by Judy Baer
Before Marlo got her mouth open to say as much, Lucy unexpectedly took the stage and blurted, “Marlo has met someone interesting.” Every head turned in Marlo’s direction.
“Does he fit the Cinderella List?” Jenny blurted.
Marlo nudged her ankle, not wanting Jenny to discuss their childhood game. Even louder, Jenny said, “I didn’t know your ideal man actually existed, Marlo.”
“List? What list?” Becky pounced on Jenny’s words. “An ‘ideal’ man actually exists? And you’ve found him, Marlo? Have you been holding out on us?”
“I think that’s absolutely wonderful!” Until that moment, Angela had been unusually quiet. Everyone turned to stare at her. Angela was a lot of things, but gracious wasn’t usually one of them. Angela’s features flushed with happiness. “I’m overjoyed, Marlo. It makes everything even more perfect.”
The group was taken aback by the transformation. Angela never beamed. She waited a beat before announcing, “I’m getting married!” The room was silent, as the astonishing news sank in, then everyone erupted in a cacophony of happy chatter.
The news hit Marlo like a piano dropped off a ten-story building. Angela married? Angela married? Bossy, controlling, frenzied and career-oriented Angela who had never had a nice thing to say about any man she’d ever dated? She was getting married?
Now Marlo was the only single woman in the Bridesmaid Club and was surprised to realize that she actually cared that she was losing this elusive race. She’d fallen behind in an unspoken marriage competition she hadn’t even meant to join. She felt an unexpected twinge of longing. Even more confusing were the images of Jake Hammond that skittered through her mind…the broad shoulders, a flashing white smile turned her way, his surreptitious peanut butter sandwiches with Bette….
Then a more practical thought came to her: if Angela got married, it meant another wedding—with cake and flowers and bridesmaids—and another dress. Fortunately or unfortunately, the Bridesmaid Club would survive and thrive another year.
Chapter Five
Marlo’s head swirled with disbelief as the rest of the ersatz bridesmaids continued chattering and squealing with joy.
She hadn’t realized until this moment how much she’d counted on Angela to be part of the single contingency in this group of married friends. Feeling like the Lone Ranger minus Tonto, Marlo painted a stiff smile on her face. She refused to rain on Angela’s parade.
“He’s perfect for me,” Angela babbled, in a very un-Angela-like way. “So forceful and smart. He’s the CEO of a manufacturing firm.” She looked doe-eyed and utterly smitten. “I’ve always loved men who can take charge. My knees feel weak when I’m around him.”
A little like hers, Marlo thought, when Jake Hammond has smiled at her. She’d had no idea until that moment just how vulnerable she was to his charm.
“It’s a good thing you met someone, Marlo, since you are now the only officially single woman in our group,” Becky pointed out unhelpfully. “Who’d have thought?”
No one, apparently. They all appeared rather stunned, like victims of an emotional hit-and-run. Several pairs of eyes fixed on Marlo, shining sympathy in her direction. For a bunch of women who in their college years had pronounced men “unnecessary,” they’d certainly come full circle. And Lucy’s announcement had underscored the fact that Marlo was now the group mascot—single and obviously pitiable.
“Marlo, you are a sly fox. If it weren’t for Lucy, we wouldn’t have heard about him at all!” Linda waggled a finger at her. “Knowing the kinds of parties you cater, he must be a big deal, fancy-schmansy, right?”
They drummed questions at her like hail on a tin roof, until she couldn’t tolerate another word. She held up her hands to silence them. “This is Angela’s day. Let’s not talk about me. Cake, anyone?”
No one noticed when Marlo slipped into the kitchen, where she stood with the heels of her hands braced against the tiled counter, eyes closed, praying frantically that she would allow nothing—including jealousy, envy or resentment—to mar Angela’s day.
By the time the women left in a swirl of chiffon, lace and satin, Marlo’s head pounded like a kettledrum, spurred by memories of her own dashed wedding dreams. Even though she had no interest in Jeremiah anymore, the memories of her pain were vivid as a body blow.
Lucy expressed her friend’s malady succinctly, as she and Jenny, who had remained behind to help, cleared the table and toted the dishes into the kitchen. “Stings, doesn’t it, to have the practically unweddable Anglea get married before you do?”
“It does.” Marlo sank onto a kitchen chair. “I’ve always believed I am independent and resourceful, not dependent or needy. If so, why do I feel like something is wrong with me?” Her memories drifted into that old morass of pain. “Not every man will be unfaithful like Jerry was, right? A good man just hasn’t come along yet, that’s all.” There was nothing wrong with being single. She just didn’t want to spend her life like that.
“What about the Cinderella List?” Jenny pointed out. “Does a man with your requirements even exist? Maybe you’ve set the standards too high.”
“It was just a game, Jen….” Marlo wondered when it had turned into something more in her mind. She turned to glare at Lucy. “And what was that nonsense about Jake Hammond?”
“Purely diversionary. Just a little something for the piranhas to chew on.”
Marlo didn’t know whether to be angry or amused by the ridiculousness of it all.
Jenny slipped out of the room and returned some minutes later with her faux fur stole and a piece of folded white typing paper in her hand. “I’d better go, ladies. As usual, the Bridesmaids’ Luncheon was a huge hit.”
It had been a hit, so why did Marlo feel a fierce headache coming on?
“Here.” Jenny thrust the piece of paper at Marlo. “I jotted this down. Maybe it will clarify things for you.”
After Jenny was gone, Marlo walked into her bedroom and sat down on the bed to open the note her sister had given her. What was Jenny up to now?
Marlo,
Maybe this new guy will meet all your requirements…you deserve the very best.
The Ideal Man, According to Marlo Mayfield
Handsome (dark hair preferred)
Good teeth, great smile
Well educated, intelligent
Emily Post manners (thoughtful, courteous, gracious, hospitable)
Earns a decent living
Sophisticated, charming, chivalrous
Looks good in jeans and suits
Appreciates fine food (and smells like oatmeal-raisin cookies)
Thoughtful, compassionate, intuitive
Sense of humor
Clever and willing to try new things, brave
Knows what the words ebullient, anthropomorphize and hubris mean
Health and disability insurance
401K
Faith in God
Can love be far behind?
Love, Jenny
Marlo studied the List thoughtfully, her gaze falling on each line and recalling many of the conversations she and Jenny had had over the years. Her sister’s memory was good—in her hurriedly written note, she hadn’t missed a single quality required of Marlo’s current-day Prince Charming. The silly childhood game had somehow managed to grow up right with her.
Angela’s unexpected announcement had only underscored her single state. It had also brought up her time with Jerry and her own thwarted wedding. The pain might be gone, but the promise she’d made to herself remained. Never would she do to another woman what the “other woman” had done to her.
After a couple of restless hours, Marlo did the only thing she knew would keep her mind off the ridiculous games her mind was playing with itself. She baked. There was nothing more therapeutic than kneading bread dough.
It’s the twenty-first century, she mused, as she thumped a fist into the risen dough and felt the soft resistance against her knuckles. Women don’t need a man to be com
plete. She punched the doughy mass again. What were her friends thinking?
She already knew the answer to that question. They were thinking that because they were content in their marriages, they wanted her to be happy, too. The teasing had all been in good fun. It was just too bad she wasn’t having any.
It was the Lord who planned her days and hours, and Marlo wanted to listen to Him, not her changeable emotions. Doing that when she’d met Jeremiah was the biggest mistake of her life. When—if—she did meet someone, Marlo prayed that God would make it clear that she wasn’t treading on someone else’s territory.
While the bread was in the oven, she whipped up a batch of cookies, took a shower, put extra-strength gel in her hair and pulled it into rebellious spikes. Then she slipped into a T-shirt and bib overall shorts. Looking all of sixteen years old, she padded barefoot downstairs to remove the bread from the oven and bake the last of the cookies.
She flinched when the doorbell rang. Surely Angela hadn’t come back to rub more salt in her wounds. That would be just her luck.
Jake Hammond stood on her top step looking debonair and perfectly at home, holding a silver serving tray and a whisk. Jake was probably the only man in the world who could make kitchen utensils look inordinately masculine in his hands. A small shiver went up her spine. Excitement? No, she told herself, she was simply chilly.
“What are you doing…?” Then she remembered her manners. “How nice to see you, Mr. Hammond. Can I help you?”
“I found these things in my kitchen. I tried to drop them off at Dining with Divas, but the shop was closed. I hope you don’t mind that I brought them here. I thought perhaps you’d need them soon.” Her mind locked at the idea of him going to such effort when a telephone call would have sufficed.
“W-would you like to come in?” Marlo stammered finally, overtaken by a host of conflicting emotions. The man was holding a whisk, she reminded herself, not a bouquet of roses. Handsome, great smile, good manners, thoughtful… Items on the List swirled in her brain.
“Don’t mind if I do.” He sauntered into her house and it suddenly felt crowded, as if he’d taken all the space and air it had to offer. Jake’s obvious athleticism was apparent beneath khaki trousers, and a caramel-colored polo shirt did something rather spellbinding to his eyes. “It smells awfully good in here.”
His gaze traveled around the room, a place that could only be described as a foodie’s residence. There were poster-size prints of loaves of bread and decadent desserts like tiramisu, flan and strawberries with whipped cream. Placards that proclaimed dozens of ways to cook with chocolate hung in her living room like most people displayed family portraits. The elegant but genteelly worn furniture were beloved castoffs. It was as cozy, charming and idiosyncratic as he’d expected.
“I’m making bread and cookies. Would you like some?” she asked politely, as if it was the least she could do. The timer sounded on her stove. “There are the cookies now.”
“Absolutely.” The invitation delighted him. “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had homemade bread?”
“It was on Saturday actually. With the bruschetta we served.”
“Homemade in an actual home, then. When I was a little boy, my grandmother baked a lot. Now she and my grandfather travel most of the time, doing touch-and-goes out of the ranch. My mother thinks too much time in the kitchen is beneath her.” He missed the homey, domestic woman she’d once been. Now she was a world-hopping, Nordic-walking vegetarian. For a man who liked comfortable, homely things, it had been a big adjustment. Being good in the kitchen was an upward status symbol in his mind. The triumph of the stables was wonderful, but he often wondered if his parents lost themselves somewhere in that success.
He moved through the house, stopping to study the contemporary-looking line drawings framed over her fireplace, charmed by the quirky, eclectic mix. “These are unusual.”
“My nephew drew those when he was three. Unfortunately, Brady’s attention span is brief. Five minutes at something is an eon to my nephew.”
Jake noted that she sounded wistful, especially when she added, “I always want to see potential in those childish sketches, because Brady has a lot of challenges to overcome. I have dozens of uncompleted drawings, so I decided to frame a few. You’d be surprised how many people comment on my taste in modern art.”
“And savvy, too.” He didn’t try to hide his amusement. “Usually, you have to pay big money for things that look like this.” The smile that spread across her face brought her back from some dark thoughts he didn’t understand. She was beautiful when she smiled.
He paused at the bookcase which divided the living room from the dining area. On the living-room side were books that revealed Marlo’s eclectic interests. Bibles and devotionals, deep-sea diving and mountain climbing, Chihuahuas and Great Danes, the classics and comic strips, South American authors and the North Pole—hints, no doubt, at her paradoxical personality.
The other side of the bookcase revealed an entirely different side of Marlo, he observed. If she didn’t have every cookbook every published, she was well on her way. James Beard and Julia Child rested comfortably with Birthday Cakes for Toddlers, Salsa Extravaganza and Sushi for the Timid.
“You can tell a lot about a person by the types of books they own,” Jake commented, as he sidled toward the kitchen counter and slid onto a tall stool. Marlo trailed after him and automatically poured him a mug of coffee.
“What do my books say about me?”
“For one thing, you are very spiritual. I also gather that you are diverse, eclectic and interested in a wide variety of subjects.” She was complex. Jake liked that in a woman.
“At least you didn’t tell me I’m a confused mess. After this day, that’s certainly how I feel. I had friends here for a luncheon, and it didn’t turn out quite as planned.” Jake watched her face. It was obvious that she thought she’d said too much, and she clamped her lips together, as if to prevent another extemporaneous word from slipping out. He left the statement alone, instinctively knowing something important had happened, and sensing that she didn’t want to talk about it. Deftly, she changed topics. “I apologize about the whisk. I would have come over to pick it up.”
As Jake studied her, she put her hand over her heart as if to protect herself from his gaze. She was as uneasy as a new colt that had not been handled properly, shy and jumpy but no less adorable. Jake’s curiosity—and interest—grew.
“That’s not the only reason I came. I wanted to know if you’d thought any more about what we discussed the other night. I wanted to give you a little time, in case you wanted to reconsider your answer.”
“That’s nice of you, but I’ll be there at the hippotherapy program. I keep my word. Besides, it’s a chance for me to see what it’s all about. I want to see what it does for the children. Maybe my nephew would benefit from it.”
“A woman who keeps her promises. I like that.” The more he learned about this woman, the more he liked what he knew.
Chapter Six
Waking up from a delicious dream about Jake Hammond, Marlo opened one eye, stared at the ringing telephone and willed it to be quiet. Regretting that she’d turned off her answering machine, she rolled over twice, enveloping herself in bedding like a tortilla wrap, wormed an arm free of the blankets and picked up the phone. “This is Marlo’s answering machine,” she growled. “Marlo is sleeping. Call back later. No, call back on Monday. Late. Not before 7:00 p.m.”
“You have a very strange message on your machine, Miss Mayfield,” a silky, perfectly awake male voice responded. “Now be a good answering machine and go wake up your owner.”
Her eyes popped open wide, sleep banished. “Very funny,” she groaned. “Haven’t you heard of Saturday? Sleeping in? A day off?”
“All highly overrated. Especially on a beautiful day like this. Would you like to meet my horses today?”
“Really? You mean it?” She flipped back across the bed, unwrapping hersel
f.
“The hippotherapy program will be up and running soon. I’d like to show you what I have planned.” Jake’s voice was as tempting as the Pied Piper’s tune.
No sales pitch needed here, Marlo thought. The man could melt her with a sentence. Besides, if it could help kids like Brady, she was all over it. But there was no need to look overeager, either. He didn’t need to know just how much she enjoyed being in his presence.
“Frankly, I’m flying under the radar right now,” he continued. “If the program is in place before my father realizes the extent of it, he may just leave it alone.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.” Jake seemed to formulate his words carefully. “I have an equal share in the business, so Dad’s voting power is no more or less than mine, but I’d rather not have to remind him of that.”
Marlo’s impression of Randall Hammond was one of a determined, unbending, intimidating personality with a military air and manner, an inflexible man who probably wouldn’t accept a setback or defeat easily—even at the hands of his own son.