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“Me, neither.” She waited while he paid, feeling oddly let down. “Thank you for lunch.”
“You’re very welcome, Marie. You heading back home now?”
“Yes.” To an empty house full of waiting chores.
“I’m going the other direction.” He opened the door for her, turning up his collar against the wind. “I’m glad I bumped into you today.”
“Same here.” She started edging back, unaccountably nervous, then made herself hold her ground. “See you at Roots?”
“I’d like to do this again if you’re up for it. Maybe make it dinner next time?”
“Oh. Sure. Yes.” Her voice came out too high; she found herself nodding frantically. Was he interested in her? A man like this? She took another step back, dangerously giddy.
Stranger things had happened. Maybe he’d finally tired of his bimbos and wanted a woman of substance.
“Good. I enjoy your company.”
My God. Was she dreaming? “Same here, Quinn.”
“You remind me a lot of my sister.”
A burst of pained laughter. Stupid, stupid, stupid even to fantasize. A pudgy, short woman on the verge of middle age catching his attention after he’d been going for nothing but Darcy types?
“Your sister.” Her voice cracked. “The doormat?”
“No, no, my other sister. Angela. Very smart. Very funny and fun. You’d like her.”
“I’m sure I would.” She was nodding too much again. Forget her houseful of chores. She wanted to take her bruised almost-forty-year-old ego home to her warm living room, crush a package of Oreos into a bowl of ReddiWip and eat it with her hands. She was angry at his confident handsome face, and at herself for giving him the power to make her feel worthless. “It’s funny you said that, Quinn, because actually you remind me of my brother.”
“Yeah?” He was looking at her curiously. Hadn’t she sounded sincere? “Well, how about that.”
Yeah. How about that. He was still watching her with that measuring look, so she said goodbye, see ya later and turned away, not wanting him to see her face any longer, in case he figured out she was lying.
Quinn Peters did not remind her of her brother, for two reasons. One, the instant she thought he might be attracted to her, the truth had jumped up and shouted itself hoarse. This wasn’t about Darcy. He was hot and she wanted him, like every other female on the planet.
And the second reason he couldn’t possibly remind her of her brother was much simpler.
She didn’t have one.
“What the heck kind of party is this going to be?”
“Valentine’s, what did you think?” Candy smirked at Abigail who had emerged from the bathroom wearing a variation of the sexy-Cupid costume Candy had on, only on her long, lean body, and with her model’s beauty, the ridiculous getup managed to look almost chic. In deference to her friend’s baby bump, Candy had given Abigail the less revealing of the two styles she’d designed. Her client, Josie Abernathy, would arrive momentarily to discuss party details and to choose one of the two looks for her Cupids. For a reason Candy had yet to figure out, Mrs. Abernathy thought it was a cute idea to have scantily dressed females flitting around with trays of cocktail tidbits. Candy had tried every diplomatic means at her disposal to squash the idea, but nothing. She’d even suggested a few males dressed in red-and-white boxers, to keep sexism charges at bay, but Mrs. Abernathy would have none of it. Or, Candy suspected, her husband wouldn’t.
“Gee, I guessed Valentine’s. But what else, a grope-your-server party? A women-are-nothing-but-objects party?” Abigail gestured to the white micro-miniskirt dotted with red hearts that flared under her red faux-leather lace-up bustier.
“This is revolting. Any guys going to be there in red Speedos or jockstraps?”
“Nope. Just babes bearing hot nibbles.” Candy tugged on her red satin bra trimmed with marabou. A red satin miniskirt sat below her waist and connected midthigh via a red lace garter to sheer red stockings.
“Ew.” Abigail waved her plastic bow and arrow disgustedly.
“Where did you find these people?”
