Ms. Match Meets a Millionaire

by Pamela DuMond

  Chapter 17

  Harper

  *

  Moments passed. Heavenly, delicious moments making out with Ethan Rosseaux in his grandmother’s hospital room in the middle of the night. Everything was perfect. Until we were interrupted by the sound of a hospital bed rattling down the hallway.

  “Crap!” He said.

  “I shouldn’t be here.”

  “Why not?”

  “Might surprise your grandmother. You don’t know what kind of shape she’s in,” Harper said.

  “Too late to leave,” he said, as someone pushed open the entry from the corridor. “Bathroom!”

  I grabbed my purse. “Give me the sign when I can sneak out.”

  He gave me a thumbs up.

  I raced into the bathroom and quietly closed the door.

  *

  Fifteen minutes later I brushed off my top and wiped my smudged lipstick with a tissue. I ran a hand through my hair and splashed cold water on my face, and checked my reflection in the mirror. I couldn’t help eavesdropping on Ethan’s conversation with Marte on the other side of the bathroom door.

  “Tell me what happened, Grandma.”

  “I don’t know. One second I was walking to the bathroom, the next I was on the ground with my ankle twisted under me. And I was scared.” Her voice was crackly. She sounded tired and doped up from whatever painkillers she’d been given.

  “You’re not scared of much.”

  “I know. And then I got scared about being scared.”

  “Everything will be okay. Promise.”

  Ethan was so sweet with her. I cracked the bathroom door and peeked out, waiting for his signal. He sat on the vinyl chair next to her bed and stroked Marte’s hand. He snuck a glance at me and gave me a simple thumbs up.

  I eased out of the lavatory hunched over like a kid who feared she’d be caught with her hand in the cookie jar. I snuck toward the door and lifted one hand to my face in the universal symbol for ‘Call me’.

  He winked. “Grandma, were you saying something?”

  I was so good at this secretive stuff, just seconds away from a full escape.

  “Yes. Tell Harper to stay.”

  His brows shot into his forehead. “Harper who?”

  “My friend, the cute young lady who’s trying to sneak out of the room.”

  “Oh, that Harper. Grandma wants you to stay, Harper.”

  “Yes, well, all right then.” I stood up and ran my hands through my hair. I made my way back into the room. I hoped Marte didn’t know what had just transpired. “How are you feeling?”

  “Like crap.”

  “I’m sorry.” I took a seat on the opposite side of the bed from Ethan.

  “Don’t sit there,” she said. “I can’t look at you if you sit over there. It hurts my ankle.”

  “It hurts your ankle if I sit on this chair?”

  “Yes,” she said, pointing to her grandson. “Sit over there. Next to Ethan.”

  “But there isn’t a chair next to Ethan.” I moved around the bed toward the side he was on.

  “Be a gentleman and give my friend Harper a hand,” she said.

  He stood up and gestured to his chair.

  “No, kind sir. I don’t want to kick you out of your seat.”

  “Perhaps we could share.”

  “Hah hah. You are so funny, Mr. Rosseaux, whom I have just met for the first time.”

  “I could swear we’d met once before.” He ran his tongue over his lips.

  “I’m sure you have,” Mrs. R. said. “Harper. I have a proposition for you. Ethan is my favorite grandson.”

  “Thanks Grandma.”

  “That’s sweet,” I said.

  “He’s also my most stubborn grandson.”

  “Troublemakers can be endearing,” I said.

  “In the short time I’ve known you, Harper, I’ve gotten the sense you are an ethical person.”

  An ethical person who just made out with her grandson in her hospital room.

  “Thank you, Mrs. R.”

  “And, you’re an up and coming matchmaker.”

  “I am.”

  “You are?” Ethan raised one eyebrow.

  “Yes.”

  “Hold on—you’re the person that matched Biltenhouse to what’s-her-name?”

  “Lesley,” I said. “But enough about jobs and such.” I took Mrs. R.’s hand in mine and caressed it. “How are you feeling?” My fingers grazed over her prominent veins, liver spots, tendons, and knobby arthritic joints filled with care and eighty-three years of nurturing others. A beautiful hand.

  “When I slipped and hit the floor tonight I didn’t know if this was the big one, a little one, or something in-between,” she said.

  “Been there,” I said.

  “It is my most sincere wish that Ethan find the right woman. That he get married and find his perfect wife.”

  “I’m sure that will happen,” I said, staring at Ethan’s very full lips, his thick, messy hair. I couldn’t help but think with a twinge of regret that the ‘right’ woman would also be a lucky woman—at least in the kissing department.

  “I want to attend Ethan’s wedding to the right woman, instead of someone I’d be happy just sending a celebratory gift certificate. Would you do me the honor of being his matchmaker?”

  Ethan looked at me and shook his head.

  The smart words vacated my brain. “Uh…”

  “I’ll pay you a king’s ransom,” she said.

  Ethan mimed slicing his throat with one finger.

  “I’m relatively new to this profession. I’m sure you want someone more experienced.”

  “No, I want you. I get a good feeling about you, Harper. Find my grandson the right girl to settle down with.” She batted her big, round baby blue eyes at me. “And make me a happy woman before I die.”

  I sighed. “Yes, Mrs. R. I promise you that I will find the right girl for Ethan.”

  Chapter 18

  Ethan

  *

  “Well, what in the hell would you have said?” Harper asked.

  “I would have said no.” I frowned and shut the door of the cab that had dropped us off outside her apartment on Chicago’s south side in a neighborhood I’d never visited before.

  “She stared up at me all sweet and needy with a possibly broken ankle,” Harper said.

  “Badly sprained.”

  “You say po-tay-to, I say po-tah-to. It’s obvious she adores you and only wants to see you get married so her heart is secure before she leaves this Earthly realm.”

  “What are you talking about?” I sputtered. “My grandma’s not going anywhere anytime soon.”

  She took my hand. “I know. That’s not what I’m trying to suggest. It’s just at eighty-three, she’s probably got less years in front of her than behind her.”

  “Thank you for making my night even better.”

  She squeezed my hand. “I thought tonight was pretty good. It turned out a lot better than I anticipated.”

  The sun was rising in the east over Lake Michigan, the colors sifting through the winter air. The colder tones made Harper’s face appear fresh, even though she had light, blue-gray circles under her eyes from not sleeping. Her post-make out blush had disappeared.

  I was an honorable man. I was a horny man. I needed to step up to the plate and do the right thing. Put that glow back on her pretty face. I squeezed her hand back. “You’re right. Hey, I was thinking…” I looked up at the three-story walkup with the dirty patches of snow on the ground and the skinny Christmas tree featuring one strand of lights in the first-floor window.

  “Oh no,” she said, reaching up and kissing me on the cheek. She lingered for a long moment before pulling away. “Now that I’m on the job we won’t be doing that again.”

  “We should definitely be doing that again.”

  “I don’t work for you, Ethan,” she said walking away from me toward the apartment building. “You might be my client, but technically I work
for your grandmother.”

  “Dang.” My heart dropped into my stomach.

  She stuck her key in the door.

  “You need to re-think my offer. That tree of yours needs decorating. Did you deliberately buy Charlie Brown’s Christmas tree?”

  She glanced back at me. “That’s not my tree. I live on the third floor.”

  “Long way from the first floor to the third. I should escort you to your apartment,” I said. The street lights dimmed as the sun rose higher in the winter skies. “That would be the gentlemanly thing to do.”

  “It would,” she said, entering her building. “But then I’d be tempted to ask you inside. You’d take off your coat and see my pathetic hovel decorated with shitty furniture from second hand stores. You’d probably feel sorry for me.”

  “No, I wouldn’t. I’m not that guy. Is your opinion of me that low?”

  “You’re Ethan Rosseaux from Chicago. I’m Harper Schubert from Oconomowoc, Wisconsin. We were raised miles apart. And I don’t mean geographically.”

  “I don’t give a crap about that kind of stuff. Besides, I used to live in Wisconsin. My life was simple.”

  “By choice.”

  “Let me a gentleman, Harper,” I said, walking a few hopeful steps toward her.

  “Not a good idea, Ethan.”

  “An excellent idea.”

  “You’d meet my whiney cat.”

  “I love him already.”

  “And then I’d want you to make me an omelet.”

  “I’ll make you one even better than the other night.”

  “Difficult. I ran out of eggs.”

  “I’ll improvise.”

  “We’d probably be tempted to fool around again. But I don’t think that’s what your grandmother had in mind when she asked me to find you a wife.”

  “You’re killing me, Harper.”

  “Let me do my job. And about tonight?”

  “Yes?” I stared at her.

  “Best hospital visit, ever.” She smiled and closed the door.

  Chapter 19

  Harper

  *

  13 months ago

  *

  Hank’s Bar and Grill was perched at the far end of a tree-lined lane jutting out over Lake Mendota. Indian Summer had blasted by the past couple of weeks. But now it was fall and a distinct crispness tinged the air. Red, orange, and yellow leaves dropped from the tall trees dotting the shoreline and swirled in colorful staccatos through the air.

  Hank’s was an institution around Maple Bluff. The main lodge was a two-story stone cottage structure. I’d hung out here with Sean and his pals before, and knew the interior smelled of beer—in a good way. It felt warm and cozy with a fat fireplace, dim lighting, and dark lacquered wooden tables. Boats docked at the restaurant’s small adjoining marina that accommodated twenty slips.

  Hank’s Bar and Grill had been owned by the same family for fifty years. Hank Firestone passed control of the place to his daughter, Maria, after he retired. It was known for its juicy steaks the size of your head, accompanied by double baked potatoes piled high with sour cream and chives. They had fish fries in the summer. A picnic area twenty yards from the main building was outfitted with wooden tables, outdoor grills, fire pits, and a paved basketball court.

  For the last thirty years, Hank’s had hosted Octoberfest—one last night of autumn blast that included grilling, beer, brats and a raffle, whose profits were donated to the local Fireman’s Fund. I wanted to participate in this worthwhile event, be part of this community, fit in and put down roots, so I volunteered to help at Octoberfest.

  Sean sat on the sidelines of the basketball court with a couple of his buddies watching a pick-up game. He’d known Jim and Corey forever. Jim was sweet and worked construction for a local company. Corey owned a small arcade in town and was a little too slick for my taste. Nothing I could put my finger on, he just made the hair on the back of my arms stand up. And not in a good way. “Nice to see you guys,” I said. “Gotta get to work.”

  “Chop, chop,” Corey said.

  “Have fun.” Sean said sipping from a long-neck. He smiled and squinted up at me, the sun bringing out the blue in his eyes.

  “Spend a lot of money tonight,” I said, and kissed his cheek. “It’s for a good cause.”

  “You bet, Babe.”

  I walked into the kitchen and ran into Marie Firestone, the force of nature who owned and ran the lodge. I saluted. “Harper Emily Schubert reporting for duty.” “Awesome. You’re Grill Chick Number 4.” She threw me an apron from a stack in the corner of the kitchen. “Put this on.”

  “Okay.” I slipped it over my head. “What does Grill Chick Number 4 do?”

  “Go ask Cindy. She’s Grill Chick Number 1 this year.”

  “Where do I find Cindy?”

  “Outside.”

  “Where outside?”

  “At the first grill you see.” She crossed herself and looked skyward. “Sweet Jesus, are you creating them simpler these days?”

  I wandered outside and quickly spotted the weathered, tatted biker babe with a silver mane. She was wearing the long apron with #1 printed on the front.

  She eyed me. “Welcome, Number 4. Orientation?”

  “Yes.” Guests were already walking in from the gravel parking lot. Some were dressed in Eddie Schubert attire, others more J. Crew. There were a few hippie and biker types like Grill Chick Number 1.

  “Take that path over there ’till you reach the last barbecue. You’ve gone too far if you walk into the lake. You’re further away from the lodge, but you’ll still get traffic.”

  I followed where she pointed. “Got it. Any tips?”

  “Grill the brats and burgers. Toast the buns. Don’t undercook. Don’t overcook. Place everything on platters. Someone will come by, pick them up, and drop off more meat. Condiments, onions, pickles, and cheese are in a Tupperware with extra supplies in a cooler on the ground next to your grill. Schmooze. Be nice.”

  After three hours of manning Grill number 4 I smelled like hickory smoke and had black smudges on my apron, my arms, and my cleavage. No matter how many times I tried to wipe the sweat away, my hair continued to cling to my forehead and neck.

  The sun had set minutes earlier, traffic was slowing down, and I realized in the excitement of the party and the crush of the crowd that I’d forgotten to eat. I plopped a burger on a toasted bun and shuffled it onto a paper plate. I walked a few yards to a picnic table and parked it. I took a bite. Not bad.

  I downed my dinner, looking out over the lake. The water was lapping against the handful of boats docked at the marina. I heard people laughing in the background, content, happy. It was all so pretty. I’d always have a home with mom—wherever she landed—but I felt like I was becoming part of this community.

  A handsome young guy approached me, carrying two beers in red plastic Solo cups. “Thirsty? I’ve got an extra. My buddy met someone after I agreed to go to the trouble to buy him a beer. The least I can do is pass it along.”

  I glanced over at Sean’s table where he’d been hanging the whole night. A few empty pitchers sat in front of him and his buddies. They were laughing. Corey passed around a flask and they took shots. Sean didn’t appear all that interested in what I was doing. The guys looked a little sloppy, but hey—it was that kind of night. I wouldn’t let him drive. I’d order Lyfts for all of them if I had to.

  I glanced up at the young man. “Yes, thanks. I’d love a beer.”

  He handed it to me and sat on the opposite side of the table. I took a few sips. It was warm, which for some reason went perfectly with the burger.

  “My name’s Patrick Williams but my friends call me Bear. You are?”

  “Harper. How do you fit in here?”

  “I am one of those lucky firemen you’re raising money for.” He smiled, looking like he’d just rolled off a nearby farm, and I wondered why he’d chosen this line of work.

  “Aha. You’re the reason we are all here tonight.
” I took another slug of beer and put the cup down. I stood up and stretched my arms over my head. “I hope we made a lot of dough for your unit.”

  “I think you did.”

  Grill Chick Number 1 strode in our direction. “Job well done, Number 4. Shut it down.”

  “I was hoping for one more burger,” Bear said.

  Grill Chick Number 1 pointed at me. “Up to her.”

  “Sure, why not?” I walked back to the barbecue, grabbed a patty from the tray with tongs and slapped it on the grill. “Cheese?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Don’t ma’am, me. Swiss? Cheddar?”

  “I’ll always be a cheddar-head. Pardon me for asking,” he said. “I was watching you a bit earlier. It looks like you’re here on your own.”

  “Oh.” I looked at him. He was probably my age, maybe even a few years younger. “Actually, I have a boyfriend. He’s here partying with some friends. Raising money for your cause.”

  “Right,” he said, looking disappointed.

  I glanced at my platter of almost depleted grilling supplies. “We’re out of cheese.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “If our firemen want cheese, damn it, our firemen will have cheese.” I turned, and made my way to the cooler, but smacked up against something hard and stumbled. “Ow!” Time seemed to slow down as I spiraled to the ground still holding the tongs. I’d broken my arm on the playground when I was a kid during a fall that played out exactly like this. It wasn’t pretty. Chills zipped down my spine. I squeezed my eyes shut and braced for the worst.

  But Bear had lightning quick reflexes. He grabbed my arm, stopped me from face planting, and lifted me upright. He seized my other arm and supported me with both his hands in a steady, fireman’s grip.

  “Yikes,” I said, my hands trembling. I dropped the tongs. “Thanks! You totally saved my ass.”

  “You’re not going to fall over if I let go?”

  “No, I’m good.” I shook my head and looked at the grill. “Flip that burger before it’s a goner, ’K?”

  “Right,” he said, walking toward the barbecue.

  “You’re going to need the tongs.” I bent down to pick it up but was yanked back. “Hey!”

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Sean slurred. He squeezed my arm, stale beer oozing off his breath. His face was ruddy and sweaty in the dim, outdoor lights.