Dates And Other Nuts

by Lori Copeland

  Temple had never really expected romance. Hoped for it, maybe. The travel was still a nice part of her job. But she’d dreamed that among the new people she met there would have been someone special.

  Temple sighed again, drinking her milk as she gazed at the night sky.

  Bright stars dotted the velvet-black sky, and the sliver of a moon hung over the backyard fence. A perfect night, if only there was the perfect man to spend it with.

  Drawing a deep breath, she padded into the living room and relaxed on the couch, flexing her toes as she closed her eyes.

  Who was the perfect man?

  Not Bill Moffit.

  Nor the pet store owner who had a passion for boas and thought she should have one of his slithering friends as a roommate.

  Nor the car salesman who had the perfect deal for her; the advertising copywriter who’d been all puffed up with pride because he’d been nominated for a local ADDY award; nor the television cameraman who was impressed by his acquaintance with a minor celebrity who hosted an area talk show; nor the minor league baseball player whose total focus was on getting to “the brigs.” Not a “perfect” man among them. Forget perfection. She’d settle for normal.

  A man who could carry on a normal conversation, not a running narrative.

  A man who was sensitive, concerned, interested in something other than himself and his own small world.

  She carried her milk into the bathroom and stared at her reflection in the mirror over the sink.

  Where was the man who could appreciate who she was and what she wanted to do? A man who made a woman feel strong and confident, yet protected and needed.

  Her mouth turned down as she remembered the evening she’d just survived.

  A man who didn’t total his date’s dinner on a napkin.

  A man like Craig.

  Nuts.

  8

  “STEVENS AN airline pilot. Who would’ve thought it?” Jack Ladue leaned forward, a knowing grin in his eyes. “What’s the attraction? The flight attendants? Eh?” Jabbing Craig in the ribs, he grinned. “What I wouldn’t give to be in your shoes.”

  Craig smiled. He and Jack had been passing friends in college, but they hadn’t kept in touch except to exchange the occasional Christmas card. When Jack had called to say he was in town, they’d made plans to meet.

  “Wow, who’s the fox?” Jack murmured as he spotted Temple coming through the lounge door.

  Craig followed Jack’s gaze and saw she was accompanied by a tall, dark-haired man tonight. She was laughing up at him, and he was responding with a quick squeeze of her shoulders.

  “She’s a flight attendant with Sparrow.”

  “Whooee. Redheads. Don’t you love ’em,” Jack drawled, dramatically emphasizing the accent he’d picked up from his years in Oklahoma as a representative with an oil company. “What’s her name, and what’s her number?”

  “Sorry, she’s off-limits.” At least to men like Jack.

  “You dating her?”

  “Just friends.”

  “Then why the objection?” Jack swiveled back to look at Craig. “I want her.”

  Craig watched as Temple and her date were seated.

  “Introduce me,” Jack said. “I’m a good catch. Single, employed, all-around American guy.”

  Craig pointedly looked at his watch and stood. “Sorry to cut this short, Jack, but I’ve got some things to do at the airport.”

  Clearly oblivious to Craig’s cool tone, Jack stood and stuck out his hand. “Good to see you again, buddy.” His gaze went back to Temple’s table. “I think I’ll just stay here and girl-watch for a while. Give you a call next time I’m in town.”

  “Sounds good.” Craig glanced in Temple’s direction, frowning when her date leaned closer and laughed at something she said.

  She looked good tonight, damn good. Her new haircut framed her face, giving her a perky kind of Kathy Lee Gifford look that made heads turn. Who was the man? No one he knew. For a moment, he entertained the idea of going over to introduce himself on the pretext of business, but he decided against it. With another glance over his shoulder, Craig quickly strode out of the lounge.

  He spent the evening prowling his apartment trying to find something to occupy his mind. Three times he picked up the phone. Twice he even dialed Temple’s number. He thought about leaving a message, but couldn’t think of anything to say.

  What was the matter with him? He’d picked out dates for Temple. Why should it bother him that she was out with somebody she’d chosen herself?

  He didn’t know why, exactly, but it did.

  SATURDAY MORNING, Temple spotted Craig’s Lincoln approaching the airport gate. Punching the accelerator, she sent her truck spurting forward and grinned when his Lincoln followed a millisecond later.

  She had a bone to pick with him. Dwight Mason had turned out to be nice. A definite improvement over the men Temple had dated lately. Dwight was kind, courteous, successful, attentive, generous—but dull as a box of rocks. Craig couldn’t spot a loser any better than her other friends.

  Cutting off the Lincoln, she whipped into her parking spot, slammed on the brakes and killed the engine. Once again the Silverado blocked two spaces in her best lane-sharking style.

  The Lincoln’s brakes squawked, then Craig slowly backed it up. After several tries, he managed to squeeze the car into the space left between Temple’s truck and Ginny’s small Ford.

  Sliding out of her pickup, Temple wiggled her fingers at him. “Captain Stevens.”

  Craig maneuvered his shoulders out of his car, and nearly fell onto the asphalt as he tried to stand. Temple bit back a grin.

  “Burney, one of these days—”

  “Threats don’t faze me, Stevens. By the way, Dwight was nice, but we didn’t hit it off.”

  “Oh?”

  “Nope. Sorry.”

  He handed her a large manila envelope, and fell into step beside her. “Here are your tax forms. I had to leave out a couple of good deductions because you didn’t have receipts. Other than that, you’re in good shape.”

  She slid a sly look his direction, her eyebrows arching.

  “Your tax form, Burney. Get your mind out of the gutter.”

  Grinning, Temple matched his stride. Threatening clouds hung overhead promising rain any moment. She hoped the flight wasn’t bumpy. All she needed today was a full plane of airsick commuters.

  “Guess I should take a leaf from Bill’s book,” she said.

  “Bill?”

  “Wednesday night’s date.”

  “You mean last night.”

  She glanced at him. “No, Wednesday night. Your dud, Dwight Mason, Monday, Keith Wilson, Tuesday, Bill Moffit —”

  “Who were you with last night?”

  Was that an attitude in his voice? “That was you!” She punched his arm lightly. “I thought I recognized your back going out the front door last night.” She’d recognize his backside in a cast of five hundred, but she wasn’t about to tell him that. “Why didn’t you say hello?”

  “You looked busy.”

  There was that tone again. “Not really.”

  “Who was the guy?”

  “Kirk Petersen.”

  “Little young for you, isn’t he?”

  “Twenty-two? I’m not that ancient, am I?”

  “Who is this jock?”

  “He goes to my gym. We stopped for a drink after we worked out—but back to Wednesday night’s date. Craig, you wouldn’t believe this one.”

  “Oh, I probably will.”

  “You’d like him, though. He’s got this receipt thing down to a science. He’s a CPA.”

  “Did you have a good time?”

  What was that tone? Jealousy? Nah. It couldn’t be—not Craig.

  “Bombastic. I love going out with guys who quibble over the cost of entrees in a five-star restaurant. Quibble loudly.”

  He grinned.

  “Kill the grin. He added the check over and over on a napkin. Wait
until Ginny tries to set me up again.”

  “Maybe she thought he’d be good for you. You could use a lesson or two in economics.”

  “Why? I have you,” she said dryly. “Besides, Dwight wasn’t exactly a barrel of laughs, either. I had to poke him to make sure he was still alive.”

  “No go, huh?”

  “I thought he might be mechanical and someone forgot to wind him up. Talk about your deadpan face.”

  “Well, he does tend to clam up when he’s nervous.”

  They turned toward the terminal.

  “Well, scratch him off your list,” she said. “Did you ever call Miranda?”

  “Called her. Shouldn’t have. What is this thing you have about blondes? Have I ever given you the impression I enjoy a woman who speaks in one-syllable words?”

  “Sorry. Mandy’s cute. The cheerleader type. I thought you’d make a nice couple.”

  “Think substance, Burney. Women who have something between the ears. I like conversation with breakfast.”

  “Oh.” She glanced up at him. “Got to breakfast, did you?”

  There it was again. That little stab of something she hated to call jealousy. But the idea of Craig with a woman was more than she wanted to consider—and that was crazy, especially since she was the one who’d set up this mutualdating plan in the first place.

  Craig stopped in front of Temple, forcing her to stop also.

  “What?” she said.

  “I don’t go to bed with every woman I meet.”

  “I—” She felt a little foolish. “It was only a comment.”

  His gaze met hers intently as if he was measuring her response.

  “I know you don’t sleep around. What’s the problem?”

  Craig shook his head. “I don’t know. I just...this dating thing is getting to me.”

  “I know the feeling.”

  They stood for a moment as if there was something more to say.

  But when neither came up with it, Craig reached for the door of the terminal building and held it open. “After you.”

  Inside the terminal, Craig waved at Flo behind the car rental counter as he headed toward the pilots’ lounge. Temple walked over to the lunch counter. Ginny was busy taking an order from an elderly couple, so Temple poured herself a cup of coffee and waited for her friend to finish.

  “Hi,” Ginny said, taking two sweet rolls out of the case and sliding them into the microwave. “What’s up?”

  “Not much.” Swiveling on the stool, Temple turned to look at Craig’s retreating back. “Maybe my temperature, a little.”

  “Anything to do with the hunk over there? Saw you walk in with Craig.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Any man who looks like that is too good to waste on just friendship. Don’t you ever wonder what he’s like?”

  “I don’t have to wonder, I know what he’s like.” That was the problem. She was starting to compare every man she met to Craig. The others came up short—way short.

  Ginny laughed.

  “What, what?” Temple said, tossing the last of her coffee into the sink.

  “Admit it, you’re attracted to him. And not just as a buddy.”

  “Buddies don’t mess up good friendships by dating each other.”

  Ginny rinsed cups and set them in a drain rack before putting them into the dishwasher.

  “You’re missing a good thing,” she said. “He’s gorgeous. Every flight attendant I know recognizes that—married and single.”

  “Even you?”

  “Especially me.”

  “Get a grip, Gin.” Temple picked up her bag, uneasy with the subject of Craig. She left with a good-natured wave, and started down the concourse to check in.

  As she approached the bottom steps into the plane, Scotty came into view. The surprised look on the faces of nearby passengers made Temple take a closer look.

  Scotty had a large book tucked beneath his arm.

  “Good morning, Flight Attendant Burney. Fine morning it is.”

  Temple got a look at the book—How to Fly the Saab.

  Trying to keep a straight face, she mounted the stairs. Scotty followed, strutting through the cabin with the fake book innocently tucked beneath his arm. The few early boarders strained to read the title, chuckling at one another when they did.

  Inside the galley, Temple checked supplies and then started the coffee.

  Thirty minutes later, all passengers were boarded. When everyone was settled with seat belts in place, Scotty made another walk-through, the book still tucked beneath his arm.

  “Good morning, good morning,” he greeted as he walked up and down the aisle.

  Returning to the cockpit, he slid the door open and inquired in a loud voice, “Captain Stevens, boy am I glad you showed up. Do you remember how to fly this thing? I didn’t get past chapter five in the book last night.”

  The open laughter assured Temple that the passengers understood their copilot was a buffoon.

  One day, someone is going to fall for his routine and I’m going to let him do the explaining.

  Temple braced herself against the forward bulkhead, microphone in hand, preparing to make the usual announcements. With the mood set for the flight, she took advantage of the affable atmosphere.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, we’d like to apologize for the delay in leaving the gate this morning. The machine that usually smashes your luggage is broken so the ground crew is having to crush it by hand.”

  More giggles.

  She continued the patter for a few minutes then, announcements finished, Temple was returning to the galley when a hand reached out and caught her arm.

  “How about half a cup of coffee, honey, little cream, sprinkle of sugar.”

  “Good morning, Mr. Carlson. This isn’t your usual flight. Special sales meeting?”

  “Convention. High times this weekend.” He grinned widely. “Just barely got a hotel reservation.”

  “Well, I hope you have a good time—”

  “I’d have a better time if you’d go to tonight’s banquet with me.”

  “Mr. Carlson—”

  “I know, no fraternizing with the passengers. Can’t blame a guy for tryin’.” He grinned again, his teeth like piano keys in his puffy face.

  And trying and trying and trying, she thought, still smiling.

  She continued toward the galley, taking orders for drinks as she went. An hour later, she had spoken with each passenger, delivered beverages, answered a half-dozen questions about connecting flights and cleaned up one spilled orange juice.

  As the plane began to descend into Houston, Temple finished gathering up used cups, making sure seat belts were in place and trays and backs upright. An approaching weather front had made the flight unpleasant this morning. They had flown through fog for the past thirty minutes.

  Scotty was at the controls. He was an excellent pilot, but his landings were never as smooth as Craig’s. Wind gusts this morning made the landing bumpier than usual. The plane sat down hard, bounced, then landed again.

  Temple smiled at the anxious looks out the window.

  Once down, the plane taxied smoothly to the terminal. Temple picked up the hand mike again.

  “Thank you for flying with us today,” she said. “If you enjoyed your flight, remember it was American Sparrow 2632.” She winked. “If you didn’t, then it was American Eagle 3216.”

  Even nervous passengers managed a laugh as they began gathering their belongings. Temple took her place at the door, smiling as the passengers deplaned.

  By the time Temple finished cleaning up the galley and clearing the cabin, it was nearly noon. Scotty and Craig finished about the same time and exited with her.

  The drizzle grew heavier as the three hurried across the tarmac. Scotty frowned at the darkening sky. “I’d say we’re going to be stuck here for a while.”

  Temple glanced up, assessing the rapidly worsening weather. “What did the tower say?”

  “Heavy fog,”
Craig and Scotty concurred simultaneously.

  Scotty went ahead to check on the conditions for their return flight.

  “It’s like we thought,” he said when he met them in the staff lounge later.

  Temple had kicked off her shoes and sat with her feet tucked beneath her. Craig had shoved his tie into his pocket as soon as they’d entered the staff area, tossed his jacket across the back of a chair and unbuttoned his collar. He was the sort of man who looked great in a uniform, and even better dressed casually. He’d run his fingers through his hair, letting it curl over his forehead. The afternoon shadow of a beard made his rugged good looks even more profound.

  “How bad?” Temple asked, dragging her attention from Craig’s profile.

  “Another ten minutes and we’re socked in. No flights in or out of Houston until the fog lets up, which the weather bureau advises will be around midmorning tomorrow, earliest.”

  “Well, that does it.” Craig stood and stretched. “Let’s get a hotel room.”

  “If we can find any. Mr. Carlson said there are several conventions in town,” Temple said, picking up the empty soft-drink cups and dumping them into the trash can.

  Craig tucked a phone receiver under his chin and punched in a number. Temple gathered up her things and shoved her feet back into her shoes.

  “Nothing?” he said.

  Temple heard him and paused.

  “Any suggestions?” he said and disconnected the call.

  “Ramada?” she guessed.

  Craig punched another number.

  “Yes, a single, or anything you’ve got.”

  His gaze met hers and he shook his head.

  “Thanks.”

  Another number, and the same response.

  Hanging up the phone, Craig looked grim. “Between the conventions and fog, looks like we’re stuck in the employees’ lounge.”

  “Not me,” Scotty said. “I’ve got a cousin lives here. I’m giving him a call. He’s in an efficiency or I’d—”

  “Thanks,” Craig said.

  Giving them an apologetic wave, Scotty left.

  “Well, what now?” she asked.

  Craig picked up the phone and dialed again. When the other end answered, he inquired about a room.