Dates And Other Nuts

by Lori Copeland

  Craig stowed his clipboard, and sat back. “How’s the passenger list look?”

  “Usual crowd,” Temple said. “The ones Scotty didn’t scare off with his blind-pilot act.” She rapped the copilot on the shoulder.

  “Did you get my present?” Craig asked.

  “What present?”

  He tossed her a package of nuts. Grinning, she caught it, getting the implication immediately. Nuts to you.

  “I take it you haven’t forgotten Gabrielle?”

  “I owe you one, Burney.”

  “I got one already. Thanks, Scotty, for setting me up with Jon.”

  Scotty wouldn’t look up. “Sorry about that, kiddo.”

  She picked up their empty cups. “And Craig, I’m really am sorry about Gabby. Next time—”

  He cut her off. “No next time. You take care of your love life, and I’ll take care of mine.”

  She tossed the package of nuts back at him.

  Slipping out of the cabin, she made a mental note to phone Gabrielle the moment she got home and find out her version of the story.

  After checking the galley again, Temple took her place at the door of the plane to greet the embarking passengers.

  Thirty minutes later, the passengers were safely buckled into their seats and ready for takeoff. A pair of redheaded twins had already alienated everyone within two rows of them. Their mother was showing signs of strain and it wasn’t eight-thirty yet.

  A bell sounded, and Temple picked up the closed-circuit intercom.

  “Ready to fly?” Craig asked.

  “Like a bird.”

  Completing a final walk down the aisle to check seat belts and chair backs, Temple returned to the front, slipped a tape into the cassette player and reached for an oxygen mask as a resonant baritone on the tape relayed vital safety instructions.

  Switching off the cassette, Temple smiled and reached for her microphone. Sparrow was known for its good-natured approach to flight information. Sort of sweetening the dry repetitive instructions.

  “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, thank you for flying Sparrow Airlines. We know you had a choice. You will note that in case of the grievous combination of turbulence and weak stomachs, there are bags in the pocket of the seat in front of you. Since I’m the only attendant on board, please use them. And if you must hurl, please hurl accurately.”

  The twins were hanging over the backs of the seats in front of them, forcing the occupants to lean forward. They were already glancing anxiously over their shoulders. The mother’s efforts to reseat the twosome were ineffectual. It was going to be a long flight, Temple decided.

  “Should it become necessary to set down this plane in water,” she continued, “the cushion of your seat is a flotation device—”

  “Water?” someone commented loudly. “When did they put an ocean in Oklahoma?”

  “Why should we need flotation devices?” a man in the back row piped up. “I want a parachute.”

  “In the unlikely event of the sudden loss of cabin pressure, oxygen masks will drop in front of you. Place the bag first on your face, then assist your children—”

  The twins found the reading-light switches.

  “—if you want to,” she added, grinning.

  Announcements out of the way, Temple buckled herself into her seat. The plane was barely off the ground before the boys discovered the air flow vents. Temple loaded her refreshment cart with coffee and juice, and began to make her way down the aisle.

  It was a typical flight. The twins couldn’t decide what to drink, wouldn’t sit down, wouldn’t leave their trays upright and wouldn’t listen to their mother.

  Temple finished her run and returned to the cockpit to see if Craig and Scotty needed anything.

  Craig glanced up as she came in. “Everything all right back there?”

  “Twins from hell in fine form, new mother nicely settled. We’ve got a male passenger who is taking up two seats and half the aisle, complaining about the no smoking rule in loud tones. Oh, and he thinks he’s Casanova. If his knee presses my backside one more time I may do something drastic. In other words, conditions normal.”

  “There’s always one,” Scotty commented.

  “If we can put a man on the moon, why couldn’t we send a select few?” Temple muttered.

  “Wouldn’t that put a kink in your plans?” Craig mused aloud as he took a gauge reading.

  “Maybe I’ll just get a cat.” After her date with Jon, even a rhino with an infected horn didn’t sound bad.

  “Ditch the cat idea,” Craig intoned.

  Scotty graciously changed the subject. “Hey, Craig, Steph has a woman for you—”

  Craig threw his hands up in frustration.

  “What is it with me? Do I have Idiot stamped across my forehead? Sucker? Fool? Do I look like someone who enjoys pain?”

  A buzz interrupted the conversation and Temple voiced a mental “shoot.”

  “Ten to one it’s the knee man.”

  “I’m betting on the twins.” Temple grimaced.

  As she left the cabin, Scotty was trying to set Craig up with a woman in Steph’s pottery class.

  By the time the flight was over, Temple had peeled the twins off the backs of their seats at least three times. She’d also helped the new mother change a soiled diaper in the galley. Diaper service, she decided, was above and beyond the call of duty. By the time they landed in Dallas she was exhausted.

  Craig caught up with her as she was leaving the terminal.

  She glanced up as he fell into step beside her. How could he fly the hours he did and still look as fresh as the moment he’d arrived in the morning? she wondered. Even a hint of his after-shave remained; Old Spice. She’d read somewhere that in a sniff test recently conducted with a thousand women, they still preferred Old Spice ten to one over other men’s after-shave. She’d given Craig a large bottle for Christmas. For a giddy moment, she wondered if he was wearing the tiger-patterned briefs she’d also given him.

  Actually, she was far too aware that she was wearing the French-cut scarlet teddy he’d given her.

  “Got time for a quick drink?” he asked.

  “Sorry, got a date,” she said. “And Thia’s called twice this week and I haven’t returned her call. She’ll think I’ve skipped town.”

  “We could make it a quick one. You can talk to Thia anytime.”

  He’d caught her at a weak moment, darn him. An hour with Craig Stevens would make up for the date that Ginny had arranged for her tonight.

  “Okay, if it’s a quick one.”

  They cut across the concourse to one of the small airport lounges, and found a table near the back. The waitress took their drink order and disappeared into the shadows.

  Craig leaned back and loosened his tie. “You look tired.”

  “Beautiful but tired,” she amended for him. “Why can’t men start with the nice before they state the obvious?”

  His gaze traveled over her lightly, making her wish she hadn’t said anything. “Okay, beautiful but tired. What’s wrong?”

  Shrugging out of her uniform jacket, she ran her fingers through her hair and massaged her scalp a moment. It felt delicious. “Maybe I’m getting burnout. I’m really beat.”

  “The knee man?”

  “Him, and the twins, and the woman with the fussy baby. I don’t know. Maybe it’s a good thing I don’t have children.”

  “Marriage, babies, in that order, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, so I’m told.” She toyed with the candle-holder setting in the middle of the table.

  “I think,” he said, leaning forward to take her hand, “that you would make a very good mother.”

  His thumb rubbed across her knuckles, making her heart pound like a trip-hammer.

  “Oh, yeah?” Her smile was a little weak. “What makes you think so?”

  “Intuition.”

  “Thought that was a woman thing.”

  He shrugged, laying her hand carefully back
onto the table. “Depends on how well people know each other.”

  Reaching for her water glass, she wondered if an aspirin would help or hinder at this point. She was so tired her whole body ached.

  “Speaking of marriage—”

  She looked up. “Were we?”

  “I got a wedding invitation from Judi and Rick.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding. They’ve been together—what? Six years?”

  “About that,” he said.

  “One or the other of them has walked out of the relationship at least a dozen times,” she said. “What makes them think getting married will change anything?”

  Leaning closer, he whispered, “Rumor has it they think they’re in love.”

  “Nuts.”

  “That’s a strange comment coming from someone who’s trying her damnedest to find Mr. Right.”

  “Only because of Grams.” She could have bitten her tongue in two.

  “Grams?”

  “All right, I hate to admit it,” she told him, “but I feel kind of obligated to find someone, you know, and settle down, for Grams. She worries about me. Thinks I can’t be happy until I’m safely married and have a family of my own. She keeps reminding me how old she is and how she’s not going to be around forever—” She stopped speaking and drew a weary breath.

  She hadn’t meant to tell him why she’d embarked on this plan to find a suitable mate, but now that it was in the open she was relieved. At least he would know why she’d been dating so much lately.

  He frowned slightly. “That’s what this is all about? This sudden dating frenzy? To please your grandmother?”

  The waitress returned with their drinks. Temple extracted the straw from her glass and took a quick sip to give herself a moment to think. She and Craig were close, told each other nearly everything, but not everything.

  “Of course it isn’t just to please Grams.” She toyed with her glass. There was such a thing as being too close. “I’m thirty-one. Time is slipping away. I like my job, like my apartment, but... well, I want to be young enough to enjoy my children—”

  “Ticktock, ticktock.”

  “No,” she said, trying to lighten the atmosphere a little. “I’m not in a panic about my biological clock, but right about now I feel a bit run-down.”

  He smiled warmly, and she relaxed. Discussing marriage always made her tense. Craig too. Maybe she wasn’t as ready to settle down as she’d thought.

  “So, who’s the man of choice tonight?”

  “Oh, someone Ginny’s significant other knows from work.”

  “You don’t sound enthused,” he said. “Don’t trust Mike’s taste in men?”

  “With the luck I’m having lately, I don’t trust my own taste in men.”

  “Or women,” he added, sipping his drink.

  Her gaze softened. “I really am sorry about Gabrielle. When we were in flight school, she was perfectly normal. Fun, a little crazy sometimes, but definitely not eccentric.”

  “Nuts,” he clarified.

  “Eccentric.”

  “Okay, eccentrically nuts.”

  Agreeing to disagree, they lifted their glasses in a salute and drank to the compromise.

  Craig’s gaze lingered on her. “While we’re on the subject, I have someone I want you to meet.”

  Temple bit into a slice of lime, studying him warily. After the Gabrielle incident, she wasn’t certain a bit of revenge wasn’t behind his suggestion.

  “I don’t know, Craig—”

  “Isn’t that the agreement?” he said, arching his eyebrows. “You set me up with your friends, I set you up with mine?”

  “Okay,” she relented. “Who is it?”

  “Dwight Mason.”

  She frowned. “Have I ever met him?”

  “No, but you’ll like him.” He finished his drink.

  “What’s he do?”

  “Makes money. Lots of it. He’s an entrepreneur of sorts.”

  “Of sorts? I don’t know—”

  “Sure you do. That’s the agreement. I’ll call and set it up. Early next week okay with you?”

  A deal was a deal. There was no way out. She sincerely wished that she’d never thought up this stupid arrangement. She didn’t want Craig mad at her when it didn’t work out. Case in point—Gabrielle.

  Finishing her drink, she managed a smile. “I’m free any night except Tuesday.”

  “Good. I’ll call Dwight.”

  They left the lounge together. When they reached their cars, Temple had to squeeze into the driver’s side of her pickup. Craig had won the race for the parking space that morning.

  “Oh, by the way,” he said. “Don’t wear the red dress when you go out with Dwight.”

  “Which red dress?”

  He shut her door and she rolled down the window. “The one that fits you like a second skin.”

  That was strange. It sounded as if he didn’t like that dress. She’d paid a week’s salary for it and worn the garment to the airline’s annual Christmas party last year. He had demanded nearly every dance and they’d had a great time.

  “Why not?”

  “Dwight doesn’t like red,” was his dry comment. “Have a good time.”

  His hands slapped the windowsill as she started the engine.

  “Craig,” she said, studying his face, “why do I have the distinct impression you’re setting me up?”

  “I am setting you up.”

  “No, I mean, ‘setting me up,”’ she said with emphasis. “Remember the agreement? We don’t arrange dates with people we wouldn’t go with ourselves. A blind date isn’t really a blind date this way. I thought Gabrielle—”

  “Relax.” He smiled, bending to look in the window. “I’ve recovered from that overdose of fur. Of course, I may have a feline phobia for the rest of my life,” he said. “And have a good time tonight. By the way, what’s your date tonight do?”

  “He’s an accountant. Steady, logical. Dull, but after some of the dates I’ve had lately, dull is good. Sounds promising. What about you? Got a date tonight?”

  “Mmm. An antique-store owner.”

  “Antiques? Old books and distressed wood? Should be interesting. Bill set you up?”

  “No, Dave tricked...uh, convinced me to see this one,” he told her. “She’s twenty-eight, blond, green-eyed and teaches a class on authentication. I asked her about that blue vase—it’s good, by the way.”

  “It ought to be. I bought it for you.”

  “I know.”

  His gaze met hers. No one had eyes as blue as his; eyes that could dance with humor or flash with anger. Right now, she wasn’t sure what was behind the intensity in his gaze but her heart did that funny little skip-beat that made her forget to breathe.

  “I found it in a little dusty shop in Balboa,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “I don’t think the owner knew it was real, but I did.”

  “Well, Angela says it’s a nice piece. You have good taste.”

  “At least in antiques. You sure you’re not setting me up with this Dwight to get even with me?”

  “You’re getting paranoid, Burney.”

  “Like I don’t have a reason?”

  He smiled. “Would I do that to you?”

  “Yeah. You would.” She laughed, feeling better.

  As she drove away, Temple glanced in the rearview mirror, watching Craig get into the Lincoln.

  This Dwight better be good, or I’ll dig up another Gabrielle. This time on purpose.

  After a hot shower, Temple stretched out on the bed to pen her weekly letter to Grams. She paused for a moment, mentally sorting through her recent dates in an attempt to put her reactions to them into words. They were too dismal to report. Instead, she found her thoughts drifting to Craig.

  No, she told herself, firmly.

  Dear Grams,

  Have I told you about my good friend, Craig Stevens—

  What is it with you today, Burney? He puts his hand on your shoulde
r to slide past you and you get as giddy as a teenager. Then you dissect every tone of voice and every nuance of speech. Maybe this “dating game” she’d embarked on was getting to her. She quit chewing the top of her pen and continued her letter.

  He’s handsome, smart, witty and one of the best pilots Sparrow employs. Helen and Frank should be proud of him—you tell them so when you see them in church Sunday.

  I guess what I’m trying to say is that’s the problem, Grams. But our friendship is just too good to jeopardize it by dating each other. Besides, he’s a pilot. And that’s enough said about that.

  She stopped writing as she considered what she’d just told Grams. It would hurt to lose him, she admitted to herself. Hurt too much. Besides, with Nancy still caring about Craig, obviously still hoping something would work out, anything more than friendship between them would complicate things too much. She couldn’t bear it if something happened to destroy the special relationship she and Craig had. If...if he decided to sever their friendship, it would kill her. She fully understood how Nancy felt. Losing Craig would be far too painful. She resumed her letter.

  Hope everything is well with you. I will make it home for Christmas. Hang the tinsel and stuff the goose.

  Love,

  Tootie

  P.S. You’ll be glad to know I’m dating on a regular basis. Can’t say I’m having any success, but I am going out.

  Sealing the letter, she rolled off the bed.

  Oh, yes, Grams. I’m going out, for all the good it’s doing me. So far, I’m zero for fourteen, but who’s counting?

  7

  REJECTING FIRST a long skirt and Vctorian-style blouse, then rose slacks and matching sweater, then tan slacks and chocolate-colored long shirt, and a black tube dress she considered too adventurous for a first date, Temple finally settled on a two-piece turquoise casual suit.

  It’s nerves, Burney. Plain ole nerves. After the last few dates she’d suffered through, she was paranoid, that was all. It wasn’t logical that her string of disastrous dates could continue. Even a blind squirrel found a nut every once in a while, so the odds that tonight should be a winner were running high.