The Accidental Encore Page 9

  “There’s a blanket on the couch in the den if you want it.”

  She got up and returned a moment later with the throw around her shoulders. “Is this the only room in the house with any furniture?”

  “I use this room, so there’s furniture.”

  “Why do you live in such a big house if you only use the office and, I’m assuming, a bedroom?”

  “The market sucks right now. Besides, it’s not finished.”

  “It looks finished to me,” she said. “Other than lacking furniture.” When he didn’t answer, she said, “Okay, so where are we?”

  “What’s a tag line?”

  “A tag line is just a one or two sentence statement about yourself.”

  “Like?”

  “Like, ‘I’m a home renovator who loves dogs and lives in a gorgeous meat locker.’”

  “That’s stupid.”

  “It’s just an example,” she said. “You come up with one that’s not stupid.”

  “The whole idea is stupid.”

  “It may be stupid, but it’s required.”

  He followed her lead and typed, “I’m a home renovator who likes dogs and beer.”

  “That’s so much better,” she said. “Okay, next is your relationship status.”

  “Obviously I’m single, or I wouldn’t be online dating.”

  “Yes, of course, but you need to put divorced.” When he turned his head and stared at her, she shrugged. “You are divorced, aren’t you?”

  He enjoyed the look of panic on her face and knew he’d also enjoy watching her smug expression disappear when he told her the truth. “No.”

  She sat up straight and blinked those green eyes at him. “You’re still married?”

  “Technically, yes.”

  “Craig…” She stood up and moved around the front of the desk, placed her hands on the edge, and leaned over giving him a bird’s eye view of her plum colored bra. “I’m pretty sure they don’t allow you to date while you’re still married.”

  He reclined in his chair and steepled his hands in front of his face. “You’re probably right. I’d better put widower.”

  She stood upright so fast he feared she’d lose her balance and fall over. Her mouth hung open as she stared at him with a faint crease between her brows.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “I’m starving. I’m going to order a pizza. You want in?”

  She nodded like a robot as he reached for the phone. “I like the works. That okay with you?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “Whatever.”

  Chapter 14

  Allie stood in the middle of Craig’s office and listened as he ordered a large pizza with everything for delivery. She felt as groundless as the leaves from the giant oak tree outside his window aimlessly falling. A widower? Craig?

  “It’s going to be about thirty minutes.”

  It might take her that long to get her jaw working again. “That’s okay,” she managed before stumbling around the desk to take a seat. “You’re a widower, too? What are the odds?”

  “Not bad, considering it was the same accident.”

  “You lost your wife in the same accident that killed Mark’s wife?”

  He nodded. “They were friends. Best friends.”

  Allie picked up her beer, took a long swallow, and set it down on the coaster again. “Wow. Okay, I’m a little speechless.”

  “I’m going to savor this moment,” he said. She knew he was trying to lighten the mood, jolt her out of the shock he’d put her through, but she couldn’t even muster a smile.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I can’t imagine how hard that must have been.”

  “It was a long time ago.” He pushed back from the chair and stood up. “I want another beer. You?” he asked.

  “No. I’m fine.”

  She sat there in his office staring at the bookshelves lined with architecture books, manuals on every subject a builder might need: plumbing, electrical, code, woodworking, HVAC, framing, renovation. Some novels sat on a lower shelf: thrillers and war books. The only picture in the room was the one of him and Mark as kids. Several framed portraits of Leah were scattered through the house, but nothing else. Was there a shrine to his dead wife in his bedroom? Why did she care?

  She rubbed her hands along her jeans and tried to come to terms with the man she’d chalked up as a bitter divorcee. All of her assumptions, stereotypes, and impressions blurred and began forming into a new picture, this one painted with a much more narrow brush. She hated that she’d so easily categorized him like she did with the men she met online. She was too quick to judge, too quick to assume, and too quick to dismiss people for what she thought they were and not what they really were.

  He walked back in carrying a beer and a small bowl of peanuts, Blackjack on his heels.

  “I owe you an apology, Craig. I’ve horribly misjudged you.”

  He carefully set the bowl down between them on the desk and eased into his seat. “I seriously doubt that. Look,” he said with a sigh, “I don’t want your pity. It was a long time ago.”

  “I know, but I assumed you were divorced. I assumed quite a number of things about you, and I’m sorry.”

  “You don’t owe me an apology for something you didn’t know.” He reached for the keyboard, irritation written all over his face. “Can we just get back to this?”

  “Sure.” She pointed at the screen and tried to steady her roller coaster emotions. “The rest is pretty self-explanatory. Do you have kids, want kids, your ethnicity…”

  “Body type?” he asked after filling in the required information. She noticed he checked the wanted kids button. She wondered if they’d tried to have a baby before her death.

  “They give you choices.” When he selected average, she cleared her throat. “I’d say you’re athletic.” He turned to stare at her with a cocky grin on his face. What should have annoyed her helped to steady her ground.

  “You’ve been checking me out?”

  “No.” She should have known he’d twist her words around. “I don’t know if you exercise, but you appear more in shape than some of the average guys I’ve dated.”

  “Do you want me to flex for you?”

  “Put whatever you want, but if you keep making fun of me, I’m leaving.”

  “No, you’re not. The pizza’s not here yet and I can hear your stomach growling.”

  Allie put a hand to her belly as it rumbled like thunder in the sky. “I didn’t have lunch.”

  “Why not?”

  “I was working and I just forgot,” she said and directed his attention back to the screen. He filled in the rest of his information: height 5’11”, faith Christian, he didn’t smoke and drank socially. He stopped typing when he came to the age and location range. “What do you think for the age range? Twenty-one to forty?”

  “Twenty-one?” she asked. “Seriously?”

  “Why not?”

  “Craig, you’re thirty-five. You think you’ll have anything in common with a twenty-one-year-old?”

  “Attraction?” he offered.

  She rolled her eyes. He laughed and hit the delete button. “I’m just trying to get your goat.” He changed his answer to twenty-five to forty.

  “Oh, that’s so much better.”

  “Look, if I want kids—which I might—my age range can’t go too high. If I start with thirty, most of those women are only looking for a quick husband so they can get on with the family making.”

  She hated that he was right, and as a woman approaching thirty, she knew exactly what he was talking about. “Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  “Warning heard and ignored.”

  She was curiously surprised to see him include in his list of interests, along with the usual sports and beer, architecture, fishing, and the guitar. “Do you play?” she asked.

  “I can pick a tune or two, but I can’t read music.”

  “Have you tried
?”

  “Yes, and it’s like those braille dots in the recipes for you.”

  It was the second time he’d mentioned something she’d said in passing. The man, for all his faults, and there were plenty, certainly did listen. “See,” she said when he put down time at the gym and running. “I knew you were athletic.”

  He ignored her and moved on to answer the remaining questions. “Astrological sign? What the hell for?”

  “Some people believe in that.”

  “Believe in what?”

  “You know, all the signs have ideal matches. Yes,” she said when he geared up to argue. “I know you think that’s stupid, but some people use that as a gauge.”

  He snorted in disbelief, but marked himself as a Leo. Of course, she thought. He certainly was a lion. “You went to Appalachian State?”

  “Yeah. Did you think I went to Alabama like Mark?”

  “Hummm. I just assumed you had.”

  “Why?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. You seem like a big school kind of guy, like Alabama or Michigan or something like that.”

  “App State was close to home. After my dad died, I didn’t want to be too far from my mom.”

  “Oh.” So his father died young and his wife died tragically. She could feel herself drowning in sympathy for him, but knew that was the last thing he wanted. “Sorry about your dad.”

  “Long time ago, Allie. Why do they need to know my income?”

  “Again, some people want to know that information. You don’t have to tell, but most of the men do.” She touched his sleeve. “I’ll turn my head if you don’t want me to see.”

  “Why? You could always just look up my profile. I’m not putting that down. I own my house and my business. If that’s not enough information for these ladies, then screw them.”

  “That’s one way to look at it. Okay,” she said as they entered the challenging section. If he didn’t want to put his income, which had to be substantially more than she’d first assumed considering his house, he was going to hate this part. “This is where you need to be creative.”

  “Great.”

  “You need to write two to three paragraphs about yourself and what you’re looking for in a date.”

  He winced and looked at her like a middle-schooler forced to take a writing test. “Two to three paragraphs?”

  “If you put too little, you look like someone who can’t communicate. If you put too much, you sound like a bragger. Best thing to do is describe your job, your life, your dog, and then talk about the kind of woman you’re interested in meeting.”

  He blew out a breath just as the doorbell rang. “Saved by the bell.”

  ***

  Craig took a bite of pizza and glanced around his den. He tried to see it as Allie did, from the perspective of a woman. She said there wasn’t any furniture, but they weren’t sitting on the ground. The couch was ancient, but it served a purpose. They were watching baseball on the big screen, weren’t they? Couches and TVs counted as furniture.

  “Which team are you rooting for?” Allie asked. She’d plowed through one piece of pizza and was eyeing another, but seemed hesitant to ask. He plucked up a huge slice and tossed it on her plate.

  “The Braves, of course. Who’d you think I’d root for?”

  She shrugged and took a bite. “I didn’t know if you were a Cubs fan.”

  “I’ve never even been to Chicago. Why would I root for them?”

  He snuck a glance at her profile as she watched the Brave’s first baseman come up to bat. She was following the game, not asking a bunch of stupid questions. “Do you have brothers?” he asked.

  “No. I’m an only child…well, I’ve got a half-sister.”

  He waved his crust at the screen. “You understand the game?”

  “Baseball?” She set her slice down and wiped her hands with the paper napkin he’d supplied. “You think I’m too stupid to understand baseball?”

  “No. I think you’re too female to understand baseball.”

  “I really can’t wait for you to start dating,” she mumbled under her breath. “I’ve been going to baseball games and football games and golf matches for years. Hockey, I don’t have a clue except I know the puck goes into the goal.”

  She’d called it a puck, he mused as he threw his crust to Blackjack. The dog caught it in the air and sunk to the floor to savor it like a bone. Most women wouldn’t even know that much about a game they didn’t follow. “I take it you date the jocks?”

  “Some, but my dad’s a big sports guy. It was all that was on at his house.”

  “Was?”

  She lifted a shoulder and took a bite. He could tell by the way her eyes darted around the room that she was trying to figure out what to say. “He’s still alive. We’re not really close.”

  Didn’t want to talk about her father. Daddy issues could explain her problems with men. He tossed his napkin in the half empty box and sat back, patting his stomach. “I’m stuffed.”

  “Me too.” She capped the water bottle he’d offered when she refused another beer. True to her word, she’d finished her first beer without complaint. “You know, sporting events would be a good first date for you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean it’s a good way to figure out if someone likes sports, and there’s no pressure to talk all the time.”

  “Do you have any idea how expensive Braves tickets are?”

  She rolled her eyes. “You don’t have to get the best seats in the house,” she countered.

  “But what if she talks the whole time and I can’t watch the game?”

  “Then I guess you don’t go out with her again.”

  He scowled at the screen and wondered, for the millionth time, why he was putting himself through this again. “Where do you go on most of your first dates?”

  “It depends,” she said. “I met a guy for coffee this morning.”

  “I’m not a morning person.”

  He wondered if he should offer to make her some coffee when she yawned. “I’d have been better off sleeping in. It didn’t go so well.”

  “Why not?”

  “He was an overeducated attorney with a job he felt was beneath him and a taste of wanderlust combined with a Peter Pan complex. He was nearing forty, good looking, and had no interest in settling down. I’m not sure why he’s bothering to date.”

  “You figured all that out over coffee?”

  “It wasn’t hard when he wouldn’t shut up. I should have run for the door when he said he was a lawyer.”

  “You didn’t know he was an attorney from his profile?”

  “Attorneys get a bad—and in my opinion, well deserved—rap. He said he was a University professional, which apparently is code for legal department patent attorney.”

  “So, you don’t like lawyers?”

  “My…old boyfriend was a lawyer, and a liar, and a cheat. I avoid them at all cost.”

  So, she’d been burned by an old lover and yet she put herself out there time and time again. She was an interesting piece of work, and she was tired, Craig knew, by the sight of her stifling another yawn. “Do you want some coffee?”

  “I’d be up all night if I had coffee now.”

  “Any other suggestions for first dates?” he asked.

  “Bowling?”

  “Who am I? Archie Bunker?”

  Allie laughed. “Are you a late night TV watcher?”

  “I’m a man of many levels.”

  “Yes, yes, I can see that. What about lunch?” she suggested.

  “I work for a living. I don’t sit behind a desk. I’m not going to run home and take a shower before lunch.”

  “Drinks, then? If you don’t hit it off over drinks, you can part ways and scratch her name off the list.”

  He grunted as she yawned again.

  “I’m exhausted.” She glanced toward his office. “Do you mind if we finish up?”

  “You go on home, Allie. I think
I can manage the rest.”

  “But you haven’t done the hard part yet.”

  “And I don’t need you critiquing my two to three paragraphs over my shoulder. I’m not a dunce; I can come up with something.”

  “Just read through some of the other profiles to get an idea of what to put. That’s what I did.”

  She helped him carry their dishes into the kitchen, set aside the bottles for recycling even after he told her he didn’t recycle, and headed to the foyer for her coat.

  “So I just finish my profile and wait for the women to start calling?” he asked.

  She laughed, as he’d hoped she would. “Or you can start looking, too.”

  “What do I do if I see someone I want to go out with? Call her?”

  “No.” She gripped her chest with a hand. “I’d be so freaked out if someone called me. Just send her an email, or you can nudge her online.”

  “Nudge?”

  “It’s this little button you can push to let someone know you like what you see.”

  “Why would I do that instead of emailing?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve been nudged before and then an email usually follows. I’m not real sure what the purpose is except maybe to warn you someone is interested.”

  “Stupid.”

  “Yes,” she said and slung her purse over her shoulder. “On this I’d have to agree.”

  He opened the door and felt oddly disappointed she was leaving. They’d shared a meal, some conversation, and he’d probably never see her again. For the best, he told himself as he caught another whiff of her perfume. “Well, thanks for your help.”

  “My pleasure.” She patted Blackjack on his head. “Thanks for the pizza.”

  He watched her amble down the sidewalk and get into her car. She gave him a smile and a wave before she drove down the street toward the entrance to the neighborhood. He felt…unsatisfied.

  He was full, he’d accomplished his goal for the weekend, and yet something didn’t feel settled. It was nine-thirty on a Saturday night, he’d just had dinner with a beautiful woman, and hadn’t even considered making a move on her. Well, he’d thought about it when she was relaxing on his couch, her feet tucked under her, her hair inches from his fingers where they rested against the back of the couch. Of course he’d thought about it. He wasn’t dead, or married, or otherwise engaged. But something about her made him keep things on the up and up. Her connection to Mark, he wondered? Leah? “Leave it alone,” he mumbled before stretching out on the couch. He turned his head into the pillow where her scent lingered.