The Boyfriend of the Month Club

by Maria Geraci

  She helped him unload the items from his cart onto the sliding counter and watched as he paid the cashier. Not because she was of any use to him anymore, but he kept making small talk and there didn’t seem to be a point in the conversation where she could ease away gracefully. They had just exited the supermarket when he snapped his fingers. “I forgot something.” He handed her his keys. “It’s the black Range Rover parked in front. I’ll meet you there in a second.”

  She had all the groceries loaded into the back of his SUV by the time he returned. “I didn’t mean for you to load all this stuff yourself,” he said.

  “It’s no problem.”

  He handed her a grocery bag. “You forgot your ice cream. My treat.”

  She looked inside the bag. There were five cartons, all different varieties with chocolate being an ingredient. “Thanks, but this is a bit excessive, don’t you think?”

  “Consider it my way of paying you back. I would have been in serious trouble in there without you.”

  Grace thought he was still in serious trouble, but Thanksgiving dinner was his problem, not hers. “All right, well, have a happy Thanksgiving.”

  She made a move toward her car, which happened to be conveniently parked next to his, when he called out, “Hey, Grace, who’s Mr. Knightley?”

  She froze. “Um . . . he’s a character from Emma.”

  At the blank expression on Joe’s face, she added, “It’s a Jane Austen novel.”

  “Ah! Okay.” He shook his head like he should have known. “Thanks. I’ve been wondering about that.” Then he got into his Range Rover, waved good-bye and drove off.

  10

  Badly Done, Grace

  Okay, so he’d read her patient satisfaction survey. No big deal. Grace dished out a healthy portion of ice cream and settled onto her couch to watch a movie. Joe was gorgeous. And sexy. And actually kind of funny. But he’d also let Tanya go and she could never forgive him for that. She flipped through the channels with the remote, hoping to find a movie as stimulating as the Moose Tracks ice cream.

  Who’s Mr. Knightley?

  It was pretty sneaky of him the way he dropped that bombshell. He could have asked her that question at any point during their little grocery expedition, but he’d saved it till the last moment. Like a punch line. Grace felt like he’d bounced a ball in her court and was waiting for it to be returned. Only Grace wasn’t sure exactly where she wanted the ball to land.

  She couldn’t find a movie she wanted to watch, but there was a “reality” show with people eating bugs and it was too fascinating to turn off. Grace wondered if the bugs were real. And if they were, how much the chumps on the screen were being paid to eat them. She took a big bite of the ice cream and watched as one of the contestants ate some kind of sea anemone. Whatever it was, it looked slimy enough. Good thing Grace had a cast-iron stomach.

  Who’s Mr. Knightley?

  Where had she placed that letter from Sunshine Smiles? The one that outlined Joe’s “resume”? She might actually get a kick out of reading it.

  Grace set down her ice cream and rummaged through her desk to find the to-be-dealt-with-later pile of her mail. Most of it was store ads. She tossed those in the trash and kept digging until she found an envelope from Sunshine Smiles dated almost two months ago.

  It was a two-page letter from Dr. Fred. He was retiring and wanted to thank the many loyal patients he’d been privileged to serve over the years and hoped they would continue to patronize the new dentist who had taken over his practice, Dr. Joseph Rosenblum. Blah, blah, blah.

  Grace took the letter back to the couch, along with her bowl of ice cream, and sat down to finish reading. Joe was raised in south Florida where he attended a high school with a preppy sounding name. Then it was on to the University of Florida where he did his undergraduate degree and dental school, graduating summa cum laude both times.

  After graduation he’d fulfilled a childhood dream and—

  Entered the Peace Corps?

  She set the bowl of ice cream down on her coffee table and continued reading. He’d helped provide dental care to the poor and underprivileged in a remote area of Guatemala. After two years in the Peace Corps, he fulfilled another dream of his and took a year off to “explore” the world. He’d surfed in Australia, climbed mountains in eastern Asia, and went scuba diving off the coast of Panama.

  Now, he’d returned to his beloved home state of Florida to begin his practice of dentistry. Dr. Fred was certain that his patients would find Dr. Rosenblum every bit as competent and professional as his credentials implied. He was also fluent in three foreign languages, including, of course . . . Spanish.

  No wonder Melanie and Tiffany were all gaga over him.

  Dr. Joe Rosenblum: Renaissance man!

  The only thing left for him to do besides run with the bulls in Pamplona was cure gum disease.

  Grace didn’t know whether to be impressed or disgusted. Nobody was this perfect. And who wrote this kind of stuff about themselves, anyway? Then she remembered the letter wasn’t from Joe; it was from Dr. Fred. So technically Joe wasn’t bragging on himself, but still, he would have had to approve the contents, wouldn’t he?

  She set her attention back to the letter. Dr. Fred explained other changes in personnel. Aha! Here it was. The bit about Tanya being let go. Dr. Fred’s niece, Melanie (Melanie was Dr. Fred’s niece?), was taking over the front desk duties since Tanya was now promoted to office manager.

  What?

  Tanya was now the office manager at Sunshine Smiles?

  Why hadn’t Grace been told this important information?

  A few other office staff had decided to retire along with Dr. Fred. Connie’s husband had been transferred to Tampa, so she’d relocated with him.

  Well, for Pete’s sake . . .

  The brief resumes of the additional professional staff were provided. The letter ended once again with Dr. Fred’s sincere thanks for almost forty years of practice and the hope that his patients remained in good dental health. He signed the letter with the salutation, Don’t forget to smile! Dr. Fred.

  Grace could feel the ice cream curdle in her stomach. Why had she assumed Tanya had been fired? True, on the phone Melanie hadn’t been forthcoming with Tanya’s whereabouts. Add that to Melanie’s sinister-sounding voice, it was almost logical that anyone with half a brain would put two and two together and come up with the same conclusion.

  Only . . . it wasn’t logical.

  Not really.

  Grace had let her imagination run away—like, all the way to China.

  Had she wanted to think the worst of Joe because her ego had been bruised when he hadn’t acknowledged that he knew her? She’d already assumed Tanya had been fired way before she’d ever sat in the dental chair, so that couldn’t be it. But . . . if Grace was being honest, Joe’s cool detachment while he’d fixed her tooth had lent fuel to the fire.

  If she’d just read Dr. Fred’s letter like she was supposed to, then none of this would have happened.

  Badly done, Dr. Joe.

  More like badly done, Grace.

  What must Joe think of her comments in the patient satisfaction survey? He certainly hadn’t seemed angry with her tonight. He’d seemed . . . friendly, flirty.

  Who’s Mr. Knightley?

  Joe might have graduated summa cum laude and climbed mountains, but he hadn’t read Austen. At least, not Emma. Of course, Grace hadn’t read Emma, either, but the movie version starring Gwyneth Paltrow and Jeremy Northam was outstanding.

  Her doorbell rang. It was almost ten. Most likely it was Sarah or Penny. Since tomorrow was a workday, Ellen would be in bed by now curled up with a book—probably rereading Wuthering Heights for the thousandth time. Or maybe it was Charlie coming back to tell her that his idea to sell the store sucked. She folded up the letter and placed it on her coffee table. She’d worry about Dr. Joe later.

  If Grace didn’t know the man standing on her porch she would have immediately slammed
the door shut in his face. He had shoulder-length dark hair pulled back in a ponytail and wore a bandanna over the top of his head. Sporting a neck tattoo and dressed entirely in black leather, he was six foot four and, although on the thin side, he looked tough enough to eat nails. And screws and bolts and anything else you could throw at him. It was Darren Montgomery, better known to friends and family as Butch. And he was as sweet as a pussycat. If he liked you. Which, luckily for Grace, Butch did.

  “Sorry to come by without calling first, but I need to talk to you about something important,” he said.

  Grace stepped aside and waved him in. Seeing Butch on her doorstep was unusual. The only time Butch had been to her house was when he’d helped with the move-in. And then there was the time he’d come over with Penny for dinner, but that was it.

  “Want something to drink?” Grace asked. “A bowl of ice cream, maybe?”

  Butch glanced at the half eaten bowl of rapidly melting Moose Tracks. “No, thanks.” He sat on the couch and pulled a tiny box out of the pocket of his leather jacket. “I wanted to show you this.” He flipped open the lid. Inside was a thin platinum band with a very pretty, very shiny diamond in the center. It wasn’t big—probably only about a quarter of a carat—but it was elegant, and not something she would have expected Butch to select.

  “Butch, it’s beautiful! Penny’s gonna flip.”

  “So you approve? Penny’s only got the one aunt in Minnesota. You’re the closest thing she has to family here.”

  Grace felt herself choke up. “Butch, are you asking my permission to ask Penny to marry you?”

  He grinned sheepishly. “Yeah, I guess I am. Kind of corny, huh?”

  “Not corny at all. And I approve. One thousand percent!”

  He looked relieved. “We won’t have much except what we can carry on our bikes. We’ll camp when the weather is warm. But I have a little nest egg, so every once in a while we can splurge and get a hotel. We’ll go hiking and swimming and—”

  “Camp? You mean you’re still serious about this bike thing?”

  “Well . . . sure. Penny doesn’t want to go on the bike tour because she wants me to make a commitment. We can get married right after Christmas. Forty-eight states in three hundred and sixty-five days. It’ll be a year she’ll never forget.”

  “And then what?”

  “Bob says he’ll rehire me whenever, so I know I’ll have a job waiting for me.” His dark eyes lowered. “I know you can’t hold Penny’s job indefinitely, but—”

  “As long as I’m the manager at Florida Charlie’s, Penny will always have a job.” Now didn’t seem the time to warn Butch that a year from now Florida Charlie’s might be leveled to the ground.

  “Thanks, babe.” Butch grinned. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear. I think it will nudge along my cause.”

  “When do you plan to pop the big question?”

  “I convinced Penny to come down to Cocoa Beach to my parents’ for Thanksgiving. I figure after we eat, I’ll take Penny for a walk on the beach and propose then.”

  “That sounds very romantic, Butch.”

  “Hey, I’m a romantic guy. I just didn’t know it until now.” He stood and gave Grace a bear hug. “Thanks again. I should have done this a year ago, you know?”

  Grace nodded, too numb to do much else. Butch didn’t seem to notice. He saw himself out the door and waved good-bye.

  A wedding after Christmas, with Penny leaving soon after that.

  It was only a month away . . .

  It wasn’t that Grace hadn’t thought about it ever since Penny had mentioned Butch’s road trip idea. But lately, Grace had been convinced Penny would stick to her guns and refuse to go. The engagement ring changed everything, though. Butch was right. This was the commitment Penny was waiting for. And Grace was genuinely thrilled for her. It wasn’t that Penny was irreplaceable. Marty could probably do most of the assistant manager duties. But Penny was . . . Penny. She kept Grace grounded. She made going to Florida Charlie’s fun. She had a great way with the customers. And with Pop. Work would be miserable without Penny. Grace didn’t want to think about it.

  She took the bowl of melted ice cream and dumped it down the sink, then opened the refrigerator freezer. This called for a fresh bowl. Or maybe two. She stared at the five cartons of ice cream. At the time it had seemed like overkill, but now she wasn’t sure it would be enough.

  11

  The Way to a Man’s Heart Is Through Flan

  The next two days were torture. Grace cringed every time she thought of Joe reading her patient satisfaction survey. But that was nothing compared to working alongside Penny and having to pretend not to know about the engagement ring. Considering that Penny mentioned the Thanksgiving trip to Butch’s parents’ at least every other hour, it was getting more and more difficult to keep a poker face. She asked Grace’s advice on what she should wear to dinner. Or whether she should even go at all since Butch was leaving after the first of the year, and really, what was the use of schmoozing his parents if their relationship was going nowhere?

  Grace tried to be upbeat, but the truth was, only part of her was happy. Why couldn’t Penny and Butch get married and things stay exactly the way they were? The more she thought along those lines, the more she wondered what was wrong with her. Shouldn’t she be one hundred percent happy for Penny? Instead, all Grace could think about was herself. She was a selfish cow, that’s what she was.

  She couldn’t do anything about the way she was feeling. Feelings couldn’t be helped. But she could do something about Joe. At the very least, she owed him an apology for accusing him of firing Tanya and Connie. Only she wasn’t sure exactly how to go about it. A simple “I’m sorry, can I be your patient again?” letter seemed too trite. So, Tuesday after work she stopped by her parents’ house.

  Abuela was in the kitchen, sipping on a café con leche and watching Univision, the Spanish television station. It was the only TV Abuela watched, with the exception of Dancing with the Stars and CSI. And not just the original CSI. Abuela watched all the spin-offs as well. As far as Grace was concerned, Abuela knew way too much about collecting DNA evidence.

  “Abuela, I need some advice.”

  Abuela managed to keep one eye on the screen and gaze at Grace at the same time. “What’s the problem, mi amor?”

  “I need to apologize to someone. I was thinking maybe a nice card or—”

  “Man or woman?”

  Grace hesitated. “Man.”

  “The one who sent you the beautiful flowers?”

  “No, not that man.”

  She now had Abuela’s full attention. “There’s two of them?” Abuela’s forehead scrunched up. “I only saw one in my dream. And he definitely had flowers in his hand.”

  “It’s not like that. I’m not romantically involved with this man. Or with the other one either,” she stressed.

  Abuela chuckled. “That’s what you think.”

  “No, honestly, I just really messed up with him and I owe him an apology.”

  “So tell him you’re sorry.”

  Grace bit her bottom lip. “It’s not that simple—”

  “Do you know what your problem is, Gracielita? You make everything too complicated.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “And you’re stubborn too.”

  That’s exactly what Charlie had said about Sarah. But no one was as stubborn as Sarah.

  “Flan,” Abuela blurted, cutting through Grace’s thoughts. “The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. When your abuelo Pedro was courting me, my mother used to make him flan. He couldn’t resist it. Make him a flan and he’ll throw himself at your feet.”

  Grace didn’t want Joe at her feet, but maybe Abuela was on to something. She didn’t remember seeing dessert on Joe’s grocery list. A flan would make a nice addition to his Thanksgiving dinner. She could bring it to his office tomorrow afternoon, offer up her apology, and they’d be even.

  “Good idea.” G
race looked around the pristine kitchen. “Where’s Mami?”

  “Your parents went down to the church to help distribute the Thanksgiving food giveaway. Go ahead and make one. Your mother won’t mind. Just make sure to clean the kitchen before you leave.”

  Grace had seen her mother make countless flans in her lifetime. But she’d never actually made one herself. “You know what’s funny, Abuela?”

  Before Grace could finish, Abuela said, “Eggs, sugar, evaporated milk . . .” When Grace didn’t do anything, Abuela shooed her with her hand. “You know what goes inside!”

  Grace began pulling out the familiar ingredients. She set the stove for medium heat, then dumped two cups of sugar into a skillet.

  “The secret to a good flan is to make enough syrup so that the custard doesn’t stick. Did you put in sufficient sugar?” Abuela asked.

  “I think so.”

  Abuela chuckled at something on the screen. “This show is stupid. But it makes me laugh, and I don’t have to think so hard when I watch it.”

  Growing up in a bilingual household, Grace had taken her knowledge of Spanish for granted. When she spoke English, she thought in English, and when she spoke Spanish, she thought in Spanish. But Abuela had learned English as a grown woman. There were certain sounds that were difficult for her to make, like the y sound in yellow. Grace found herself thinking of Joe and his “resume.” Exactly how fluent was his Spanish? she wondered. Grace had been to Mexico a few times, but to resort areas like Cancún and Acapulco. She’d seen the poverty, though. It was hard to miss. What was Guatemala like? And what had inspired Joe to go there right after dental school, at a time when he was probably anxious to start making money? He was a mystery, that was for sure.

  “Give it a shake,” Abuela said, pointing to the stove.

  Grace gave the skillet a jiggle. Watching the sugar melt was her favorite part, the transformation from solid to liquid as the white crystals morphed into a lovely brown liquid caramel, all gooey and hot. As a child the temptation to stick her finger in the syrup had always gotten her a whack on the bottom. But it had been worth it each time.