Perfectly Matched: ...And the Rest of the Matchmaking Chef Books

by Maddie James

  “Nooooo…” She started dialing.

  “Did you lock the door?”

  “Dead bolted it, too.”

  “Calling the police?”

  “Yes!”

  “I didn’t know you had a stalker.”

  “It just hit me it was him. Shit! I invited him into my home!”

  “Oh crap, Suzie.”

  “He wasn’t the one for you, Lyssa.”

  “Hell’s bells, Suzie, I knew that from the moment you said Stubbs. I’m not marrying anyone, no matter how tempting, whose name is Stubbs.”

  “Why?”

  “Think about it.”

  “Oh.” She slammed down the phone. “Busy! How can the Legend police department number be busy! I’ll call Matt’s cell.”

  “Are we on for tomorrow then?”

  “Sure.” Suzie drummed her fingers on the counter.

  “Suzie, may I take my lunch?”

  She filled a to-go box while chattering with Matt, then shoved the box into Lyssa’s hands. She knew that was her cue to leave.

  “Lock the door behind me,” she mouthed to Suzie, who fluttered her away with her hands and followed her toward the door. Lyssa heard the clicks behind her as she stepped onto the wide porch.

  Once she got to the car, she heaved out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

  “One suitor/stalker down and how many more to go…”

  ****

  On Wednesday, Suitor Number Two was dismissed just as the entrée of a cold roast beef sandwich with alfalfa sprouts and horseradish sauce hit the table. Lyssa’s stomach growled and SN2 snorted and laughed, which of course, gave her a tremendous headache since she disliked anyone laughing at her, and she excused herself and headed toward the powder room. Since SN2 hadn’t touched his sandwich, Lyssa ate both hers and his that day because, well, roast beef with horseradish was like her very favorite thing.

  Suitor Number Three arrived Thursday on horseback, sharing that he lived just up the mountain. Lyssa had seen the guy around over the years and thought he was a hermit. Turns out, Suzie told her, he’d invested wisely and pinched every penny that came his way and could afford to be a hermit if he wanted to. He’d somehow divulged at the grocery store the other day that he was considering taking a wife.

  Suzie’s interest, of course, was piqued.

  “You might get a good divorce settlement if you pick him,” she joked. “Maybe we should talk pre-nup.”

  Lyssa wouldn’t even let Suzie bring him into the house. Suzie made some excuse and sent the poor man on his way, ripped jeans, flannel shirt, beard, and all.

  That day they had vegetable lasagna. Suzie refused to let her eat SN3’s portion for lunch, but said she could take it home for dinner. Lyssa did, however, eat both of the chocolate-pecan brownie sundaes Suzie made for their dessert. Suzie even splurged and had one with her.

  Then on Friday, SN4 made his appearance. By then, Lyssa was rather tired of the whole charade.

  “I really think this one has potential.”

  Lyssa blew her bangs straight up. “Why do you think this one is different?”

  Cocking her head to one side and tucking a finger under her chin, Suzie replied, “Well, let me tick off the reasons: he wears a suit to work every day, he’s clean-shaven, has a respectable job in the community, and is handsome as hell.”

  Lyssa’s hopes went up a bit. “So, do you think he might be more than the divorcing kind?”

  “I think he’s the marrying for life kind.”

  “Really?”

  Suzie nodded. “Really.”

  “And he’s from Legend? Do I know him?”

  “You do.”

  “Quit jerking me around. Does he know it’s me he’s coming to meet?”

  “Yes, he does. He’s quite excited about it, Lyssa. He could be the one.”

  Lyssa bit her lip. “The marrying kind, huh?”

  “The forever kind.”

  “Holy shit!”

  The doorbell chimed.

  “Holy something…” Suzie muttered and started for the door. “Go to your spot.”

  For some gawd-awful reason, her tummy started to twitter like a million butterflies just took off inside her. Shit. Shit! Could this be the one? Who in the heck could it be?

  Her mind ticked through men in town she knew. Men in suits. Men with good jobs. Men who were single and the marrying forever kind.

  She drew a blank.

  “Hell’s bells…” She wrung her hands and sat at the little table. Her denim skirt was a tad snug, so she shifted on the dainty chair. Her jacket was a little tight, too, so she reached to her breast to flick open the button—which went flying off to the right and ricocheted off the picture window. It rolled and she watched it skitter under the table. Not wanting to lose it, she scooted the dainty chair back, bent to reach and… rrrrriiiiippppp!

  The zipper on her denim skirt broke; she grasped her abdomen and jerked forward.

  The chair tipped.

  One leg broke.

  A screeching sound met her ears as the chair collapsed and her left hip hit the floor.

  “Oh, crap! Ow.”

  With that, she cursed a blue streak until a very male hand with long fingers reached down and asked to help her up.

  “Are you all right?” he queried.

  Her gaze rose to his face and her mouth went dry. “Uh, sure...” In no time she was hoisted to her feet. She looked at the man and… “Reverend Peters?”

  “Yes, Alyssa.”

  “Oh. Um. Thank you. I mean, the button flew off and…” She clutched her belly again.

  Was her skirt gapping open? And what was that chirping from across the room? “Would you excuse me a moment? I…I need to fix…”

  He smiled with two perfect rows of white teeth and her stomach quivered. He was quite handsome for a preacher man. “Of course. I’ll be here waiting.”

  She could just die!

  In two steps she snatched her handbag from an upholstered chair—the chirping was from her cell phone—and waddled off to the kitchen with Suzie on her heels.

  “Get back in there. You do not have a headache.”

  “No, but I’ve got a busted zipper and my cell is ringing.”

  “Well, what do you expect with the zipper, Lyssa? You’ve been eating like crazy lately. Geez! And let voicemail pick up the call. You’ve got things to do here.”

  “Just help me fix it.” She grasped Suzie’s hands. “Oh, God, Suzie. It’s Reverend Peters.

  From the Methodist Church. What the f—?”

  “Don’t say it.”

  “Okay. I won’t. But… I can’t divorce a preacher.”

  “He’s not the divorcing kind. He’s the marrying kind, remember? And he’s interested. He told me he’s been watching you walk the pups all week and thinking about you.”

  Her tummy felt a little weird. “Potential?”

  “I think so.”

  “But I never pictured myself with a man of the cloth.”

  “Could be what you need.”

  “Why do you say that? I’m not a bad girl or anything.”

  “Of course not, Lyssa, I just mean he could be just what you are looking for.”

  “What I am looking for is a man to divorce. Reverend Peters is obviously not that man.

  Heck, I don’t even know his first name.”

  “Rock.”

  “What?”

  “His name is Rock. Rock Peters.”

  Lyssa stared at her. “Get out of town.”

  “I’m not kidding you. He says his mother loved Rock Hudson. Named her baby boy after him.”

  “No shit.”

  “Shit.”

  Lyssa’s gaze drifted away. “Mrs. Reverend Rock Peters…” She jerked her gaze back. “I can’t marry a man named Rock Peters.”

  Suzie pursed her lips, then blurted out. “For God’s sake, Lyssa! Quit choosing your future husbands to divorce because of their name. You didn’t want to marry a Stub
by so I got you a Rock Peters. What the hell do you want?”

  Lyssa plopped onto a bar stool and her skirt ripped the rest of the way. She fiddled with her purse and retrieved her phone. “All right. All freakin’ right. I’ll go speed-lunch with the almighty Reverend Rock Peters.”

  “Good girl. Look at it this way. If you marry him forever, you still make your goal, right?

  You just skipped the middle man.”

  “Great.”

  “Now, let’s fix that zipper. I’ve got some safety pins in my bedroom.”

  Lyssa stood and Suzie eye-balled her.

  “Better yet, let’s just find a long sweater to cover up the gap.”

  “Sure. Okay. Fine.”

  “Then go try it with Reverend Peters. That’s all I ask. Just give it a whirl.”

  Lyssa scowled, wondering what kind of whirl Rock Peters could give. As Suzie stalked off toward her bedroom, Lyssa flipped open her phone.

  Mack.

  Mack had called?

  Not an email. Not a text. But a call. Upon closer inspection, she realized she had a voicemail, too. Voice. She would hear his voice?

  Suddenly, all thoughts of giving the good Reverend Rock Peters a whirl lost its appeal. And that wasn’t a good thing. For some insane reason, she was harboring romantic thoughts about the mysterious Mack Roberts—who had a wife, lest she forget.

  She’d seen the picture in the entryway.

  Chapter Five

  Once again, Mack closed his cell phone and felt reflective. Why on earth he had called her, he didn’t know.

  Well, dammit, yes he did. He was frustrated and tired and wanted some connection to home. And Ms. Larkin? She represented that, somewhat, because of the pups. She was taking care of his babies, and they were all he had right now.

  That saddened him, and he didn’t quite know what to do with that feeling.

  “Let it go,” he muttered. He’d touch base with her later in the day. Much later. Right now, there was work to tend to.

  But before he could reach the door of his hotel room, his cell binged, indicating he had a text message.

  Sorry I missed your call. The babies are fine. Everyone has been fed and walked and played with.

  He smiled at that, imagining her walking them, talking to them, playing with them…her long dark hair swung over her shoulder. Long hair was such a damned turn-on for him. At least he imagined it long and dark, that was how it looked in the very bad pics he’d seen of her.

  Another message popped up.

  Talk later. I have a lunch date.

  At that instant, something snapped in his chest. Lunch date?

  What the hell?

  He didn’t like the sound of that. Not one bit.

  ****

  Lyssa’s chest lifted, and fell, with a tension-releasing sigh. Propped in the center of her king-sized bed, she made a nest for herself with pillows and dogs. Paws was snuggled to her left, his head resting on her hipbone; Buttercup on her right, cuddled snug up into her armpit. Seems they had taken a liking to those exact positions. She was not protesting.

  With a book open across her tummy, she closed her eyes, trying to relax. Today, as each day this entire week had been, was exhaustingly long—more mental than physical exhaustion, to be sure.

  She ticked off her “dates” for the week. The stalker. The hermit. The roast beef guy. And then, Rev. Rock Peters.

  Rock Peters.

  How utterly amusing. The preacher at the Methodist Church was interested in her?

  Snickering, she recalled how he doted on her during their lunch. How he’d seen her to her chair, his hand at her elbow, because he didn’t want her to fall again. She recalled the ease of their conversation; how he leaned forward and hung on to her every word. How he took her elbow and guided her to her car when they left.

  And, how he dipped his head close to her cheek—so close she could smell his spicy aftershave—and left her with a very faint brushing kiss across her right cheekbone.

  A gentleman, to be sure.

  Could the Reverend Rock Peters be the man?

  Now she was totally confused. What was her goal here? To find a man to divorce? Or to find the man of her dreams?

  Man of her dreams.

  At once, her thoughts turned to the dreamy voice that came from her cell phone voicemail earlier in the day, as well. The voice of Mack Robert’s, inquiring about the pups’ day, telling her he had only a moment to check in, would touch base later.

  First email. Then text. Finally voicemail.

  Why was she intrigued?

  A faint rat-a-tat-tat sounded from the night stand. She glanced at her alarm clock then to her phone doing a little bounce. Past ten. Someone was calling? Her cell repeated the jiggle against the wood. Who in the world? Paws snored on; Buttercup’s right ear twitched.

  She retrieved the phone.

  A familiar number flashed at her.

  “Hello?”

  “I know it’s very late there and I truly am sorry. I totally forgot the time change until you said hello. Okay, that’s not entirely true. So tell me I’m insane for calling so late, hang up on me, and I’ll call you back in the morning.”

  Lyssa paused at the outburst from the other end. And smiled.

  “Mack?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  He exhaled into the phone. “No. Yes. I mean. That was supposed to be my line. About the dogs, I mean. Being okay.”

  For some reason, Lyssa couldn’t keep both sides of her mouth from curling up into a huge smile. She sank back into her nest. Mack had called her. About the dogs, of course. And she was listening, once again, to his voice and well, she liked it.

  Deep and sexy. Kind of like a double-dose of robust coffee and dark chocolate.

  She liked that. A lot.

  “The babies are fine, Mack. I will let you know if anything is wrong.”

  “I’m bugging you. Sorry.”

  “No. No.” Don’t go away, please? “You’re not bugging me. They are your babies. You have every right to call and check up on them.”

  “Were you asleep?”

  “No, just laying here reading.”

  “In bed?”

  “Well, um…yes.”

  Another pause.

  “Sorry. I’ll let you go.”

  She didn’t want him to go. “No! Truly. It’s really all right. Did you have a puppy question?”

  “Just checking in. Sure you don’t mind?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Okay.”

  Another very awkward silence followed. He didn’t say a word, and Lyssa felt compelled to say…something. But what?

  “Um. Your business going well this week?”

  Shit. Shit! Why did she say that? That was personal. This was a business relationship she had with him. Not personal. Besides, she reminded herself, he had a wife…

  Then what was he doing calling her? The dogs. Of course.

  “Helluva week.”

  “Here, too.” Getting personal. Getting personal!

  “Wanna trade stories?”

  Damn. Then she would have to tell him about… “Sure. You go first.”

  Insane. I’m insane.

  He did. She heard about the client and the social networking platform and the grandson of the real estate mogul and the “boys” and the huge contract that was on the line. He also told her that he was planning to finish his business by Monday afternoon and take a red-eye home that night. He’d pick up the babies early on Tuesday.

  After he spilled all of that, she said, “Do you feel better now?”

  “What?”

  “Your voice sounds less tense. Was it good to talk about it?”

  “It’s nice to have a conversation without the pressure of work, etcetera.” She listened for another second or two and then he said, “Your turn.”

  “Oh, me? Just sorta normal…”

  “Hm. I don’t think so. You echoed my helluva week comment earlier.


  “Oh. Yes.”

  They both fell silent.

  “So?”

  “Well, I walked the dogs. Your two are my only clients this week. So it’s been fun having them.”

  “And?”

  “And I did a little part-time work with my friends Sydney and Suzie, helping them cater a reception.” That was on Saturday, but she was stretching coming up with things to say here.

  “And?”

  She bit her lip. What was he getting at?

  “And…well, I did a ton of laundry and returned some library books.”

  “And…?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Lunch, Lyssa. You had a lunch date.”

  I had a whole slew of them buster, but not sure I want to go there with you.

  “Oh. Yes. I did. How…?”

  “You texted it. Today.”

  Ah, that’s right.

  “So, how was it?”

  “It was…” What should I say? “Interesting.”

  “Will you see him again?”

  “I, uh…”

  He cleared this throat. “First date? Not your first date ever, I mean, because you’re an attractive lady, and I’m sure you’ve had hordes of dates with guys before…but first with this guy?”

  She was an attractive lady? How did he know that? They’d never met. Oh. My. God.

  Another stalker?

  “I could be butt-ugly for all you know.”

  He choked on the other end. “Oh boy. Stuck my foot in it, didn’t I?”

  “I don’t know. Did you?”

  “I Googled you.”

  “You what?”

  “Googled. Your name. You were the Legend Homecoming Queen of 1997.”

  Stalker! Stalker! What should she say?

  “Why would you Google me!”

  “Hell, I’m scaring you.”

  “As long as you don’t want to do things to me with a pancake turner, I’m okay.”

  Mack laughed straight out loud. “Promise. I’m as safe and boring as they come. I just wanted to see what I could find out about the woman who is taking care of my pups.”

  “Oh.”

  “So?”

  “What?

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  And what question would that be? Thoughts twirled in her brain like an out of control carousel. Perhaps she had allowed this conversation to go on for far too long.

  “Um.” She yawned. Would he take the hint or would she have to end the call? “What question was that?”