SUSPECT ATTRACTION
CHAPTER ONE
Trouble walked into my office at 8:57 that Monday morning.
I didn’t know he was trouble then, of course. Didn’t know the skin rippling on my arms was a warning. Didn’t know how different my life would be in a few short weeks.
Dismissing my goosebumps as a chill from the cool air following him in from the outer room, I gestured to the visitor’s chair.
He reached across my desk. “Seth Updike. Nice to meet you.”
“Regina Blynde. Welcome to Blynde Dating Agency.” His hand was warm and dry and lightly calloused. Warning number two—the butterflies battling in my belly. He wasn’t the first sexy silver fox I’d interviewed. He wasn’t even the first I’d been attracted to. I pushed aside my reaction as the normal hormones of a healthy hetero female confronted by a good-looking male.
Besides, he was a client. And clients were strictly off limits.
He settled into the leather and chrome chair. No arrogant sprawl, no nervous perching. Just an easy confidence I rarely saw in an applicant.
My normal tactic when meeting a new client was to let them take the lead. A few moments of silence had most people jumping in to fill the void, and I learned a lot in those first minutes of babble. Seth Updike, however, appeared ready to wait me out. His broad chest rose and fell with even breaths, his hands lay loosely on his thighs, and his blue eyes watched me with lazy amusement.
Two decades plus in human resources had taught me strategies for dealing with all personality types. This man was going to be a challenge, but I was confident I could handle him. I adjusted my approach.
“Tell me what you are hoping we can do for you, Mr. Updike.” I always kept things formal until invited otherwise.
“It’s Seth.”
Bingo. He’d taken the first step. Now we were on the path to becoming a team working to achieve the same goal. “And I’m Ginnie.” I leaned into my tall-backed executive chair and swivelled gently. I knew it dwarfed me, made me look tinier than my five foot and a half inches. Even the twenty pounds of grief weight I carried was disguised by its size. It was a purposeful choice. The less threatening I looked, the more people opened up to me.
You’d think people hoping I will find them love and companionship would be eager to tell me about themselves. Not so much. We all have masks we hide behind. We all want others to see us as stronger, prettier, smarter than we see ourselves.
I am not exempt from this. My mask is stitched together with pain and sorrow and fury. It helps me see the masks others wear.
“I’m not here to find a soulmate.” This was warning number three, though I didn’t know it at the time. “I’m fifty years old and understand when to temper my expectations. I’ll be happy with a companion, someone who enjoys the same things I do, who doesn’t create unnecessary drama, who will enhance my life.”
I knew he was fifty-one years old from the online profile he’d filled out. He might have misspoken without a hidden agenda—I often had to think hard before I remembered I was fifty-four—but then again, he might be vain enough to lie just that teensy bit. It was a small failing and I liked him better for it.
“What made you choose my agency?”
“You hooked me with the name.” The lazy amusement flared into a bright spark, the crow’s feet around his eyes deepening. I despaired the day would ever come when wrinkles on a woman would be as sexy as those on a man. “The fact that you’re a local business reeled me in. It was your process that landed me, though.”
He’d listed fishing as one of his hobbies. Along with hiking, camping, skiing, and other outdoor activities. I found it easy to believe he’d been honest about those pursuits. He had the lean honed look of a guy who spent little time in front of a TV or computer screen.
“What about the process?” I probed.
He crossed a khaki-clad leg over his knee and smoothed his palm down his thigh. It was his first sign of nervousness. “I researched other online dating services, but they felt too impersonal, too”—he circled a hand in the air above his head—“global. When I read that the online profile is only the first step in your matching system, and that you interview all applicants face-to-face, I figured I’d give it a try. I was also impressed that the references on your website are all from people in their forties and older. I have a twenty-five-year-old daughter. I’m not interested in dating anyone even remotely close to her age.”
Well, that was refreshing. I rejected many of the men—and more of the women than you might think—who applied because they were unwilling to consider potential partners in their own age group. Not that I insist clients stick within a certain range. But those who are adamant their dates must be ten or fifteen or twenty years younger often have issues that are more complicated than I am willing to deal with.
“Your application indicates your most recent long-term relationship ended about ten years ago.” We didn’t use the term ‘married’ on our forms. It was the commitment that counted, not the paperwork.
“Yes.” This brevity was at odds with his earlier openness.
I poked a little more. “So why now? What encouraged you to seek our help?”
The skin at the base of my throat tingled from his stare as he contemplated his response. He continued to avoid my eyes when he finally did reply. “It seemed like the right time.”
I sensed there was more to his answer, but he was allowed to keep his counsel. Unless his secret harmed another of my clients. Then I’d be all over his ass.
I pulled over the folder I’d prepared. “Here’s a selection of women I think might suit. Let’s get to work.”
###
An hour later, Seth Updike left, and I breathed a sigh of relief.
It had been trickier than I’d thought to find him a match, though I couldn’t put my finger on why. In appearance, he was eminently dateable. His honest, competent, and good-humoured attitude hadn’t flagged during our session, and he had been open to most of my suggestions. Yet I wasn’t happy with any of the women I’d shortlisted for him, and I was disgruntled and doubting my skills by the time we’d settled on one.
I slid out of my chair, bending and stretching to get the kinks out, and then headed to the outer office.
Blynde Dating Agency leased a small suite of rooms on the ground floor of a narrow old building on a downtown street. A dance studio occupied the second floor. When I worked late, which was most nights, the soft thuds of footfalls and faint strains of music that drifted through the ceiling kept me company.
For the first several years, I had run the agency from my own home as a solo enterprise. Two years ago, when I needed something to keep me sane after…well, after, I threw myself into expanding the business. Now I have three employees. We do one-on-one social coaching, advise members on how to write their profiles, and even conduct inquiries if a client wants us to vet someone not associated with the agency.
In reception, Maeve Applekamp sat at a sleek desk that faced the main door and wrapped around behind her. She was a tall spare woman in her sixties and ran the office with the efficiency of a British nanny.
“Is Piper coming in today?” I asked.
Piper Latimer is my webmistress/tech guru/cyber geek. If it involved the guts or brains of a computer, she did it. Though she had an office next to mine, she often worked from home.
“Not until after lunch. And Indra is off because of the Singles’ Supper last Saturday.”
I nodded. Dating events like Singles’ Suppers and Welcome Weekends fell into the realm of our social coordinator, Indra Braniff.
“Did you need Piper for something?” As usual, Maeve was doing three things at once, and all of them well. Her fingers flew over the keyboard before she reached behind her to pull sheets off the printer and tuck them into a bright yellow folder.
“She wants to explain some new algorithm she’s designed. I was hoping she could do that before the next client showed up.” According to the clock on the wall, I had about fifteen minutes.
“Which would give you an out before your brain glazed over from all the geek-speak.” Maeve’s eyes glinted as she peered over the top of her wire-framed reading glasses. She knew how much I hated technology. The label maker clattered. She peeled off the sticker and affixed it to the yellow folder. “How did the meeting with Mr. Updike go?”
“I matched him with Azalea Bickersley.” My brows drew together. “I’m not sure it’s going to work out, though.”
“Then why set it up?”
I was wondering the exact same thing. A tiny part of me worried my subconscious had suggested the match because it wouldn’t work. That the spark of attraction I’d felt for Seth Updike had sabotaged my professionalism. It better not be that. Because no matter what my traitorous subconscious might be up to, my real self wasn’t looking for a relationship of any kind. I’d already experienced my one great love and look how that had turned out.
I shook off my unease. “I had to start somewhere. Most matches take a couple of shots before I get a feel for the client. If Piper comes in soon, send her my way, won’t you?”
Back in my office, I dialled Azalea’s number.
“Hello?” Before I had a chance to respond, the high twittery voice repeated, “Hello?”
“Hello, Azalea. It’s Ginnie Blynde.”
“Oh, Ginnie, how lovely to hear from you!”
I’d met Azalea about five weeks ago, in mid-December, when she’d registered for the agency. Despite our short acquaintance, she never failed to greet me as if we were long lost friends reconnecting after the passage of years.
“I’m calling to see if you are available tomorrow evening. I have another match I’d like you to meet.”
Her voice had that odd jumpy quality you hear when people are walking and talking at the same time. “I’m so sorry. I can’t talk right now. I’m halfway out the door. The girls are coming over this evening and I have to nip out to get the goodies.” Her naughty giggle had me wondering exactly what those goodies would be. She continued without pausing for breath. “I know! You should join us! The girls would love to meet you.”
I winced and held the phone away from my ear. Her guileless—and often loud—enthusiasm was one of the things I liked about her. I wondered if Seth might find it charming or annoying. “Oh, I don’t know—”
“I insist. You must come. The girls will be thrilled.” Thud, as of a door closing.
I doubted it. The girls would be well-to-do, well-known citizens of the city, and well outside my usual circle of friends. You see, Azalea was royalty. Not Buckingham Palace royalty, despite the coincidence of William and Kate’s eldest son sharing the same name as our town. But her family had lived in Prince George for generations and she had relatives and friends scattered throughout the upper echelons of business, law, and medicine.
“I won’t take no for an answer.” She sounded beyond delighted to have me gatecrash. “Seven o’clock, my place. You have the address.”
And before I could protest further, she hung up.
###
As I turned through the gates leading to Azalea’s house that evening, I reflected that this wasn’t the oddest thing I’d done to accommodate a client. I’d set up dates at ski resorts and on party boats, delivered “it’s not you, it’s me,” speeches when a member couldn’t get up the courage to make the break themselves, and convinced more than one love-struck person that proposing on the second date might not be the best idea.
The asphalt drive was black as pitch without a speck of ice. Azalea must employ an army to keep it clear. Or maybe the whole thing was heated. Well, she could afford it.
When I said Azalea was royalty, you probably thought I was exaggerating. I was, but not by much. Her home wasn’t a castle, but it was certainly one of the largest in town. Set on a ridge overlooking the city, it might even qualify to have ‘grounds’ as opposed to a yard. To my left, a huge expanse of unmarred white, smooth as butter cream frosting, was encircled by a neatly trimmed, waist-high, cedar hedge. In the centre, protective burlap coddled more delicate shrubbery. Rising from their midst was a large statue of a naked man, sculpted in the Greek—or maybe Roman, I was no expert—style. He looked rather pathetic, what with the snow capping his head and shoulders, and I wanted to give him a consoling pat. Maybe on his stone-hard naked buttocks.
I parked my small blue sedan beside two SUVs—one a sleek silver Mercedes Benz, the other chunky and black with a logo I didn’t recognize. Which probably meant it cost as much as my house.
Not that I’m envious. Not at all.
The double-wide, NBA-player-tall front doors were dwarfed by the storeys soaring over my head and stretching out on either side. Lamps lit the dark wood exterior at regular intervals and light streamed freely through various windows. Who needed draperies when there were no neighbours to peer inside?
Clutching the bottle of wine I’d brought as a hostess gift, I rang the bell.
CHAPTER TWO
I half-expected to be greeted by a housekeeper. Maybe even a butler. But when the door swung open, the young man who stood in the opening bore such a strong resemblance to Azalea I knew at once who he was.
“You must be Carter.” All I knew of him was that he owned a florist shop whimsically named Carousel. Azalea had also mentioned in passing that he had semi-recently broken up with a long-term girlfriend. I put out my palm. “I’m Ginnie Blynde.”
He shook my hand, his grip cool and a touch damp, as if he’d just washed. “Yes, I know who you are. Mom mentioned you’d be coming by.”
He stepped back so I could enter, a welcoming yet shy smile lighting his face. “She’s in the library. I’ll take you there.”
He wasn’t as exuberant as his parent, but his brown eyes gleamed with a familiar friendliness. Other similarities were evident in the tight curls covering his head, though the shade was a more subdued straw in contrast to Azalea’s golden coin. His pale brows winged up at the same angle, and his mouth was wide and full like hers. They also shared a chin dimple.
He stowed my coat in an enormous closet and invited me to follow. “So, what’s it like? Running a dating agency, I mean?” He sounded honestly interested, so I answered in the same vein.
“It can be very rewarding. Humans are social creatures. We need family, whether by blood or love. I like helping people find theirs.” I’d given that same reply a zillion times, and I meant it, even if my own troubles had overshadowed that joy in recent months.
The hall was so wide we could walk side-by-side. Glancing into the large, dimly lit rooms branching off it, I had an impression of lofty ceilings and killer views over the city. Shifting the wine bottle to my other hand, I wiped my palm discreetly on my hip.
“Mom seems to be enjoying herself, meeting new people. I’m glad, because I’m the one that suggested she give it a try.” His mouth quirked, diffident and self-effacing. “She went through a tough time after my…my father passed. I want her to be happy.”
The slight stutter told me Azalea wasn’t the only one affected by the death.
We turned a corner, and an open area expanded before us. Cozy yet elegant furniture was scattered about, punctuated by occasional tables decked with vases of fresh flowers and glittering curios. I gawped like a tourist. Better to get my plebeian reaction over with before meeting
Azalea’s friends, to whom this would be run of the mill.
“You have a beautiful home.” It was an understatement, but true, nonetheless.
“I don’t live here anymore, but thanks. I had dinner with Mom before her friends came. When she mentioned you were coming over, too, I decided to stay. I wanted to meet you.”
“Oh? Why?” Was he interested in registering with the agency?
We halted near a long narrow sofa table. The scent of roses and carnations wafted from the large bouquet adorning it.
“I said I want my mom to be happy. But more, I want her to be safe.” He made an expansive, encompassing gesture. “As you can see, we’re rather well off. It’s important that the men she dates aren’t after her just for her money or connections.”
This didn’t come as a surprise. Azalea been honest about her reasons for hiring me. “My son is worried about gold-diggers,” she had told me at our first meeting, her tone indulgent and amused. “He wants to make sure the men I date are with me for the right reasons.”
I understood Carter’s reservations much better, now the evidence of her wealth was right in my face. “I get it. Let me assure you, our vetting process is rigorous.” His concern was touching. Carter obviously loved his mom very much. I felt a small pang that I’d never had the opportunity to share the same love with a child of my own.
“I know. It’s one of the reasons I encouraged her to join your agency. Still, I wanted you to know how important she is to me.”
“I promise I’ll do my best for your mom.” As I did for all my clients. The reservations I had about matching Azalea and Seth had nothing to do with his integrity.
I just hoped they didn’t have anything to do with my personal feelings for the man.
Several doors led off the huge space. Carter led me to an open one and pointed. “They’re in there. Have a good evening. I enjoyed finally meeting you.”
I nodded and watched him disappear into the main hallway before stepping into the next room.
Once again, I was awestruck. It was like a movie set. Dark wood panelling extending to the vaulted ceiling. Bookcases filled with leather tomes and tattered paperbacks. A ladder—an actual rolling ladder—resting on rails on the far wall. Huge narrow windows that by day would give a stunning view of the gardens—if I hadn’t totally lost my bearings on the trek here—but which at this time of night reflected the brightly lit scene inside.
“Ginnie! I’m so glad you made it! Come in, come in.” Azalea rushed to greet me, the winged sleeves of her pale teal jumpsuit flapping.
I’d debated what to wear to a high-society at-home girls’ night and was glad I’d gone for business casual—black trousers, soft rose turtleneck, discreet jewellery. “Thanks for inviting me." I held out the bottle of wine.
Squealing with delight over my modest offering, she tugged me toward the conversation area where two women were seated. “You’re the last to arrive. Girls, I’d like you to meet Regina Blynde. You don’t mind if they call you Ginnie, do you?” Her beaming grin was blinding, and only faint lines creased the skin around her mouth. Although only in her forties, I was pretty sure she’d had some work done—eyes and chin—but if so, it had been performed by a skilled surgeon.
“Of course not.”
She was cheerful and sweet and loved to travel, often at the last minute on some impulsive getaway. And she wasn’t as airheaded as I might be making her sound. Her flutteriness hid a pragmatic core and a glittering intelligence. I wasn’t sure why she needed the frivolous camouflage, but as I’ve mentioned, we all have masks. Hers was simply painted with a smile.
“Ginnie, this is Belva Ginsberg.” Azalea nodded at the woman posed bolt upright as if the back of the dark leather club chair was on fire. “And Coral Loughty.” The second was curled like a cupcake in an identical chair on the far side of a knee-high glass table.
When I’d accepted Azalea’s invitation, I’d figured I could pop into the gathering, schmooze for a few minutes, arrange a private moment to confirm her date with Seth, and pop out again without too much fuss. That was going to be much harder with only two other guests.
“Let me get you something to drink. A glass of wine?” She scurried toward a serving cart where crystal gleamed and assorted liquor waited.
It would be impolite to refuse, so I resigned myself to an awkward hour as a fifth wheel. “Thank you. Just a small one, though. I can’t stay long.”
Belva Ginsberg was a thin, austere woman wearing a silky white blouse, black pencil skirt, and a string of old-fashioned pearls. To my eyes she was too formally dressed for an evening at a friend’s home, but maybe she’d come straight from work. She struck me as a woman with a successful career. Maybe as a prison warden. Or a ruler-wielding piano teacher.
Coral Loughty, on the other hand, wore fuchsia yoga pants, a top with equally bright flowers scattered over it, and a matching sheer, robe-like garment. She’d tucked her feet up on the seat and glowed out of the black leather like a bonbon. The expression on her round-cheeked face was wryly amused, as if an interloper at a private party was exactly what she expected from Azalea.
Belva started the conversation rolling, if you could call it that. “Azalea told us you operate a local dating agency.” Distaste dripped from each syllable.
This attitude was more common than Carter’s accepting curiosity. I flipped through my mental Rolodex of standard responses and chose Option C: Naïve Enthusiasm.
“I do!” I grinned, showing all my teeth, and then flicked my gaze to her ringless hands and back up to her face. “It is so rewarding to help people find companionship. I’m sure you can understand how difficult it is, meeting people at our time of life.”
Her eyes widened, unsure whether I’d insulted her or not, and if I had, was it a dig at her singlehood or her age?
I smiled blandly and let her stew as I continued. “Sometimes it feels easier to give up than to keep looking. I’m there to offer support and encouragement. I truly believe there’s someone for everyone.”
That last was nothing but the truth. I’d had my someone for a long time. Or at least I’d thought I had.
“Oh, that’s so romantic.” Coral sighed. “I was married once, but it didn’t work out. Maybe I should sign up.”
Azalea returned with my wine and dropped into the chair next to me. Her pale blue eyes sparkled. “That’s a wonderful idea! You should join, too, Belva. Then maybe we can go on triple dates!”
Coral smiled in merry agreement. Belva looked horrified, which gave me more pleasure than it should.
I turned the screw a little tighter. “I would love to set that up. The two of you can go online and create an account any time.” Many clients preferred to keep their membership in my agency a secret, at least until they found a successful match. Azalea obviously wasn’t one of them. I used her suggestion to segue into the reason for my presence. “In the meantime, though”—I twisted to speak directly to her—“I have another match for you. Can we discuss that now or would you prefer we speak in private?”
“I don’t have any secrets from my girls.” Azalea gazed fondly at her friends. I had no trouble seeing her and Coral as buddies, but Belva? As experienced as I was with the vagaries of personal connections, some relationships would always be a mystery.
“All right then.” I gave her a brief summary of Seth’s profile without mentioning his name. She might be okay with broadcasting her membership, but I didn’t have his approval to do the same. “He’s available tomorrow night. What do you think?”
“Third time’s the charm?” Azalea’s giggle made her sound decades younger.
“You mean you didn’t meet your soulmate on your first date?” Belva’s tone was as sour as the lemon in the gin and tonic she clutched in one hand.
The jab was directed at me, but Azalea replied with her usual cheer. “I’m so glad I didn’t. I married Warren young, and I’ll love him forever. Now I’m having fun meeting different men. I feel twenty again.” She turned to me. “Yes, tomorrow’s open.”
“Great.” Maeve had already made a booking for six-thirty at Da Moreno’s, just in case. “I’ll email you the reservation details and his file so you can review it beforehand. If you have any concerns, please let me know right away.”
With my business accomplished, I could make my excuses and retreat. But the wine was good, Coral and Azalea pleasant company, and it was fairly easy to ignore Belva, so I allowed myself to relax.
As I observed Azalea, I grew more and more positive she and Seth were not a good match. Well, I never claimed to be infallible. I wished I could decipher why it seemed doomed, as the situation would be easier to avoid in future if I could recognize the signs.
Maybe I was worried for nothing. Maybe they would hit it off, be a match made in heaven.
Turns out, I had plenty to be worried about. I was just worrying about the wrong thing.
CHAPTER THREE
Tuesday morning, Piper—who I’d managed to avoid the day before—pinned me down and waxed poetic on her updated database software while I tried desperately to understand one word in ten. The rest of the day went by in a different kind of blur—meetings with new clients. I worked late that evening as I often did and managed to avoid thinking about Azalea and Seth and their date with reasonable success.
The moment my eyes opened Wednesday morning, however, the couple immediately popped into my head. Even as Indra and I dealt with a minor fire involving the caterer we’d hired for Hopeful Hearts, our upcoming Valentine’s Day event, a good portion of my attention was waiting for one or the other to call with a report.
Clients weren’t required to check in after a date, but many did. Azalea had after both her previous matches, so I was a little surprised when I hadn’t heard from her by lunchtime.
A phone call just after one-thirty was the first indication that something sinister was going on. Not that my thoughts jumped to sinister at the time. That’s hindsight talking.
I was in my office reviewing matches that might fulfill a particularly picky client’s very specific requests. My desk phone, the one connected with the office landline, rang. I answered absently.
“Mrs. Blynde?” The male voice was soft, hesitant, and in the higher range. “It’s Carter Bickersley."
“Carter, hello. What can I do for you?”
“Have you spoken with my mother today?”
“No, I haven’t.” This echo of my earlier ponderings made me frown, though I kept my tone light.
“We were supposed to meet for lunch. She didn’t show. I called her cell and there was no answer. The last time we spoke was just before her date yesterday.” The upward lilt on the last sentence turned it into a question.
“I’m sure there’s a simple explanation. Maybe her battery is dead, and she forgot about the lunch.”
“She wouldn’t forget. We meet every Wednesday.”
Peter and I hadn’t had children, for both biological and intellectual reasons. I rarely regretted that, but Carter and Azalea’s relationship had me wondering how our lives would have been different if fate had made us parents. They were obviously extremely close.
“Have you been to her house?” I asked.
“I’m there now. She’s not here. Neither is her car. And I don’t think she slept here last night.”
In an odd juxtaposition, my body relaxed while my mind tensed.
Azalea had spent the night with Seth. She’s safe.
Azalea had spent the night with Seth. That bitch.
Shocked at my visceral and bitter reaction, I kept my voice even. “What makes you say that?”
“I spoke to her housekeeper Mrs. Pereira. She says Mom’s bed was still made when she went to tidy her room. Also, the house was empty when she got here at ten. Mom hardly ever goes anywhere before noon.”
Hardly ever wasn’t exactly never, but the evidence seemed fairly conclusive. I guess I’d been wrong when I thought the match was doomed to fail. “Tell you what. I’ll call my client and see if he’s heard from her.” I didn’t voice my suspicions out loud. The last thing a son wanted to hear was that his mother had stood him up because she’d been distracted by a lover.
“Would you?” His relief came clearly through the speaker. “That would be great.”
“Of course. I’ll get back to you as soon as I talk with him.” I stifled a thrill of anticipation and blinked away a disturbingly sharp image of Seth smiling at me from the visitor’s chair across my desk. Cool it, Ginnie. He’s not for you.
“Thank you.” He swallowed. “I’m probably being silly.”
“Your mother is a mature, responsible woman. I’m sure this is just a miscommunication.”
We exchanged cell numbers and disconnected. I turned to my computer, clicked through to Seth’s contact information, took a deep breath, and reminded myself to be professional. Whatever he and Azalea had done last night was none of my business. Well, it was my business business, since I’d set them up, but it was none of my personal business.
I dropped my head on my desk and thudded it up and down, hoping to knock some sense into my brain. Then I dialled his number.
“Seth Updike.”
Don’t ask me if my toes curled at hearing his voice. You won’t get an honest answer.
According to his profile, Seth owned a construction company. From the growling and beeping and clanging leaking through the speaker, I guessed he was at a building site. “Sorry to bother you. It’s Ginnie from Blynde Dating Agency. I need to talk to you about Azalea Bickersley.”
His reply was buried under an avalanche of noise.
I pressed the phone harder to my ear. As if that would help. “Sorry. What was that?”
The cacophony dulled as if he’d closed a door or moved behind a wall. “Now’s not a good time. We’re in the middle of a pour.”
I didn’t bother asking what that meant. “When will you be done?” Despite Carter’s anxiety, I wasn’t convinced there was reason for urgency. Azalea was probably out shopping for new, exorbitantly expensive lingerie to wear on her next date with Seth.
Catty, much?
“Can you give me an hour or two?”
I brought my afternoon schedule onto the screen and reviewed it rapidly. “Let’s make it two, just to be safe. Should I call you or will you call me?” I was pleased with my briskness. No one would suspect bubbles of inappropriate lust were dancing in my veins.
“I’ll call you.” More commotion and shouting assaulted my ear. “Got to go.”
After we disconnected, I texted Carter a quick update and got back to work.
###
Matchmaking was something I’d fallen into by accident.
My husband and I met at university. Peter became a high school English teacher, and I used my psychology degree to secure a job in human resources at a multinational forestry company. Over the years we introduced friends to other friends, as one does, and several of those introductions led to long and happy relationships. When I was downsized after two decades, a joking remark from one of those couples sparked the idea that would become Blynde Dating Agency.
I still enjoyed what I did but no longer experienced the innocent excitement I had when I first started. Peter’s death and all that had come before had a lot to do with that.
Just shy of the two-hour mark, a knock at my door interrupted my concentration.
Seth stood in the opening. He wore jeans liberally speckled with what appeared to be dried concrete and a slightly cleaner heavy canvas coat lined with sheepskin. A grey toque was pulled low over his ears. Dirt-caked steel-toed boots laced up the ankles completed the contractor-disturbed-at-work ensemble.
I licked suddenly dry lips. “I thought you were going to call.” Handling my attraction would have been so much easier through the ether. Now I was once again confronted with the full force of his…whatever it was that made me forget he was off limits.
“I decided it would be better to talk in person.” He approached and I caught the scent of sawdust and frigid air clinging to his clothing. “I’m guessing you spoke with Azalea.”
I scrambled to collect myself. “No, I haven’t. That’s why I want to talk to you.”
His forehead wrinkled, brows lowering. “I don’t understand.”
“Maybe we should start at the beginning.” I gestured to the couch tucked against the wall. This conversation could get uncomfortable, and I didn’t want him to think I was using my desk as a barricade. The sofa would be more friendly, intimate.
The thought of intimacy with Seth made my breath catch. I really needed to get a grip. I hadn’t ever been this discombobulated by a client. I mean ever.
“Can I get you a coffee? Tea?” I bounced out of my chair and headed for the door. “Water?”
“A glass of water would be great. Thanks.”
I’d converted a large storage closet into a tiny kitchenette when I’d moved into the building. When I returned with two glasses of water—and a much cooler head after a minute of deep breathing—he was standing at one end of the small couch. I placed the glasses on the low table in front of it and waved him to sit before taking the other end and angling toward him. My knee almost touched his thigh. I tucked my ankles back and squiggled deeper into the corner. “You start. Why did you think Azalea was going to call me?”
He wasn’t nearly as relaxed as the first time we’d met. His spine didn’t touch the cushion, and he used the bare minimum of the seat. “Our date didn’t exactly end well. I was certain she’d call to complain today.” He swept off his toque and scrubbed his hands through his short iron-grey hair.
My cheeks prickled. “You mean you didn’t spend the night together?”
His mouth dropped open and then shut with a snap. “I only met the woman yesterday. You think we had sex?”
“Hey, I don’t judge. If it felt right…” A sudden flush of heat swept over me. Damn menopause. I pulled the collar of my blouse away from my neck with one hand and reached for my glass with the other. “This has nothing to do with our conversation. Blame biology,” I said by way of explanation. Cool water sliding down my throat did nothing to relieve me. I fanned the air in front of my face.
He ignored the sweat beading under my nose. “I have never been that kind of guy. Even if I was, though, it wouldn’t have happened. Azalea is perfectly sweet, but I’m not interested in her, and I’m afraid I couldn’t hide it. I had to be honest. I had to tell her I was attracted to someone else.”
Shock loosened my grip on my glass. I returned it to the table without taking my gaze off Seth. “Someone else? You met someone between leaving my office and your date with Azalea?” The hot flash retreated as quickly as it had attacked. I stopped flapping my hand and did my best to appear reasonable and sane.
“No, not after leaving your office.” He lifted his chin and stared at me with an intensity that had my temperature rising again. “While I was in it.”
I sat, mesmerized by the blue of his eyes. Blue was too weak a word. I idly considered other descriptors as I stared into their depths. Cobalt, sky, electric…
Wait. What had he said?
I bolted to my feet. “While you were in my office? If you liked someone from the selection I showed you better than Azalea, why didn’t you say so?”
“She wasn’t one of the choices you offered.” A wry grin lifted one corner of his mouth. “She was you.”
I’ve always loved the word gobsmacked. I wasn’t enjoying the sensation, however.
The floor tilted under my feet. I reached for the arm of the couch to steady myself before lowering gingerly back to the cushion, keeping as much space between us as I could.
“Umm…” Intelligent, I know. But it was the best I could do.
His hands rested on his knees. His fingers twitched though his gaze remained steady. “I cancelled my account with your agency this morning. I didn’t want you wasting time trying to find me a match. I felt bad enough about Azalea.”
“You didn’t tell her it was me, did you?” Please say no. Please say no.
“I did. I couldn’t lie, not on top of everything else.”
Trouble walked into my office at 8:57 that Monday morning.
I didn’t know he was trouble then, of course. Didn’t know the skin rippling on my arms was a warning. Didn’t know how different my life would be in a few short weeks.
Dismissing my goosebumps as a chill from the cool air following him in from the outer room, I gestured to the visitor’s chair.
He reached across my desk. “Seth Updike. Nice to meet you.”
“Regina Blynde. Welcome to Blynde Dating Agency.” His hand was warm and dry and lightly calloused. Warning number two—the butterflies battling in my belly. He wasn’t the first sexy silver fox I’d interviewed. He wasn’t even the first I’d been attracted to. I pushed aside my reaction as the normal hormones of a healthy hetero female confronted by a good-looking male.
Besides, he was a client. And clients were strictly off limits.
He settled into the leather and chrome chair. No arrogant sprawl, no nervous perching. Just an easy confidence I rarely saw in an applicant.
My normal tactic when meeting a new client was to let them take the lead. A few moments of silence had most people jumping in to fill the void, and I learned a lot in those first minutes of babble. Seth Updike, however, appeared ready to wait me out. His broad chest rose and fell with even breaths, his hands lay loosely on his thighs, and his blue eyes watched me with lazy amusement.
Two decades plus in human resources had taught me strategies for dealing with all personality types. This man was going to be a challenge, but I was confident I could handle him. I adjusted my approach.
“Tell me what you are hoping we can do for you, Mr. Updike.” I always kept things formal until invited otherwise.
“It’s Seth.”
Bingo. He’d taken the first step. Now we were on the path to becoming a team working to achieve the same goal. “And I’m Ginnie.” I leaned into my tall-backed executive chair and swivelled gently. I knew it dwarfed me, made me look tinier than my five foot and a half inches. Even the twenty pounds of grief weight I carried was disguised by its size. It was a purposeful choice. The less threatening I looked, the more people opened up to me.
You’d think people hoping I will find them love and companionship would be eager to tell me about themselves. Not so much. We all have masks we hide behind. We all want others to see us as stronger, prettier, smarter than we see ourselves.
I am not exempt from this. My mask is stitched together with pain and sorrow and fury. It helps me see the masks others wear.
“I’m not here to find a soulmate.” This was warning number three, though I didn’t know it at the time. “I’m fifty years old and understand when to temper my expectations. I’ll be happy with a companion, someone who enjoys the same things I do, who doesn’t create unnecessary drama, who will enhance my life.”
I knew he was fifty-one years old from the online profile he’d filled out. He might have misspoken without a hidden agenda—I often had to think hard before I remembered I was fifty-four—but then again, he might be vain enough to lie just that teensy bit. It was a small failing and I liked him better for it.
“What made you choose my agency?”
“You hooked me with the name.” The lazy amusement flared into a bright spark, the crow’s feet around his eyes deepening. I despaired the day would ever come when wrinkles on a woman would be as sexy as those on a man. “The fact that you’re a local business reeled me in. It was your process that landed me, though.”
He’d listed fishing as one of his hobbies. Along with hiking, camping, skiing, and other outdoor activities. I found it easy to believe he’d been honest about those pursuits. He had the lean honed look of a guy who spent little time in front of a TV or computer screen.
“What about the process?” I probed.
He crossed a khaki-clad leg over his knee and smoothed his palm down his thigh. It was his first sign of nervousness. “I researched other online dating services, but they felt too impersonal, too”—he circled a hand in the air above his head—“global. When I read that the online profile is only the first step in your matching system, and that you interview all applicants face-to-face, I figured I’d give it a try. I was also impressed that the references on your website are all from people in their forties and older. I have a twenty-five-year-old daughter. I’m not interested in dating anyone even remotely close to her age.”
Well, that was refreshing. I rejected many of the men—and more of the women than you might think—who applied because they were unwilling to consider potential partners in their own age group. Not that I insist clients stick within a certain range. But those who are adamant their dates must be ten or fifteen or twenty years younger often have issues that are more complicated than I am willing to deal with.
“Your application indicates your most recent long-term relationship ended about ten years ago.” We didn’t use the term ‘married’ on our forms. It was the commitment that counted, not the paperwork.
“Yes.” This brevity was at odds with his earlier openness.
I poked a little more. “So why now? What encouraged you to seek our help?”
The skin at the base of my throat tingled from his stare as he contemplated his response. He continued to avoid my eyes when he finally did reply. “It seemed like the right time.”
I sensed there was more to his answer, but he was allowed to keep his counsel. Unless his secret harmed another of my clients. Then I’d be all over his ass.
I pulled over the folder I’d prepared. “Here’s a selection of women I think might suit. Let’s get to work.”
###
An hour later, Seth Updike left, and I breathed a sigh of relief.
It had been trickier than I’d thought to find him a match, though I couldn’t put my finger on why. In appearance, he was eminently dateable. His honest, competent, and good-humoured attitude hadn’t flagged during our session, and he had been open to most of my suggestions. Yet I wasn’t happy with any of the women I’d shortlisted for him, and I was disgruntled and doubting my skills by the time we’d settled on one.
I slid out of my chair, bending and stretching to get the kinks out, and then headed to the outer office.
Blynde Dating Agency leased a small suite of rooms on the ground floor of a narrow old building on a downtown street. A dance studio occupied the second floor. When I worked late, which was most nights, the soft thuds of footfalls and faint strains of music that drifted through the ceiling kept me company.
For the first several years, I had run the agency from my own home as a solo enterprise. Two years ago, when I needed something to keep me sane after…well, after, I threw myself into expanding the business. Now I have three employees. We do one-on-one social coaching, advise members on how to write their profiles, and even conduct inquiries if a client wants us to vet someone not associated with the agency.
In reception, Maeve Applekamp sat at a sleek desk that faced the main door and wrapped around behind her. She was a tall spare woman in her sixties and ran the office with the efficiency of a British nanny.
“Is Piper coming in today?” I asked.
Piper Latimer is my webmistress/tech guru/cyber geek. If it involved the guts or brains of a computer, she did it. Though she had an office next to mine, she often worked from home.
“Not until after lunch. And Indra is off because of the Singles’ Supper last Saturday.”
I nodded. Dating events like Singles’ Suppers and Welcome Weekends fell into the realm of our social coordinator, Indra Braniff.
“Did you need Piper for something?” As usual, Maeve was doing three things at once, and all of them well. Her fingers flew over the keyboard before she reached behind her to pull sheets off the printer and tuck them into a bright yellow folder.
“She wants to explain some new algorithm she’s designed. I was hoping she could do that before the next client showed up.” According to the clock on the wall, I had about fifteen minutes.
“Which would give you an out before your brain glazed over from all the geek-speak.” Maeve’s eyes glinted as she peered over the top of her wire-framed reading glasses. She knew how much I hated technology. The label maker clattered. She peeled off the sticker and affixed it to the yellow folder. “How did the meeting with Mr. Updike go?”
“I matched him with Azalea Bickersley.” My brows drew together. “I’m not sure it’s going to work out, though.”
“Then why set it up?”
I was wondering the exact same thing. A tiny part of me worried my subconscious had suggested the match because it wouldn’t work. That the spark of attraction I’d felt for Seth Updike had sabotaged my professionalism. It better not be that. Because no matter what my traitorous subconscious might be up to, my real self wasn’t looking for a relationship of any kind. I’d already experienced my one great love and look how that had turned out.
I shook off my unease. “I had to start somewhere. Most matches take a couple of shots before I get a feel for the client. If Piper comes in soon, send her my way, won’t you?”
Back in my office, I dialled Azalea’s number.
“Hello?” Before I had a chance to respond, the high twittery voice repeated, “Hello?”
“Hello, Azalea. It’s Ginnie Blynde.”
“Oh, Ginnie, how lovely to hear from you!”
I’d met Azalea about five weeks ago, in mid-December, when she’d registered for the agency. Despite our short acquaintance, she never failed to greet me as if we were long lost friends reconnecting after the passage of years.
“I’m calling to see if you are available tomorrow evening. I have another match I’d like you to meet.”
Her voice had that odd jumpy quality you hear when people are walking and talking at the same time. “I’m so sorry. I can’t talk right now. I’m halfway out the door. The girls are coming over this evening and I have to nip out to get the goodies.” Her naughty giggle had me wondering exactly what those goodies would be. She continued without pausing for breath. “I know! You should join us! The girls would love to meet you.”
I winced and held the phone away from my ear. Her guileless—and often loud—enthusiasm was one of the things I liked about her. I wondered if Seth might find it charming or annoying. “Oh, I don’t know—”
“I insist. You must come. The girls will be thrilled.” Thud, as of a door closing.
I doubted it. The girls would be well-to-do, well-known citizens of the city, and well outside my usual circle of friends. You see, Azalea was royalty. Not Buckingham Palace royalty, despite the coincidence of William and Kate’s eldest son sharing the same name as our town. But her family had lived in Prince George for generations and she had relatives and friends scattered throughout the upper echelons of business, law, and medicine.
“I won’t take no for an answer.” She sounded beyond delighted to have me gatecrash. “Seven o’clock, my place. You have the address.”
And before I could protest further, she hung up.
###
As I turned through the gates leading to Azalea’s house that evening, I reflected that this wasn’t the oddest thing I’d done to accommodate a client. I’d set up dates at ski resorts and on party boats, delivered “it’s not you, it’s me,” speeches when a member couldn’t get up the courage to make the break themselves, and convinced more than one love-struck person that proposing on the second date might not be the best idea.
The asphalt drive was black as pitch without a speck of ice. Azalea must employ an army to keep it clear. Or maybe the whole thing was heated. Well, she could afford it.
When I said Azalea was royalty, you probably thought I was exaggerating. I was, but not by much. Her home wasn’t a castle, but it was certainly one of the largest in town. Set on a ridge overlooking the city, it might even qualify to have ‘grounds’ as opposed to a yard. To my left, a huge expanse of unmarred white, smooth as butter cream frosting, was encircled by a neatly trimmed, waist-high, cedar hedge. In the centre, protective burlap coddled more delicate shrubbery. Rising from their midst was a large statue of a naked man, sculpted in the Greek—or maybe Roman, I was no expert—style. He looked rather pathetic, what with the snow capping his head and shoulders, and I wanted to give him a consoling pat. Maybe on his stone-hard naked buttocks.
I parked my small blue sedan beside two SUVs—one a sleek silver Mercedes Benz, the other chunky and black with a logo I didn’t recognize. Which probably meant it cost as much as my house.
Not that I’m envious. Not at all.
The double-wide, NBA-player-tall front doors were dwarfed by the storeys soaring over my head and stretching out on either side. Lamps lit the dark wood exterior at regular intervals and light streamed freely through various windows. Who needed draperies when there were no neighbours to peer inside?
Clutching the bottle of wine I’d brought as a hostess gift, I rang the bell.
CHAPTER TWO
I half-expected to be greeted by a housekeeper. Maybe even a butler. But when the door swung open, the young man who stood in the opening bore such a strong resemblance to Azalea I knew at once who he was.
“You must be Carter.” All I knew of him was that he owned a florist shop whimsically named Carousel. Azalea had also mentioned in passing that he had semi-recently broken up with a long-term girlfriend. I put out my palm. “I’m Ginnie Blynde.”
He shook my hand, his grip cool and a touch damp, as if he’d just washed. “Yes, I know who you are. Mom mentioned you’d be coming by.”
He stepped back so I could enter, a welcoming yet shy smile lighting his face. “She’s in the library. I’ll take you there.”
He wasn’t as exuberant as his parent, but his brown eyes gleamed with a familiar friendliness. Other similarities were evident in the tight curls covering his head, though the shade was a more subdued straw in contrast to Azalea’s golden coin. His pale brows winged up at the same angle, and his mouth was wide and full like hers. They also shared a chin dimple.
He stowed my coat in an enormous closet and invited me to follow. “So, what’s it like? Running a dating agency, I mean?” He sounded honestly interested, so I answered in the same vein.
“It can be very rewarding. Humans are social creatures. We need family, whether by blood or love. I like helping people find theirs.” I’d given that same reply a zillion times, and I meant it, even if my own troubles had overshadowed that joy in recent months.
The hall was so wide we could walk side-by-side. Glancing into the large, dimly lit rooms branching off it, I had an impression of lofty ceilings and killer views over the city. Shifting the wine bottle to my other hand, I wiped my palm discreetly on my hip.
“Mom seems to be enjoying herself, meeting new people. I’m glad, because I’m the one that suggested she give it a try.” His mouth quirked, diffident and self-effacing. “She went through a tough time after my…my father passed. I want her to be happy.”
The slight stutter told me Azalea wasn’t the only one affected by the death.
We turned a corner, and an open area expanded before us. Cozy yet elegant furniture was scattered about, punctuated by occasional tables decked with vases of fresh flowers and glittering curios. I gawped like a tourist. Better to get my plebeian reaction over with before meeting
Azalea’s friends, to whom this would be run of the mill.
“You have a beautiful home.” It was an understatement, but true, nonetheless.
“I don’t live here anymore, but thanks. I had dinner with Mom before her friends came. When she mentioned you were coming over, too, I decided to stay. I wanted to meet you.”
“Oh? Why?” Was he interested in registering with the agency?
We halted near a long narrow sofa table. The scent of roses and carnations wafted from the large bouquet adorning it.
“I said I want my mom to be happy. But more, I want her to be safe.” He made an expansive, encompassing gesture. “As you can see, we’re rather well off. It’s important that the men she dates aren’t after her just for her money or connections.”
This didn’t come as a surprise. Azalea been honest about her reasons for hiring me. “My son is worried about gold-diggers,” she had told me at our first meeting, her tone indulgent and amused. “He wants to make sure the men I date are with me for the right reasons.”
I understood Carter’s reservations much better, now the evidence of her wealth was right in my face. “I get it. Let me assure you, our vetting process is rigorous.” His concern was touching. Carter obviously loved his mom very much. I felt a small pang that I’d never had the opportunity to share the same love with a child of my own.
“I know. It’s one of the reasons I encouraged her to join your agency. Still, I wanted you to know how important she is to me.”
“I promise I’ll do my best for your mom.” As I did for all my clients. The reservations I had about matching Azalea and Seth had nothing to do with his integrity.
I just hoped they didn’t have anything to do with my personal feelings for the man.
Several doors led off the huge space. Carter led me to an open one and pointed. “They’re in there. Have a good evening. I enjoyed finally meeting you.”
I nodded and watched him disappear into the main hallway before stepping into the next room.
Once again, I was awestruck. It was like a movie set. Dark wood panelling extending to the vaulted ceiling. Bookcases filled with leather tomes and tattered paperbacks. A ladder—an actual rolling ladder—resting on rails on the far wall. Huge narrow windows that by day would give a stunning view of the gardens—if I hadn’t totally lost my bearings on the trek here—but which at this time of night reflected the brightly lit scene inside.
“Ginnie! I’m so glad you made it! Come in, come in.” Azalea rushed to greet me, the winged sleeves of her pale teal jumpsuit flapping.
I’d debated what to wear to a high-society at-home girls’ night and was glad I’d gone for business casual—black trousers, soft rose turtleneck, discreet jewellery. “Thanks for inviting me." I held out the bottle of wine.
Squealing with delight over my modest offering, she tugged me toward the conversation area where two women were seated. “You’re the last to arrive. Girls, I’d like you to meet Regina Blynde. You don’t mind if they call you Ginnie, do you?” Her beaming grin was blinding, and only faint lines creased the skin around her mouth. Although only in her forties, I was pretty sure she’d had some work done—eyes and chin—but if so, it had been performed by a skilled surgeon.
“Of course not.”
She was cheerful and sweet and loved to travel, often at the last minute on some impulsive getaway. And she wasn’t as airheaded as I might be making her sound. Her flutteriness hid a pragmatic core and a glittering intelligence. I wasn’t sure why she needed the frivolous camouflage, but as I’ve mentioned, we all have masks. Hers was simply painted with a smile.
“Ginnie, this is Belva Ginsberg.” Azalea nodded at the woman posed bolt upright as if the back of the dark leather club chair was on fire. “And Coral Loughty.” The second was curled like a cupcake in an identical chair on the far side of a knee-high glass table.
When I’d accepted Azalea’s invitation, I’d figured I could pop into the gathering, schmooze for a few minutes, arrange a private moment to confirm her date with Seth, and pop out again without too much fuss. That was going to be much harder with only two other guests.
“Let me get you something to drink. A glass of wine?” She scurried toward a serving cart where crystal gleamed and assorted liquor waited.
It would be impolite to refuse, so I resigned myself to an awkward hour as a fifth wheel. “Thank you. Just a small one, though. I can’t stay long.”
Belva Ginsberg was a thin, austere woman wearing a silky white blouse, black pencil skirt, and a string of old-fashioned pearls. To my eyes she was too formally dressed for an evening at a friend’s home, but maybe she’d come straight from work. She struck me as a woman with a successful career. Maybe as a prison warden. Or a ruler-wielding piano teacher.
Coral Loughty, on the other hand, wore fuchsia yoga pants, a top with equally bright flowers scattered over it, and a matching sheer, robe-like garment. She’d tucked her feet up on the seat and glowed out of the black leather like a bonbon. The expression on her round-cheeked face was wryly amused, as if an interloper at a private party was exactly what she expected from Azalea.
Belva started the conversation rolling, if you could call it that. “Azalea told us you operate a local dating agency.” Distaste dripped from each syllable.
This attitude was more common than Carter’s accepting curiosity. I flipped through my mental Rolodex of standard responses and chose Option C: Naïve Enthusiasm.
“I do!” I grinned, showing all my teeth, and then flicked my gaze to her ringless hands and back up to her face. “It is so rewarding to help people find companionship. I’m sure you can understand how difficult it is, meeting people at our time of life.”
Her eyes widened, unsure whether I’d insulted her or not, and if I had, was it a dig at her singlehood or her age?
I smiled blandly and let her stew as I continued. “Sometimes it feels easier to give up than to keep looking. I’m there to offer support and encouragement. I truly believe there’s someone for everyone.”
That last was nothing but the truth. I’d had my someone for a long time. Or at least I’d thought I had.
“Oh, that’s so romantic.” Coral sighed. “I was married once, but it didn’t work out. Maybe I should sign up.”
Azalea returned with my wine and dropped into the chair next to me. Her pale blue eyes sparkled. “That’s a wonderful idea! You should join, too, Belva. Then maybe we can go on triple dates!”
Coral smiled in merry agreement. Belva looked horrified, which gave me more pleasure than it should.
I turned the screw a little tighter. “I would love to set that up. The two of you can go online and create an account any time.” Many clients preferred to keep their membership in my agency a secret, at least until they found a successful match. Azalea obviously wasn’t one of them. I used her suggestion to segue into the reason for my presence. “In the meantime, though”—I twisted to speak directly to her—“I have another match for you. Can we discuss that now or would you prefer we speak in private?”
“I don’t have any secrets from my girls.” Azalea gazed fondly at her friends. I had no trouble seeing her and Coral as buddies, but Belva? As experienced as I was with the vagaries of personal connections, some relationships would always be a mystery.
“All right then.” I gave her a brief summary of Seth’s profile without mentioning his name. She might be okay with broadcasting her membership, but I didn’t have his approval to do the same. “He’s available tomorrow night. What do you think?”
“Third time’s the charm?” Azalea’s giggle made her sound decades younger.
“You mean you didn’t meet your soulmate on your first date?” Belva’s tone was as sour as the lemon in the gin and tonic she clutched in one hand.
The jab was directed at me, but Azalea replied with her usual cheer. “I’m so glad I didn’t. I married Warren young, and I’ll love him forever. Now I’m having fun meeting different men. I feel twenty again.” She turned to me. “Yes, tomorrow’s open.”
“Great.” Maeve had already made a booking for six-thirty at Da Moreno’s, just in case. “I’ll email you the reservation details and his file so you can review it beforehand. If you have any concerns, please let me know right away.”
With my business accomplished, I could make my excuses and retreat. But the wine was good, Coral and Azalea pleasant company, and it was fairly easy to ignore Belva, so I allowed myself to relax.
As I observed Azalea, I grew more and more positive she and Seth were not a good match. Well, I never claimed to be infallible. I wished I could decipher why it seemed doomed, as the situation would be easier to avoid in future if I could recognize the signs.
Maybe I was worried for nothing. Maybe they would hit it off, be a match made in heaven.
Turns out, I had plenty to be worried about. I was just worrying about the wrong thing.
CHAPTER THREE
Tuesday morning, Piper—who I’d managed to avoid the day before—pinned me down and waxed poetic on her updated database software while I tried desperately to understand one word in ten. The rest of the day went by in a different kind of blur—meetings with new clients. I worked late that evening as I often did and managed to avoid thinking about Azalea and Seth and their date with reasonable success.
The moment my eyes opened Wednesday morning, however, the couple immediately popped into my head. Even as Indra and I dealt with a minor fire involving the caterer we’d hired for Hopeful Hearts, our upcoming Valentine’s Day event, a good portion of my attention was waiting for one or the other to call with a report.
Clients weren’t required to check in after a date, but many did. Azalea had after both her previous matches, so I was a little surprised when I hadn’t heard from her by lunchtime.
A phone call just after one-thirty was the first indication that something sinister was going on. Not that my thoughts jumped to sinister at the time. That’s hindsight talking.
I was in my office reviewing matches that might fulfill a particularly picky client’s very specific requests. My desk phone, the one connected with the office landline, rang. I answered absently.
“Mrs. Blynde?” The male voice was soft, hesitant, and in the higher range. “It’s Carter Bickersley."
“Carter, hello. What can I do for you?”
“Have you spoken with my mother today?”
“No, I haven’t.” This echo of my earlier ponderings made me frown, though I kept my tone light.
“We were supposed to meet for lunch. She didn’t show. I called her cell and there was no answer. The last time we spoke was just before her date yesterday.” The upward lilt on the last sentence turned it into a question.
“I’m sure there’s a simple explanation. Maybe her battery is dead, and she forgot about the lunch.”
“She wouldn’t forget. We meet every Wednesday.”
Peter and I hadn’t had children, for both biological and intellectual reasons. I rarely regretted that, but Carter and Azalea’s relationship had me wondering how our lives would have been different if fate had made us parents. They were obviously extremely close.
“Have you been to her house?” I asked.
“I’m there now. She’s not here. Neither is her car. And I don’t think she slept here last night.”
In an odd juxtaposition, my body relaxed while my mind tensed.
Azalea had spent the night with Seth. She’s safe.
Azalea had spent the night with Seth. That bitch.
Shocked at my visceral and bitter reaction, I kept my voice even. “What makes you say that?”
“I spoke to her housekeeper Mrs. Pereira. She says Mom’s bed was still made when she went to tidy her room. Also, the house was empty when she got here at ten. Mom hardly ever goes anywhere before noon.”
Hardly ever wasn’t exactly never, but the evidence seemed fairly conclusive. I guess I’d been wrong when I thought the match was doomed to fail. “Tell you what. I’ll call my client and see if he’s heard from her.” I didn’t voice my suspicions out loud. The last thing a son wanted to hear was that his mother had stood him up because she’d been distracted by a lover.
“Would you?” His relief came clearly through the speaker. “That would be great.”
“Of course. I’ll get back to you as soon as I talk with him.” I stifled a thrill of anticipation and blinked away a disturbingly sharp image of Seth smiling at me from the visitor’s chair across my desk. Cool it, Ginnie. He’s not for you.
“Thank you.” He swallowed. “I’m probably being silly.”
“Your mother is a mature, responsible woman. I’m sure this is just a miscommunication.”
We exchanged cell numbers and disconnected. I turned to my computer, clicked through to Seth’s contact information, took a deep breath, and reminded myself to be professional. Whatever he and Azalea had done last night was none of my business. Well, it was my business business, since I’d set them up, but it was none of my personal business.
I dropped my head on my desk and thudded it up and down, hoping to knock some sense into my brain. Then I dialled his number.
“Seth Updike.”
Don’t ask me if my toes curled at hearing his voice. You won’t get an honest answer.
According to his profile, Seth owned a construction company. From the growling and beeping and clanging leaking through the speaker, I guessed he was at a building site. “Sorry to bother you. It’s Ginnie from Blynde Dating Agency. I need to talk to you about Azalea Bickersley.”
His reply was buried under an avalanche of noise.
I pressed the phone harder to my ear. As if that would help. “Sorry. What was that?”
The cacophony dulled as if he’d closed a door or moved behind a wall. “Now’s not a good time. We’re in the middle of a pour.”
I didn’t bother asking what that meant. “When will you be done?” Despite Carter’s anxiety, I wasn’t convinced there was reason for urgency. Azalea was probably out shopping for new, exorbitantly expensive lingerie to wear on her next date with Seth.
Catty, much?
“Can you give me an hour or two?”
I brought my afternoon schedule onto the screen and reviewed it rapidly. “Let’s make it two, just to be safe. Should I call you or will you call me?” I was pleased with my briskness. No one would suspect bubbles of inappropriate lust were dancing in my veins.
“I’ll call you.” More commotion and shouting assaulted my ear. “Got to go.”
After we disconnected, I texted Carter a quick update and got back to work.
###
Matchmaking was something I’d fallen into by accident.
My husband and I met at university. Peter became a high school English teacher, and I used my psychology degree to secure a job in human resources at a multinational forestry company. Over the years we introduced friends to other friends, as one does, and several of those introductions led to long and happy relationships. When I was downsized after two decades, a joking remark from one of those couples sparked the idea that would become Blynde Dating Agency.
I still enjoyed what I did but no longer experienced the innocent excitement I had when I first started. Peter’s death and all that had come before had a lot to do with that.
Just shy of the two-hour mark, a knock at my door interrupted my concentration.
Seth stood in the opening. He wore jeans liberally speckled with what appeared to be dried concrete and a slightly cleaner heavy canvas coat lined with sheepskin. A grey toque was pulled low over his ears. Dirt-caked steel-toed boots laced up the ankles completed the contractor-disturbed-at-work ensemble.
I licked suddenly dry lips. “I thought you were going to call.” Handling my attraction would have been so much easier through the ether. Now I was once again confronted with the full force of his…whatever it was that made me forget he was off limits.
“I decided it would be better to talk in person.” He approached and I caught the scent of sawdust and frigid air clinging to his clothing. “I’m guessing you spoke with Azalea.”
I scrambled to collect myself. “No, I haven’t. That’s why I want to talk to you.”
His forehead wrinkled, brows lowering. “I don’t understand.”
“Maybe we should start at the beginning.” I gestured to the couch tucked against the wall. This conversation could get uncomfortable, and I didn’t want him to think I was using my desk as a barricade. The sofa would be more friendly, intimate.
The thought of intimacy with Seth made my breath catch. I really needed to get a grip. I hadn’t ever been this discombobulated by a client. I mean ever.
“Can I get you a coffee? Tea?” I bounced out of my chair and headed for the door. “Water?”
“A glass of water would be great. Thanks.”
I’d converted a large storage closet into a tiny kitchenette when I’d moved into the building. When I returned with two glasses of water—and a much cooler head after a minute of deep breathing—he was standing at one end of the small couch. I placed the glasses on the low table in front of it and waved him to sit before taking the other end and angling toward him. My knee almost touched his thigh. I tucked my ankles back and squiggled deeper into the corner. “You start. Why did you think Azalea was going to call me?”
He wasn’t nearly as relaxed as the first time we’d met. His spine didn’t touch the cushion, and he used the bare minimum of the seat. “Our date didn’t exactly end well. I was certain she’d call to complain today.” He swept off his toque and scrubbed his hands through his short iron-grey hair.
My cheeks prickled. “You mean you didn’t spend the night together?”
His mouth dropped open and then shut with a snap. “I only met the woman yesterday. You think we had sex?”
“Hey, I don’t judge. If it felt right…” A sudden flush of heat swept over me. Damn menopause. I pulled the collar of my blouse away from my neck with one hand and reached for my glass with the other. “This has nothing to do with our conversation. Blame biology,” I said by way of explanation. Cool water sliding down my throat did nothing to relieve me. I fanned the air in front of my face.
He ignored the sweat beading under my nose. “I have never been that kind of guy. Even if I was, though, it wouldn’t have happened. Azalea is perfectly sweet, but I’m not interested in her, and I’m afraid I couldn’t hide it. I had to be honest. I had to tell her I was attracted to someone else.”
Shock loosened my grip on my glass. I returned it to the table without taking my gaze off Seth. “Someone else? You met someone between leaving my office and your date with Azalea?” The hot flash retreated as quickly as it had attacked. I stopped flapping my hand and did my best to appear reasonable and sane.
“No, not after leaving your office.” He lifted his chin and stared at me with an intensity that had my temperature rising again. “While I was in it.”
I sat, mesmerized by the blue of his eyes. Blue was too weak a word. I idly considered other descriptors as I stared into their depths. Cobalt, sky, electric…
Wait. What had he said?
I bolted to my feet. “While you were in my office? If you liked someone from the selection I showed you better than Azalea, why didn’t you say so?”
“She wasn’t one of the choices you offered.” A wry grin lifted one corner of his mouth. “She was you.”
I’ve always loved the word gobsmacked. I wasn’t enjoying the sensation, however.
The floor tilted under my feet. I reached for the arm of the couch to steady myself before lowering gingerly back to the cushion, keeping as much space between us as I could.
“Umm…” Intelligent, I know. But it was the best I could do.
His hands rested on his knees. His fingers twitched though his gaze remained steady. “I cancelled my account with your agency this morning. I didn’t want you wasting time trying to find me a match. I felt bad enough about Azalea.”
“You didn’t tell her it was me, did you?” Please say no. Please say no.
“I did. I couldn’t lie, not on top of everything else.”