Too Smart For Marriage

by Cathie Linz

  “He always did love a treasure hunt when he was a young boy,” Claire said fondly.

  “Really? I would never have guessed that. So what kind of treasure are you looking for, David?” Anastasia asked as she walked over to the blueprints.

  “I’m not looking for treasure.”

  “You should be,” Claire said. “This building has a colorful history.”

  He looked at his grandmother with surprise. “You know about that?”

  “Just that there were rumors that the place had once been used as a speakeasy.”

  “No kidding!” Anastasia was impressed. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because she didn’t want you knocking out the walls looking for hidden rooms,” David replied.

  Anastasia frowned. “Why would I do that?”

  “So that’s what you’ve been doing down here in the basement,” Claire said with a slow smile.

  Anastasia glanced from David to Claire. “What do you mean?”

  “David has found something,” Claire replied.

  “He has?”

  Claire nodded before turning to her grandson. “Tell her.”

  “It’s no big deal,” David maintained. “All 1 found was a three-foot discrepancy between the measurements in the blueprints and the actual measurements of the walls down here. It could and most likely is just a simple error.”

  “Then why were you knocking on the walls?” Anastasia asked.

  “Because he was looking for a secret storage room,” Claire replied on his behalf.

  “Maybe I was looking for termites,” David retorted.

  “The building is brick,” Claire said, “and we already had that pest control company give it a clean bill of health.”

  “Okay, so I was looking for a storage room of some kind.”

  “You don’t have to make it sound as if you’d committed some awful crime you feel terrible about,” Anastasia gently chastised him. “This is exciting. This is cool. This is—”

  “Probably nothing,” he interjected, trying to be practical. “Look what happened when Geraldo Rivera had that disastrous special where he opened Al Capone’s safe on live TV. There was nothing of value inside.”

  But even as David spoke, Anastasia could see the light in his eyes and she knew that whether he wanted to admit it or not, he was hooked on following what amounted to a treasure-hunting dream.

  She couldn’t help herself. Going over to him, she gave him a big bear hug and whispered, “I’m so proud of you.”

  He looked down at her with typical male confusion at her unexpected action before adding a typical, for him, word of caution. “There’s no sense getting your hopes up.”

  She grinned at him. “Ah, but then I’ve never been known to be sensible.”

  She couldn’t be sure, but she could have sworn that he murmured, “Thank heaven for that.”

  “HE’S STARTING TO BEND.” Betty was practically smacking her lips with satisfaction. “I told you that adding the temptation of a secret room would get him on the road to believing in dreams.”

  “I still fail to see the connection,” Hattie said from atop the intricately carved post on the mirrored back bar behind the counter.

  “He’s on a treasure hunt,” Betty explained. “Just like he was when he was a kid.”

  Hattie frowned. “But we’re supposed to be working on uniting Anastasia with her soul mate, that’s our job. Not making David believe in dreams.”

  “To do one we have to do the other.”

  “This is getting complicated.” Hattie rubbed her forehead with her magic wand as she muttered, “You know how I feel about complicated. I don’t like it.”

  “You don’t like khaki, either,” Muriel said, “but that doesn’t change the reality of life. And the reality is that we need David to believe in dreams before he and Anastasia can have a happily-ever-after.”

  “I’ll bet guardian angels don’t have to deal with things like this,” Hattie grumbled. “I’ll bet they have easier lives than we do. They have to, with those gorgeous elegant wings they have. Not these little stubby ones like we’re stuck with.”

  “I’ve told you before, your wings are just as aerodynamically sound as a guardian angel’s are,” Muriel retorted. “Besides, you have nothing to complain about. You’re not the one with an ear infection that makes flying difficult. I keep losing my equilibrium.”

  Hattie waved her wand in the air as an idea struck her. “I’ll bet that’s what happened when I accidentally spilled too much intelligence-and-attitude fairy dust on Anastasia. I’ll bet I had an ear infection and never knew it.”

  “Nice try, but you spilled it because you were showing off, as usual. As I recall, you were practicing fairy dust with a flourish, going on about how presentation is everything, and flaunting that showy velvet pillow you’ve got…”

  “It’s not showy!” Hattie protested. “It’s royal purple velvet draped with elegant folds of sheer chiffon shot through with strands of gold and purple threads. Nestled in the midst of all that splendor is a glorious gilded vessel adorned with cherubs.”

  “Right,” Muriel scoffed. “Like I said. Showy. And it wasn’t your equilibrium that was off, it was the pillow’s. You couldn’t resist giving us one of your triumphantly superior looks, and the break in your concentration was enough for the pillow to tilt and spill the fairy dust.”

  “Oh, horsefeathers!” Hattie exclaimed. “As if you’d remember details like that thirty-three years later.”

  Muriel shrugged. “That’s only a blink of an eye in fairy-godmother time.”

  “Enough, you two,” Betty growled. “If we could return to the subject of Anastasia and David? Now, as I’ve said, I think Claire has been tremendously useful in keeping things moving along. You saw how Anastasia’s face softened when Claire said that David had hunted treasure as a kid?”

  Hattie and Muriel nodded.

  “Good. Then we continue with our plan, keeping in mind that timing is everything. If David discovers that room too soon, it won’t have the effect we want. Ditto if it’s too late. Understand?”

  Hattie raised her hand. “Um, how do we know when the time is right?”

  “It’s your job to know.”

  “It’s my job to do a lot of things I can’t do,” Hattie muttered.

  “Your magic wand will glow when the time is right,” Betty said.

  “Provided she can see it,” Muriel interjected. “Remember, she’s the one who wouldn’t wear her glasses and hence got us in the wrong line in heaven.”

  Hattie glared at Muriel. “I don’t appreciate that comment As if you could have done any better.”

  “I could have.”

  “But you didn’t, so put a sock in it!” Hattie flew down to join Muriel on the white marble counter, pulling up the sleeves on her golden chiffon gown as if preparing for a fisticuffs. “I’ve had enough of your harping on this! So back off!”

  To Hattie’s astonishment, Muriel grinned at her and gave her a big hug of approval. “That’s better! You’ve learned how to stand up for yourself and fight like a fairy godmother. Good for you. Now I know you’re my sister.”

  “Mine, too,” Betty said with approval, joining them in a group hug.

  “Watch my hat.” Hattie clasped it to her silvery curls with one hand as she returned their sisterly embrace with the other, before adding, “And while you’re feeling so jolly, why don’t you just let me do a bit of redecorating in here? They don’t have the color scheme right yet. All this red, white and blue. I feel like I’m in a production of Damn Yankees. They need more lavender and pink.”

  With a whisk of her magic wand, Hattie transformed the walls into lavender and pink stripes.

  “Forget it,” Betty said, returning the room to its former colors. “You’re a fairy godmother, for petunia’s sake, not Martha Stewart. Save your magic for the big stuff.”

  “DO YOU UNDERSTAND where I’m coming from?” Anastasia was sitting in the softer of her two cozy
chintz chairs, her cat curled up on her lap and gazing up at her with blue eyes. “It’s not that I’m taking the mouse’s side over yours. My brother had a pet mouse so I can’t just kill this mouse that’s bothering you.

  And, okay, I admit my reluctance might also have something to do with the Miss Mouse puppet I sometimes use at storytime at work. Heck, for all I know, it could have started the first time I ever saw Mickey Mouse. Just like reading Charlotte’s Web traumatized me about killing spiders, I now have this thing against hurting mice.”

  She paused to rub Xena’s ears the way the feline loved before continuing. “Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want him living here any more than you do. And I can’t believe he had the nerve to show up again. But I’ve reset the trap. The next time I catch him, I’m taking him for a long ride. Well, not too long, he gets all hyper when he’s confined and I don’t want him to hurt himself.”

  The cat purred.

  It was all the encouragement Anastasia needed to go on. “And it’s not as if you’re the only one upset around here. Put yourself in my shoes. David is driving me crazy. One minute I think he’s impossible, then I think he’s got potential, then I think he’s adorable and sexy as all get out. What’s wrong with me?”

  Anastasia looked around her living room as if she could find the answer there. She’d deliberately left this room mostly empty, allowing the few pieces to speak for themselves. The colorful Moroccan table should have clashed with the chintz-covered chairs, each with a different floral pattern, but it didn’t. The same way that the “Silence Is Golden” Balinese wood carving of a mask with a finger to its lips complemented rather than distracted from the posters and framed prints of her favorite children’s-book illustrators, from Susan Jeffers to old-fashioned classics by Jessie Wilcox Smith, that also adorned the walls.

  Finding no answer in her surroundings, she resumed her monologue with Xena. “You know that David kissed me and then left me hanging. Of course, that night he took me to Rosa’s I did kiss him and leave him hanging. So I guess we’re even now. But I have this feeling that it’s going to be up to me to make the next move. I should just do it, right? Not sit here talking to you about it. Okay.” She reached for the phone. “I’m calling him now.”

  She’d gotten David’s phone number the morning after his jumping jacks had woken her up before dawn. “Are you busy?” she asked, barely giving him time to say hello.

  “Depends why you’re asking,” he cautiously replied.

  Her voice was husky with promise as she said, “Meet me downstairs in the ice-cream parlor in half an hour and you’ll find out.”

  SHE MET HIM even sooner than that, running into him on the stairs leading downstairs. She’d changed from the cutoffs and T-shirt she’d worn earlier in the day into a comfortable amber-colored rayon challis dress that flowed around her legs as she walked. Her buttery soft sandals made tiny clicking sounds on the steps as she tried to regain her balance.

  His arms came around her to steady her. She felt warm and protected until he used his high-handed voice on her. “You move too fast.”

  “You have this tendency to be bossy, have you noticed?” she asked as she stepped away to unlock the door to The Big Dipper with the key Claire had given her. David had a similar key, but she’d gotten to the door first.

  “Me?” he said in disbelief, following her inside. “You should talk. You’re the one who likes ordering people around.”

  “I do not”

  “What about when your brothers were here earlier?”

  “Brothers don’t count,” she replied, flicking a switch that turned on the Tiffany-style lamps on either side of the mirrored back bar, illuminating the area with a warm glow. “And I’ll have you know that they’ve ordered me around plenty. Especially Jason. And that made me determined to grow up and not have anyone tell me what to do. You can’t imagine what it’s like growing up with bossy brothers.”

  “No, I can’t.”

  His words made her realize he’d grown up without any siblings and without his parents. “I’m sorry. I guess your childhood was very different from mine.”

  He shrugged. “I was lucky to have such wonderful grandparents. My grandfather died a few days after I graduated from college. His heart gave out. I never even knew that he’d been a soda jerk or that he and my grandmother met in an ice-cream parlor. You knew before I did.”

  She sensed that was a sore point with him. Wanting to cheer him up, she grinned and said, “Yeah, well, sometimes I’m nosy that way.”

  “You take the time to listen.”

  “I can teach you how to do that. Starting tonight It all starts with ice cream and imagination. The only caveat is that you have to keep your hands at your sides at all times. Think you can manage that? This will be a test of your willpower.”

  “I’m known for my willpower,” he bragged.

  “That’s what I figured. So something like this—” she leaned forward to place a string of tiny kisses along his chin “—wouldn’t bother you in the least, right?”

  “Right.” His resonant voice was even gruffer than usual, and sexier.

  Anastasia smiled with anticipation. She was looking forward to this. He might have said on the stairway that she moved too fast, but she didn’t think he’d complain about her boldness tonight.

  “So what’s the big surprise?” he demanded.

  “Come behind the counter and you’ll see. Well, actually, you might not see, because I’ll have to blindfold you for this next segment.”

  “Will this procedure involve silk sheets and handcuffs?” He made the question sound hopeful.

  “No. Why? Were you counting on that?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Too bad. You’ll have to use your imagination instead.” Leaning closer, she arranged the black silk scarf she’d just undone from around her own throat so that it covered his eyes. “No peeking,” she warned him.

  “You’re not going to be doing anything that passersby shouldn’t be seeing, are you?” he asked with equal parts of anticipation and concern.

  “Like stripping naked, you mean?”

  “Yeah, that would qualify,” he noted dryly.

  “Of course not.”

  “Too bad.”

  She laughed. “Okay, let’s get started with a little biology lesson.”

  “That sounds promising.”

  “Did you know that your tongue is the home for nine thousand taste buds and that each little taste bud has ten to fifteen receptors that tell the brain if something you’re tasting is salty, sour or sweet?”

  David shook his head. All he knew was that talking about tongues got him thinking wicked thoughts about licking melting ice cream from her naked body. That was probably her plan. To drive him crazy. Well, two could play that game.

  Blindly reaching out, he got lucky and captured her hand. Lifting it to his mouth, he licked the sensitive skin between her thumb and index fingers. “Mmm, sweet and salty. All nine thousand taste buds agree.”

  Relying on his sense of touch, he uncurled her fingers until he found her palm. He swirled his tongue in a seductive pattern intended to melt her kneecaps.

  She had to clear her throat twice before she could speak. “Are you ready to sample some of the goodies?”

  “More than ready.” His voice was husky.

  “Open up.”

  He parted his lips, ready to consume her mouth in a kiss hot enough to peel paint Instead, she slipped a tiny plastic scoop of something cold and tasty in his mouth.

  “No one knows for certain where or when ice cream was first created,” she said, “but there are lots of colorful stories about its origins. In the first century, it’s said that Emperor Nero was so addicted that he sent runners to the Alps for snow.”

  David was beginning to understand the concept of addiction. He was becoming addicted to the sexy sound of her voice; That storyteller, Scheherazade, must have had a voice like Anastasia’s.

  “It took a month to bring the snow
back to Rome where Nero would eat it flavored with fruit juices or honey. What you’re sampling now is a cherry sorbet.”

  The cherry taste and image made him think of her lips and how they’d taste after the cold sorbet. Before he could find out, she’d put another tiny sample in his mouth.

  “Legend has it that Marco Polo came back from his journeys in China with a recipe for frozen cream. It became known as gelati, iced cream. What you’re sampling now is a rich French vanilla. When Catherine de Médicis moved to France to marry the king, she brought along her chef who knew how to make gelati and the French were exposed to the delights.”

  David could swear she was using these words deliberately. Exposed. Delights. He was getting all hot and bothered thinking about her body, not blasted ice cream.

  “Are you still listening?” she asked. “After all, this is supposed to be an exercise in listening and focusing on your senses.”

  “Oh, I’m focusing, all right,” he said hoarsely. He didn’t tell her on what.

  “In the 1600s Charles the First of England hired a French chef who brought the recipe for ice cream with him. The English king paid the chef to keep the recipe a royal secret, but once the king was beheaded, the secret of ice-cream making spread around the world. George Washington ate it, spending two hundred dollars on ice cream in one summer. That was a small fortune in those days. But the taste is so sinfully delicious, who can resist it?” She slipped another sample in his mouth.

  Sinful, most definitely. The ice cream was good but she was better, building things up the way you built a good fire. With enough embers beneath it to sustain the flames.

  “Americans created ice-cream cones and ice-cream sodas. And then there’s the ice-cream sundae, which legend has it was developed right here in Evanston, sometimes called ‘Heavenston’ because of its strict observance of the Sabbath. Men who worked on Sunday would receive a written rebuke in the local newspaper. Selling ice-cream sodas on Sundays was looked upon as a wicked distraction and was outlawed.”