the pie and was ready to put it into the oven and take a shower while it baked when my phone rang. Zander’s handsome faced popped up on my screen.

  “Hello.”

  “Darlin’.” He sounded awful.

  “You don’t sound well.”

  “I feel worse. You’re going to need to drive yourself out to Nan’s.”

  “I’ll bring you some soup on the way.”

  “Don’t.”

  “I’ll leave it outside your door.”

  “Meg. I can take care of myself.”

  “Okay. Happy Thanksgiving.”

  “Yeah.” He hung up.

  His phone call bothered me more and more while I showered. Why was he so stubborn about me doing something nice for him? And what was the deal with his apartment? We were friends. He hung out at mine all the time lately. And it was a holiday. A person shouldn’t be alone today of all days. Maybe he wasn’t alone? That thought made me want to vomit in my mouth. But he said he didn’t invite women into his place. And I had a feeling he wouldn’t want anyone to see him sick. That would mean he was actually a vulnerable human being. I knew people too.

  I got out of the shower and wrapped myself up in my gray fluffy towel. I wiped off the mirror over the sink and stared at my reflection. “Don’t do it,” I told myself. “But,” I reasoned, “it’s Thanksgiving.” I bit my lip and thought some more. I knew him well enough to know he wasn’t going to be happy if I showed up and tried to take care of him. And I knew myself well enough to know that it wouldn’t be in my best interest, but I missed him, as foolish as it was.

  I debated some more as I got dressed and ready for the day. I put on some cute jeans and a figure flattering blouse, just in case I went through with my plan.

  I pulled the baked-to-perfection pie out of the oven and continued to have an internal and sometimes external conversation about what I should do. But then Mrs. Marshall called. Her Southern Momma senses were eerily good.

  “Dear, I just spoke to Zander and he can’t come. And as much as I would love for you to join us, I can’t in good conscience allow Zander to be alone on Thanksgiving. You’re such a good girl, I know you feel the same way.”

  I heard Kenadie in the background yelling, “Momma, stay out of this.”

  “Hush, Kennie. Meg, dear, I have the perfect spicy chicken soup recipe to cure the flu. Get a pencil so you can write it down.”

  Why was I always quickly obeying this woman? I walked over to the table where I had a pencil and some paper available. “Mrs. Marshall, he doesn’t exactly allow women besides Kenadie into his place.”

  “That is about to change.” She listed off all the ingredients I would need. “And don’t forget to get him some orange juice.”

  “I really don’t know if this is a good idea.”

  “Believe me dear, it is.” She hung up.

  Great. Now I could either try and penetrate Zander’s fortress or spend Thanksgiving alone. I didn’t think Mrs. Marshall would be too keen on me showing up now. I guess I better wrap up my pie and head to the store. I hated shopping on the holiday. It made me feel guilty for all the people who had to work, but it was for a good cause.

  I tried to be extra friendly to the poor man checking me out; he looked like he’d rather be watching football. I couldn’t blame him, even though I never understood the NFL’s reasoning for playing on Thanksgiving. The players had families too.

  I called my dad on the way to Zander’s. He and the boys had been invited to Savannah’s parents’ for the dinner. My dad didn’t sound all that thrilled about it, but he was going anyway. The only thing he asked about my plans was to make sure I had someone to spend it with. He knew Aunt Beth was off traveling, visiting Fredrick’s children from his first marriage. She was living the life and loving it. I would get to spend some time with her around Christmas. I hoped I didn’t lie to my dad about having someone to spend it with.

  When I pulled into Zander’s parking lot, I wasn’t sure what I should do. Should I text or just head on up and knock on his door? I decided to head up. I grabbed the canvas grocery bags, but
left the pie. I had purchased a chocolate ganache cake instead at the store. I figured if I was going to spend the day with Zander, I would make it my perfect kind of day.

  I was glad I didn’t meet anyone going in or on the elevator. My heart pounded as I watched each floor number light up until I got to level three. I took a deep breath and stepped out of the elevator. I felt like I could see my reflection everywhere in the gleaming building. I followed the directory and found myself standing in front of the door marked 320. I took some more deep breaths. What was I doing?

  I pulled out my phone. Please don’t be upset, but I’m standing in front of your door. No response, and I didn’t hear movement inside. I waited a minute feeling about as dumb as I ever had. I look really silly standing out here holding several grocery bags in my hand. Still nothing. I gave up. I’m leaving the food outside your door. Except for the cake—you don’t deserve it.

  I dug the cake out of one of the canvas bags and headed back down the hall. This unsettling ache erupted in my chest.

  “Meg,” a voice croaked.

  I stopped and thought about whether I should turn around or not. I placed my hand on my stomach. Flutters had erupted.

  “Are you going to make me drag you back?”

  I smiled to myself before turning around.

  He was leaning against his door, disheveled in a white t-shirt and striped pajama pants. His unshaven face said he didn’t feel well, but dang if the stubble didn’t make him look even more attractive.

  We both stared at one another.

  “Do you want to come in?”

  “Do you want me to?”

  He paused. “I’m not sure.”

  “I can go.”

  “Don’t.”

  I stepped closer, about five feet away from him. “I could stay?”

  He cracked a small smile and focused on the box in my hand. “Only if the cake comes with you.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  He laughed, which made him cough terribly. He bent down to get the bags.

  “I got those. You should rest.” I went to pick them up, but Leann walked out of a door across the hall. I didn’t realize they were neighbors.

  The look on her face was priceless. It was as if reality smacked her in the face.

  So I did what any fake girlfriend would do. “Honey, you are so thoughtful.”

  Zander was already holding the bags in one hand. His tired eyes showed a hint of sparkle at the turn of events. He gave Leann a cold glance before grabbing my shirt and pulling me into his apartment. “Don’t mind us.” He shut the door.

  “Were you afraid I was going to further ruin your reputation?”

  “She looked like she wanted to throw a punch.”

  “I would have liked to see her try.”

  He smiled for a second, but he ran his fingers through his hair. “This is new for me. I’m not sure what to do.”

  I looked around, and wow was all I could think of. It looked like the inside of his car, shiny and new. It was open with a sunken living space front and center, the restaurant-worthy kitchen off to the right. His leather furniture was neatly arranged, and I would be hard pressed to find a speck of dust. He had a huge flat-panel TV that hung above a built-in tiled fireplace. The football game was on. “This is nice. You’ve probably hated hanging out at my place.”

  “Not at all.”

  “You look terrible. Hand over the bags and rest.”

  He made to argue.

  “I know you don’t expect me to take care of you.”

  He smiled and reluctantly handed over the bags.

  I slipped off my shoes, not wanting to leave a mark on the unnaturally shined tile floors. “Can I get you anything?”

  He shook his head and walked away. I watched him ease onto his couch. His cough sounded terrible.

  I took the bags and cake and headed for the kitchen. It was nice—it was so open that I could still see Zander and the game. I was hesitant to set the bags on the spotless granite countertops. “Do you actually live here?”

  He was already looking at me, but his expression became puzzled.

  “I didn’t even know this kind of clean was possible.”

  “I like things in order.”

  “That’s an understatement. Are you okay with me cooking in here?”

  “I let you in.”

  “You didn’t answer the question.”

  He sighed. “Make yourself at home.”

  I smiled. “I will.”

  He focused back on the game.

  “By the way, you can blame Mrs. Marshall for the intrusion. She uninvited me to Thanksgiving and made me come over here.”

  “Why am I not surprised?”

  “But she did send me with her fool-proof, flu-killing spicy chicken noodle soup recipe.”

  “Sounds good.”

  I familiarized myself with his kitchen and appliances before I began. His kitchen was well stocked and it had everything I needed, from knives and cutting boards to pots and pans. I began slicing, dicing, and sautéing. A delicious aroma filled the air. It wasn’t a normal Thanksgiving meal, but my mom used to say that Thanksgiving was more than the food, it was who we sat at the table with.

  Zander kept glancing my way.

  “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

  “No. That’s the problem.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Nothing.” His gaze turned toward the TV.

  “If it would make you feel better, I could leave smudges on your stainless-steel fridge or dirty dishes in the sink to make you feel uncomfortable.”

  His chuckle turned into a cough.

  I dug through one of the bags and pulled out some cold and flu medicine. I also got him a glass of orange juice. I brought him both.

  He eyed the medicine warily. “I don’t take medicine.”

  “I figured, but humor me.”

  He opened his hand and I dropped the tablets in them before handing him his juice.

  “I’m sorry you’re not feeling well.” I turned back toward the kitchen.

  He grabbed my hand—my actual hand—and held it. “Thank you, Meg.”

  His words and touch felt better than they should. “That was hard for you to say, wasn’t it?”

  “I think you’re starting to know me too well.”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t let the secret out that you’re a decent human being.”

  He squeezed my hand before letting go. “I appreciate that.”

  “Finish drinking that. I’m going to go finish dinner.” And wash my hands so hopefully I didn’t catch the nasty illness.

  It was one of those soups that took some time, but I finally got everything in the pot and simmering. I decided to join Zander in the living room. I took one of the chairs near the couch where he sat.

  “After invading my home, now you won’t sit by me?”

  “I didn’t want to make you too uncomfortable.”

  “We’re way past that, darlin’.” He patted the space next to him.

  I was asking to get sick in more ways than one, but I didn’t hesitate and joined him on the couch, close, but not too close. I tucked my legs under me and made him my sole focus. I reached up and ran my hands through his untidy hair. “You must be sick. I’ve never seen you with a hair out of place. And you feel warm.”

  “You should kiss my forehead and see.”

  “Nice try. These lips aren’t touching you.” Though they really wanted to.

  “We’ll see.”

  “Now you’re sounding like yourself again.”

  “I feel like hell.”

  “You look like it too.”

  “I would laugh, but it hurts.”

  “Maybe I should take you to urgent care.”

  “I think you should quit worrying.”

  I fake laughed with my hand over my heart. “You thought I was worried about you?”

  He leaned in. “You can’t help yourself.”

  I pushed him back. “I’m go
ing to go check on dinner.” And I needed some distance before I gave in to temptation. It wasn’t fair that he was so irresistible even when ill.

  The soup recipe was fantastic. It wasn’t turkey and mashed potatoes, but it was yummy.

  I set out a spread of soup and warmed French bread on Zander’s coffee table. For an added touch, I used some of his wine glasses for the orange juice. It was cozy.

  I sat next to him when it was all ready to go. “I know it’s not much, but Happy Thanksgiving.”

  “It’s more than I expected today. Happy Thanksgiving, darlin’.”

  I didn’t think Zander was the praying type, so I didn’t bother to ask if he wanted to say grace. He went straight to eating. I watched him take his first spoonful. He didn’t have to say a word. I knew he liked it. He ate several spoonfuls in a row. I joined him. It was fantastic, if I do say so myself.

  After we finished eating. I made myself at home and grabbed the remote. I wasn’t interested in the teams playing, so I turned it to the Hallmark Channel. They were having a marathon of Christmas romance movies.

  “This is why I don’t invite women into my apartment. What the hell is this?”

  “The best thing on TV today, or we could watch more of On the Edge.”

  “No.”

  I laughed and kept the remote away from him.

  “You’re going to make my head pound more watching this contrived nonsense. They all end the same.”

  “That’s what I love about them.” I gave him my best smile. “Do you really have a headache?”

  “For three days.”

  He had a couple of throw pillows on his designer couch, so I scooted to the other end, grabbed one, and laid it in my lap. “Lay your head in my lap.” I patted the pillow.

  “Now we’re talking. You can watch whatever you want.”

  “Don’t get excited, I’m only going to rub your head.”

  His head was in my lap in a second. He gazed up at me. “Be gentle.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Behave.”

  “I make no promises.” He closed his eyes.

  I started at the crown of his head. He was like putty in my hands. I felt him relax in an instant. I loved the feel of my hands through his hair and how close he was. I needed to think about something else while my fingers explored every inch of his head. Hallmark wasn’t a good enough distraction. “Tell me why you don’t want women in your apartment.”