The Matchmaker's Sister

by Karen Toller Whittenburg

  “You brought sandwiches?”

  “Turkey and swiss. It was all Dave had in the refrigerator. It’s all he ever brings for lunch. Dave’s my friend,” he explained, gesturing vaguely toward the door and the world outside it. “He owns the boat supply across the street. He sold me the shirt, gave me the sandwiches and let me use his washroom to clean up. He keeps Borax soap on hand for manly mishaps.”

  Her gaze drifted to his hands, newly scrubbed, void of all but a faint tinge of purple. “Dave gave you his lunch?” she asked.

  “Well, not exactly. I had to barter for it. I got the sandwiches, he gets free coffee over here for the rest of his life.”

  “Sounds like you got the worst end of that deal.”

  “If you stay for lunch, believe me, I’ll have gotten the best of the bargain.”

  Her eyes met his, skittered away, and Nate felt the jolt of awareness rip through him again, saw her hand clench the pencil. This was, he decided, just a little intense for the lunch he had in mind. “We can talk about your ideas for the coffeehouse over Dave’s sandwiches, what do you say?”

  He began unpacking the sack, taking out a box of laminated cork place mats—a set of four, featuring various sailing scenes, which Dave sold as a tourist item in the boat-supply store. Upending the box, Nate looked for a seam in the shrink-wrap plastic, wondering why everything these days had to be wrapped and sealed with such minute precision, thinking he probably should invest more heavily in the plastic-wrap industry.

  “You bought place mats?”

  He tried to work his thumbnail under the plastic. “If I’d had ten more minutes, I’d have come back with a table and chairs. But I didn’t want to push my luck.”

  “Luck?”

  “Asking you to wait even ten minutes seemed like a gamble.”

  “I’d have waited thirty,” she said. “Probably longer.”

  His hand lost its hold on the box, but he caught it again before it dropped.

  “I don’t have another appointment until two,” she went on. “And I tend to get caught up in ideas anytime I start a project. I love a challenge, and this—” she let her gaze wander the room “—kicks my creative impulses into overdrive.”

  Damn, she was pretty. And the impulses she kicked into overdrive in him didn’t have much to do with creativity. Well, maybe they did. He fumbled with the box again, losing the nick he’d managed to make in the plastic wrap. “I’m glad you have ideas for the coffeehouse,” he replied. “That means you’ll stay for lunch.”

  She seemed to assess him and his statement for a moment, then she walked over to where she’d left her purse and jacket.

  Nate was suddenly certain she was going to leave and wondered what he’d said and, more importantly, what he could say now to stop her.

  But when she turned around, the purse and jacket remained behind and all she brought with her was a small pair of scissors. Without a word, she snipped the plastic. “There,” she said. “You looked like you needed a little help.”

  He named the something then. Called it what he’d known all along that it was…this intoxicating sense of possibility that was the beginning of a relationship. Romance. That was what he felt, what he believed she felt, too. The something that had the potential to be something more. “Thank you,” he said, not knowing what heavenly chance had her keeping an appointment he hadn’t made. Not caring if his mother wanted shrubs or if her sister had written his name by some bizarre, divine accident. He only cared that she was there. And that she hadn’t changed the CD.

  “Lunch is served.” He spread the place mats across the plywood workstation, pulled the sandwiches and sodas from the sack and offered her one of each. “Tell me your ideas.”

  WHEN HER CELL PHONE began ringing, deep within the pocket of her purse, Miranda was sketching another design possibility for the coffeehouse onto the wall. “If you put the station here—” she penciled a quick three-sided rectangle “—you’d have the advantage of distance from the stage.”

  “And if we added another one over here—” he duplicated her sketch, flopping it so his drawing of a rectangle faced hers, and then penciling thick arrows shooting back and forth “—we could have dueling cappuccino contests.”

  She laughed as she walked toward her purse to retrieve the phone. Nate was such a curious mix of seriousness and fun. He gave equal weight to her every suggestion, seemed to find merit in them all, discussed the pros and cons with grave consideration, and then out of the blue, he’d make some off-the-wall remark that surprised her into a laugh. She dug out the phone, still burring its demand for attention, and glanced idly at her watch. Two-thirty! Her heart gave a thump of alarm. How could it possibly be two-thirty?

  “This is Miranda,” she said into the palm-size phone.

  “And this is Ainsley,” came the perky voice from the other end. “You’re late.”

  Miranda was never late. She prided herself on being both punctual and organized. She didn’t forget things, didn’t let other things distract her. Not until today. Not until Nate.

  “I’m sorry.” Honesty was the best policy here, because a lie wouldn’t have stood a chance. One way or another, she was going to endure a good deal of teasing from her sister. “I completely forgot. I’ll be right there.”

  “No, stay where you are. There’s no need to rush away from whatever you’re doing, because Ivan and I took care of it. We handled the whole thing and we’ve already finished with Captain Video, anyway. But we’re dying to know what happened to you.”

  Miranda closed her eyes, not wanting to admit what—or more accurately, who—had distracted her. “An unexpected delay,” she answered crisply, as if it had been unavoidable. “Did you take plenty of notes? We’ll want to compare product and pricing with the other two videographers Andrew recommended.”

  “No notes were necessary,” Ainsley said brightly. “Ivan and I liked this one, so we hired him. One more item off your list, Randa.”

  “We talked about this last night, Baby, and agreed to look at all the options before deciding. Remember?”

  “Well, this is one less option we need to consider. Captain Video was very nice. I liked him. Ivan liked him. You’d have liked him if you’d been here. He has a good product and so we hired him. Now, we can all move on to the next item.”

  There was a note of decisiveness in Ainsley’s animated voice, a hint of new confidence in her tone. Miranda heard it, felt her sister’s resolve, and couldn’t decide if this new maturity should be credited to Ivan or to the possibility that she was, actually, finally, growing up. Miranda was more than ready for that change to come and felt equal measures of pride and exasperation over what had turned out to be a long, lingering process. As hard as it was at times to believe, her baby sister was about to be married. It was time Ainsley took on the responsibility of making her own decisions and stopped depending on Miranda to take up the slack.

  Which only meant that if Ainsley and Ivan were happy with Captain Video, then Miranda would be happy with him, too. “Great,” she said brightly. “I’ll look forward to hearing all about the videographer tonight at dinner.”

  “What kind of unexpected delay?” Ainsley asked slyly, her voice switching from the tone of fledgling maturity into a little sister’s singsong wheedle…I-know-what-you’re-doing. Honestly, ever since she’d started working as a matchmaker’s apprentice, she thought she was too cute for words. Miranda was beginning to think she was too cute to live.

  “I’m with a client,” Miranda said. “I’ll talk to you later.” And she snapped the phone case closed.

  “You missed your appointment.” Nate’s expression was the perfect blend of apology at being the cause, curiosity about the missed appointment and a calm, rather jaunty acceptance that sometimes time slipped away and appointments got missed. “I hope it wasn’t anything that can’t be rescheduled.”

  “As it turns out, my sister handled it. Captain Video will be the one videotaping her wedding.” She tucked the phone
back into her purse and turned toward him. “I was supposed to meet her at his office, but I forgot.” The weight of the words—I forgot—was foreign on her tongue. She couldn’t believe she’d just uttered these words, that they were, unarguably, true. “I can’t believe I did that,” she said, self-recrimination churning inside her.

  “Everyone forgets occasionally, Miranda.”

  “I don’t. I pride myself on never being late and I don’t forget appointments. Ever. I just don’t do that sort of thing. I’m very organized. I’ve had to be.”

  His lips quirked into a smile. “Then it’s definitely your turn.”

  Her turn? To do what? To be distracted by a man—however charming and attractive he might be—to the point that she completely lost track of time? To forget who she was and what she was supposed to be doing? No, thank you. She quickly began gathering her things, unfolding her jacket, trying to slip one arm through the sleeve, surveying the room to see if she’d overlooked any personal item. “I have to go,” she said.

  He was beside her then, lifting the back of the jacket so she could get into it without a struggle. “When can I see you again?”

  Her heart gave a foolish jerk of longing, her stomach took a nosedive. When can I see you again? That sounded personal, provocative. A prelude to something that wasn’t strictly business. “Consider this a contribution,” she replied, waving vaguely at the dozen or so pencil sketches on the wall. “I didn’t spend that much time on it, so feel free to choose the layout you want, with my blessing.”

  “Oh no you don’t.” His hands rested lightly on her shoulders, turning her around with an almost ludicrous lack of effort. “I know how that sort of arrangement works. You’ll be in here the minute the doors open, expecting free coffee from now until the bells of heaven ring. I’m paying you your going rate.”

  “You can’t afford me.” The quip was all air, self-defense in a bubble of throwaway words. Of course he could afford her fees. His family name might not be as old as hers, but his family fortune was nothing to sneeze at either. She knew that. And what’s more, he knew that she knew. But she attempted a smile nonetheless, a camouflage for her embarrassing lack of tact. “You’ve already gotten the best of me, anyway. The best of my ideas, I mean.”

  “I don’t think so,” he said simply. “I really need your help in pulling this place together, Miranda.”

  His hands remained on her arms, a light unobjectionable grip just below her shoulders that interfered, somehow, with her ability to think. She had to make it clear that she couldn’t work for him. With him. Nate was too…distracting. He was the reason she’d forgotten the Captain Video appointment, the indirect cause of this uncharacteristic lapse of memory. She should never have stayed for lunch, but hearing he’d bought a new shirt just to please her was…well, absurdly flattering. And place mats. He’d bought place mats. The simple thoughtfulness of that had startled her, thrown her off balance. And then, almost before she’d completely made up her mind to stay, he was asking questions. Questions about her. When she’d developed an interest in design work. How her eye for color worked in landscaping. Which she liked more. What book she was currently reading. What she thought about them both being on the ballot for city council, albeit from different wards. What she’d like to see happen in the State Senate race. Was she a Celtics fan or was baseball her game. Did she really like the Bee Gees or was she only being nice.

  There was no getting past it. Nate Shepard had gotten around her defenses, reached a corner of her heart she kept private and off-limits. They’d talked about everything and nothing, laughed over little things, shared a Twinkie one of his daughters had left behind on a previous visit.

  A Twinkie!

  Clearly, Miranda had to get out of here and give herself some breathing room. “I’m glad I could help, Nate. You have a great concept here. But I’m too busy at the moment to take on another client.”

  His expression changed, and for a moment he simply looked at her, his steady gaze making her uncomfortably aware of how close he was to her, how close she was to him, how big a lie she’d just told. “It’s too late for that, Miranda.”

  “Too late for what, Nate?”

  “The brush-off. That is what this is, isn’t it?”

  She swallowed, sensing a trap, no matter what answer she gave. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  He frowned, a look that was a little uncertain but still dangerously confident. “I’ll admit I’m out of practice, but I still know when a woman is trying to tell me she’s not interested.”

  “I didn’t say that.” And she wished she hadn’t said that. “I mean, I really am busy and…”

  “I like you, Miranda.” He disarmed her again with his simple sincerity. “I’d really like to see you again. I want to get to know you better. I want to spend time with you.” His gaze drifted to her lips, returned to her eyes. “This probably is as much a surprise to you as it is to me, but I’d really like to…kiss you.”

  Her heart skipped a long beat. Maybe because she’d stopped breathing. Maybe because he wanted to kiss her. Maybe because she wanted him to. “I, uh…” She couldn’t seem to find a coherent reply. “I don’t…uh, know…what…you mean…by surprise.”

  “Then let me be more explicit.” His hands drew her forward, then moved up to cup her chin, to cradle her face in his palms, giving her time to protest or to pull away. But she didn’t. She stood there, mesmerized, confused, lost…until his kiss found her.

  His lips brooked no resistance, hers offered none, and the kiss was instantly deep, infinitely tender, intensely deliberate. Her eyes fluttered closed as her hands gave in to the longing to slide up to his shoulders, as her body leaned into his. He pressed his lips into the curve of hers, made no secret of the pleasure he found there, and asked only that she return the favor. There was no pretense in his kiss…it was seduction, intention and truth, all layered into a few, sweet, tantalizing moments. She could call the attraction whatever she wanted after this, but they would both know it was something more.

  The warmth of his hands on her face, the steady tenderness of his palms against her skin offered strength and encouragement, support and expectation. He didn’t demand her participation as much as he simply took it for granted…and that, she discovered, was incredibly seductive. Miranda was not a complete stranger to passionate kisses and the sure embrace of a man, but she felt unprepared for this tender assault on her senses. This practical magic. She’d been kissed before, but not, she realized now, by a man who truly understood how it should be done. Not with the patience Nate displayed. Not with the sweet wisdom he inherently conveyed that pleasure was, in itself, enough reason for a kiss to be.

  Nate had experience in pleasing a woman, enough practice to be efficient, enough maturity to be good. Better than good. Like it or not, he had just raised the standard for a first kiss. Or any subsequent kiss, for that matter, and at the moment, all she could do was enjoy the knowledge that she was in very capable hands.

  When he pulled back, his eyes appeared darker, the golden flecks burned to a dusky amber. Or maybe it was her own passion-blurred vision that had him slightly out of focus, like a filtered photograph, all soft edges and romantic undertones, with only determination clear and unmistakable at its center. “Before you walked in here this morning, I could have gone either way on this, Miranda. But I’m not willing to do that now. There’s something happening here between us, something I mean to explore.”

  Miranda willed her eyebrows to rise, her eyes to widen, as if she was surprised…shocked…as if he had noticed something she had failed to detect. “I’m not looking for a relationship.”

  His smile mocked her unworthy attempt at denial. “I don’t want to frighten you. Hell, I’m scared enough for both of us. But the last few years have taught me some important lessons, one of them being that while we have all the time in the world to explore and enjoy whatever this is that’s happening between us, we haven’t a moment to waste in denying
that it exists.” His thumb stroked softly along her cheek, and her lips parted with expectation, with sudden, swift desire, confirming what he knew and what she was still reluctant to admit. “I intend to spend as much time with you as possible, Miranda, whether we’re discussing gardens or paint color or the possibility of life on Mars. I want to know you…and you can take that as a compliment or as a challenge.”

  She swallowed hard, summoned her considerable pride and pulled away. “I should go,” she said.

  “Probably a good idea,” came his answer. “Otherwise, I may put you to painting.”

  She picked up her purse from the floor, dusted the bottom with a swipe of her hand and recovered a remnant of cool professionalism. “I’ll get you the name and number of a good contractor.”

  “Great. I’ll look forward to hearing from you.” His wry, warm smile altered her plan to walk out the door unscathed.

  And she had to be content with simply walking out.

  NATE WATCHED HER GO, the taste of her still on his lips, the scent of her still lingering sweetly in the folds of his new shirt. He’d just kissed Miranda Danville. And Miranda Danville had just kissed him back. Amazing.

  He rubbed his hand across the placket of his shirt and fought the impulse to go to the doorway and watch her walk down the street until she was out of sight. But he didn’t. He simply stood there, remembering the kiss, wondering if he should feel something other than bemused excitement. He didn’t know the procedure for opening his heart to love a second time, wasn’t sure if any rules existed. He’d been married nearly twenty years, had been a widower for one. There wasn’t a question in his mind that he would always love Angie, always miss her. And yet, there was no question in his heart that the kiss he’d just shared with Miranda was the sweetest he’d ever known, and that he wanted to repeat it at the first opportunity.