Snoops in the City (A Romantic Comedy)

by Darlene Gardner

  “Evacuate lane five immediately,” the loudspeaker voice said. “Only bowling balls are allowed on the lanes.”

  Didn’t he think Wade knew that, for cripe’s sake?

  He was surprisingly fleet for a geeky man, as though he could have been an athlete had he chosen. He most definitely would have caught the little gremlin without incident if the slick soles of his rented red-white-and-blue shoes hadn’t failed him.

  His feet slipped out from under him and his perfect ass hit the lane with a painful-looking bang.

  Lorelei winced.

  “Ouch,” Ash said from the circle of her arms.

  M.K. had finished knocking over the bowling pins. She turned around, spotted her father and ran toward him, somehow keeping her balance. When she reached him, she patted him on the head in sympathy.

  In Lorelei’s arms, Ash stopped squirming.

  “Daddy needs ice cream,” she told Lorelei solemnly.

  Ten minutes later, Lorelei sat with Wade, Ash and M.K. at a cheap Formica table for four in the snack bar adjacent to the lanes.

  Considering the lecture the manager of the bowling alley had given them after Wade and M.K. returned from their wild trip, Lorelei supposed they were lucky they hadn’t been kicked out of the place.

  Although that would have been okay. The whole bowling scene had worn thin. Personally, she could use a drink. And she wasn’t talking lemonade or, so help her, Kool-Aid.

  Wade needed something at least as strong as a beer. Lines of strain etched his forehead and he kept glancing at the gremlins, as though he expected them to dump the contents of their ice cream cups on their heads or some similar horror.

  “I didn’t figure you for a family man,” she said while she dug her spoon into a mound of double-chocolate fudge ice cream.

  He stopped in the process of bringing his French vanilla cone to his mouth. Of the snack bar’s twelve flavors of ice cream, it hadn’t surprised her that he’d chosen vanilla.

  “I didn’t think you did. That’s why I wanted you to meet the girls.”

  She watched them happily shoveling ice cream into their miniature mouths, oblivious to anything except the cool, sweet treat. They looked precious and angelic, which they probably were. Most of the time.

  “I like your girls,” she said. “So how often do you have them? A couple nights a week? Every other weekend?”

  “All the time,” Wade said. “I have primary custody.”

  “But what about their. . .” she lowered her voice to a whisper in case the girls were listening. “. . .mother? When does she see them?”

  “Seldom,” Wade whispered back. “Once or twice a month tops.”

  There was a story here, one Lorelei wouldn’t pry from him with M.K. and Ash within hearing range. The bottom line was that Wade Morrison wasn’t only a single father, he was a single father with a lot more than occasional visitation rights.

  She’d been truthful when she claimed she liked his daughters. M.K. and Ash might be gremlins, but they were joyful and sweet and cute as can be.

  She’d learned in a few short hours they were also demanding and time-consuming and a huge part of Wade’s life.

  Wade took a couple licks of his ice cream, then bit into the cone. He ate with gusto, making her wonder about his other appetites, making her lose track of what she’d been thinking.

  “Don’t worry about letting me down easy.” Wade’s deep, resonant voice broke into her thoughts. “I understand you don’t want to see me again.”

  What was he talking about? She’d been dying to find out exactly what was under those nerdy clothes since the mayor’s party.

  “You’re twenty-one,” he continued. “I know you don’t want to date a man with kids.”

  Kids. That’s right. He had kids.

  “I never said that,” she countered.

  “Not aloud, but you’re thinking it. Why do you think I took your suggestion to go bowling?”

  “You knew it would be a fiasco,” she accused.

  “Heck, yeah.”

  “Then why did you agree to it?”

  “So neither one of us would make a mistake. Like I said, it’s okay. I know your type and kids don’t exactly mix.”

  Her back went ramrod straight. “My type? That’s the second time you’ve said that. Exactly what type do you think I am?”

  “The party-girl type,” he said, “like my ex-wife.”

  He added the second part of the sentence in a low voice, maybe not even deliberately, and suddenly Lorelei understood. His ex-wife preferred being out on the town to raising her girls.

  And Wade thought Lorelei was cut from the same party clothes. Lorelei frowned, not liking that depiction of herself. Not wanting to believe it even if he were right.

  “You’re wrong,” she said.

  The girls finished their ice cream. M.K. got down from her seat and started running for who knows where. Wade stood up and deftly caught her with one long arm. He polished off the rest of his ice cream cone and scooped up Ash in his other arm before the second twin could think about escape.

  “I’m right,” he countered. “Don’t worry about it. You don’t have kids. It makes complete sense for you to be a little self-absorbed.”

  Self-absorbed?

  “Like I said, no hard feelings.” His soft gaze touched on her for a few seconds, making her think of what might have been. “Have a nice life, Lorelei.”

  He left her there like that, sitting alone in the too-bright snack bar with a cup of melting ice cream. Lorelei gazed down at the chocolate mess.

  Eating ice cream, especially chocolate ice cream, was supposed to improve your spirits. She shoved a spoonful into her mouth, but didn't feel one bit better.

  CHAPT ER FIFTEEN

  Grady stopped at his sister’s desk on his way out of the office, mostly because Lorelei occupied it.

  “Do you know what time it is?" he asked.

  She glanced up from a stack of papers that appeared to be invoices — had she actually been working? — and glanced at the wall clock.

  “Six fifteen," she said.

  “Don't you turn into a pumpkin if you're not out of the office by four?"

  "Not funny." She stuck out her tongue but the gesture didn't have her usual verve. Tearing off the top sheet from a pink message pad, she handed it to him, exactly like a good secretary should.

  "How did I miss this call?" he asked. "I've been in the office for hours."

  "I'm not saying this is so, but I might have forgotten to give it to you earlier."

  "Damn it, Lorelei. I've been waiting for some important calls."

  The message didn't fit the description. His mother wanted to do something special for his birthday the following Tuesday. She asked him to let her know if he could make it. He crumbled the note into a ball and tossed it in the trash can.

  "You are going to call Mom, aren't you?" Lorelei asked.

  "Nope."

  "I can't believe you." Lorelei sounded disgusted. "What am I supposed to say when she asks if you're coming?"

  "Say no.” He refused to be swayed by his sister's bewildered, indignant expression. When his mother discovered the snub, she'd probably just be sad. Tough, he thought, hardening his heart. She and his father had brought this on themselves.

  "I don't know what's going on between you and Mom and Dad. Maybe I could help if someone told me."

  "I don't want to talk about it.” Grady scanned her desk for a pink message slip she may have forgotten to give him.

  He'd gotten the results that morning of the background check his FBI contact had conducted on Tori, and it backed up everything she'd told him.

  He'd called her that afternoon, gotten her answering machine and left a message apologizing for coming on too strong. He'd offered to make it up to her by taking her to dinner, but she hadn't called back. Or had she?

  "Is that message for me, too?" he asked Lorelei, pointing to a pink slip at the edge of her desk.

  "Probably," she sa
id airily, leaving him to pick it up. He fought disappointment when he recognized the name of one of his subcontractors. Grady inspected the message more closely. Something about it seemed odd. It didn't take long to figure out what.

  “You included the time of the call and a return phone number,” he said to Lorelei. “And you spelled Frank Czapiewski's name right.”

  “So?” She lifted her chin, obviously still angry at him over his rift with their parents. It couldn't be helped. Lorelei wasn’t the one they'd betrayed.

  "So you’ve never done that before," he said. Her outfit — a leopard-print top paired with a short brown skirt — was as wild as ever. So was her generously applied makeup and flamboyant blond hair. But her eyes looked. . . cheerless. “Is something wrong?”

  He expected her to shrug off the question with a quip, but her expression grew troubled.

  “Let me ask you something,” she said. “Do you think I’m self-absorbed?”

  “Whoa. What kind of question is that? Who said you were self-absorbed?”

  “Nobody,” she said too quickly. “I’m just wondering.”

  “Self-absorbed, huh? Let me think about that,” he said even as he noticed the mirror propped on her desk in a spot others allotted to photos of family members.

  “Answer the question,” she ordered.

  He'd rather dive off a cliff into a rocky, foaming sea, but Lorelei wouldn't let up until he complied.

  “Maybe a little,” he finally replied, a tactful way of saying she was as shallow as his backyard bird bath.

  Her lower lip drooped, a sight so rare it tugged at him. Hadn't she realized before now how others perceived her? He reached down to ruffle the top of her head, the way he used to when they were kids.

  “If it makes you feel better, you’re the most caring self-absorbed person I know."

  Her eyes were suspiciously dewy but her voice sounded tough when she asked, “Weren’t you leaving?”

  He hesitated, wishing he could take back his answer. His sister had never been stupid. She’d know he was lying if he backtracked now. "I'm on my way out."

  “Then go,” she snapped. Her mutinous expression invited no argument. He paused at the door anyway. It wouldn't hurt to ask, just in case.

  "Lorelei?"

  "What?" She bit out the word.

  "Did you forgot to tell me about another phone call? From, oh, say, Tori?"

  She grimaced, never a good sign. "No fair. I didn't even get a minute to be mad at you. And now you'll be mad at me."

  His chest felt lighter, as though whatever had been pressing down on it had lifted. "Then Tori did call?"

  "I think it was at about three. I can't believe I didn't write it down. We got to chatting and I guess it slipped my mind."

  Grady clamped his back teeth together so he wouldn't yell at her for being irresponsible. He knew her faults better than anybody, and he'd hired her anyway. "What did she say?"

  "Something about not being able to go out to dinner," she said and his spirits fell, "but that she'd be perfectly happy to cook for you."

  His mood brightened. Then he remembered the time. "Damnit, Lorelei. You could have told me this sooner. I'll give her a call but I'm probably too late."

  "Don't bother calling. I told her you'd be there at six-thirty."

  "Have I told you lately that I love you?" he asked.

  "Don't try to butter me up," she muttered. "I'm still mad at you."

  ***

  TORI PUT A BRASS candlestick on her kitchen table between the two place settings she'd spent the last ten minutes fussing over, checked the floor so she wouldn't step on Gordo and stood back to survey her work.

  "Do you think the candle's too much?" she asked the cat, who had taken to silently following her around the house.

  She removed the candlestick and surveyed the table without it. If she hadn't expected Grady at any minute, she might hunt up the magic disco ball on her key chain. But she didn't want to overdo it. She'd already consulted the silver ball as to whether to invite Grady to dinner.

  Right on, it had said, which she took as a yes.

  She figured she couldn't go wrong with pasta and green salad. Spaghetti sauce simmered on the stove, French rolls were ready to warm in the oven and wine breathed on the table. Once Grady arrived, she'd cook the pasta and dinner would be ready in fifteen minutes.

  "This is all your fault," she told Gordo. "If you hadn't torn up the apartment when we were at the carnival, I could have left you here alone. Then Grady and I could have gone out to dinner."

  She frowned, silently admitting that wouldn't make much difference. She'd still be breathlessly anticipating Grady's arrival.

  Her nerve endings did a lively jig. She'd gone on a handful of dates since moving to Seahaven, but she didn't remember this giddy anticipation. She hadn't felt it in the two years she'd dated Sumner Aldridge, either. In truth, she couldn't remember ever being this anxious over the prospect of spending time with a man, not even back in high school.

  "I think I may have lost my mind," she told Gordo. "This isn't a date. It's a job. Grady's not my boyfriend."

  Except he felt like her boyfriend after that kiss on the Ferris wheel.

  Not only was Grady an exceptional kisser, she liked him. Underneath that sometimes gruff exterior beat the heart of a good man.

  Prove he's a good man, Eddie had advised.

  An excellent idea in theory except she wasn't sure how to go about it. The multiple-choice test at the carnival had been a start. However, his answers sounded silly when she'd written them in her report.

  Willing to ride painted horses wasn't as impressive taken out of context.

  The doorbell rang, and her heart jumped. She put the candlestick back down, rushed to the door and counted slowly to three to give herself time to get under control before letting him in.

  The tactic didn't work.

  One look at his slightly cockeyed smile, and her spirits soared. The wind had tousled his hair, he needed a shave and he was dressed in the blue jeans and short-sleeved gray shirt he'd probably worn to work. It didn't matter. She hadn't seen him in almost forty-eight hours, and he looked wonderful.

  Their eyes locked.

  "Hi," she said, feeling the air grow thick around them.

  "Hi," he answered.

  "I'm glad you could come."

  "Me, too." He took a step toward her, as though he might kiss her. Just as suddenly, he stopped. His eyes dipped. "What is that crawling up my leg?"

  Tori blinked the daze from her eyes and gazed down at his pant leg. Gordo had managed to climb nearly to his knees.

  "Bad cat!” She stooped down and detangled Gordo's claws from the material of his jeans.

  "That's a cat?" Grady asked incredulously.

  She picked Gordo up, surprised that the little cat's body trembled. The cat made a sound in the back of her throat and glared at Grady.

  "When you moved toward me like that, she must have gotten worried," Tori said in wonder. "I didn't think cats were protective. Maybe you should pet her and try to make friends."

  "Wait a minute." His eyes grew round and suspicious. "This is your fat cat?"

  Tori mentally scolded herself for not thinking this through. She'd known Gordo was ill-equipped for the role yet hadn't been able to abandon her at the pound.

  "I didn't say I had a fat cat," she said. "I said I had a cat whose name meant fat. It's Spanish."

  "That's not how I remember it. Besides, if the cat's a she, her name would be Gorda, not Gordo."

  He was right. She remembered from high school that the endings of Spanish nouns depended upon whether they were masculine or feminine. She couldn't admit that now.

  "That doesn't make sense,” she said. “Next you'll tell me I should have named her Fatsa instead of Fatso."

  She waited nervously while Grady scratched his jaw and swept his gaze around the apartment. He paused at Gordo's brand new water bowl and the flimsy cardboard cat carrier the pound had supplied. Wh
y hadn't she thought to put it out of sight?

  The guarded look that had been missing when he arrived at her apartment returned. "Why don't you give it up and admit you just got this cat?"

  "Gordo is a beloved pet," she bluffed, feigning outrage. "How can you suggest such a thing?"

  A heavy pounding interrupted his response. Glad of the reprieve, Tori hurried to the door, still with Gordo in her arms. Her heart sank when she saw her visitor was Mrs. Grumley.

  "A ha! I thought you had a. . ." Her landlady’s voice trailed off and her head tilted. "Is that a mouse?"

  "No, it's not a mouse. It's a cat," Tori said, dooming herself and Gordo along with her.

  "Whatever it is, it spells trouble for you," Mrs. Grumley said. "I'm here to inform you that violating the clause in the Seahaven Shores lease prohibiting pets is grounds for eviction."

  Tori turned her back on Mrs. Grumley, met Grady's unfriendly stare and prayed he wouldn't abandon her in her time of need.

  "Help," she silently mouthed before facing her landlady. “She isn't my cat, Mrs. Grumley. She belongs to Grady."

  At that, Tori walked over to Grady and shoved Gordo at him. The cat bared her claws and made her strange growling noise. In self-defense, Grady held on to her by her torso and extended her from his body so that her legs dangled like sticks.

  Mrs. Grumley's already small eyes narrowed. "That cat doesn't even like him."

  "She's persnickety," Tori said.

  "He doesn't look like a cat owner to me," Mrs. Grumley declared.

  Before Grady could agree, Tori implored him with her eyes not to contradict her. His mouth twisted slightly as he seemed to decide what to say. Tori held her breath.

  “She’s my cat, all right." He petted Gordo awkwardly with the hand not attached to her torso. "I'm a cat lover. Gordo and I came for a visit."

  The glint in Mrs. Grumley's eyes said she didn't believe him, but she couldn't prove it. "When you leave, make sure you take that thing with you," she said before pivoting and stalking away.

  Tori closed the door on the retreating landlady, filled her lungs with air, then slowly turned. Gordo had sheathed her claws and was now emitting harmless meows, but Grady still held her extended from his body. He didn't trust the cat any more than he trusted her, Tori realized.