Driven To Distraction. Tina Wainscott
“Not afraid. Uncomfortable.”
Her gaze scanned him. He was surprisingly yummy for a scientific kind of guy—broad shoulders and an unbuttoned white cotton shirt hanging loose over jeans. Bare feet. Now, Stacy had never considered herself a foot person, but his bare feet with the faded jeans tripped her heartbeat big time. She was, however, a flat-stomach kind of gal, and his ridges of muscles sure didn’t hurt. She was so distracted by his stomach that she almost didn’t notice his shirt was inside out.
When she realized she was close to gawking, she snapped to and saw he’d been doing the same thing, making her realize she looked ten degrees off appropriate for a dinnertime visit. She still wore the pink shorts, though she’d thrown a long T-shirt over her tank top. The fact that the shirt read Don’t Treat Me Any Differently Than You Would The Queen probably didn’t lend much appropriateness to it. She should have picked out a more genteel one, but it wasn’t like she was trying to impress him or anything. Supersmart, afraid of dogs and babies…he couldn’t be farther from her type. She redirected her gawking to the sunset. “Wow, look at that sky, will you? It’s almost heavenly.”
“Heavenly?”
She let out a breathy sigh. “Yeah.”
“I don’t understand people’s fascination with the setting sun, like it’s some phenomenon.”
When she turned to him, he was looking at her. He shifted his gaze to the sky. “The colors are just a by product of—”
“Stop! If you’re going to tell me the science behind a sunset, I don’t want to know. How can you think about science when you look at those gorgeous colors?”
“Quite easily,” he said, barely giving the splashes of orange, purple and red a glance.
“No, take a good look.” She waited until he did. Stretched across the horizon was cloud stubble gilded in sunlight. Below that were her favorite kinds of clouds. “See that bunch of clouds over there?”
“Those cumulus—”
“Yeah, those. Doesn’t that one over there look like an angel? Look at the wings. And beside it, a barking dog.” She loved the dog clouds best of all. “And over there is a dragon. Uh-oh, it’s about to eat the dog. Run, pup, run!” When she looked at him, he was watching her with a speculative grin. “What?”
“They’re clouds. Nothing is eating anything.”
“I bet when you look at a starry night, you see burning suns and not magical twinkling lights. I bet you don’t even make wishes on falling stars.”
“Technically, the whole star isn’t falling—”
“I know that. But it’s just kind of magical to think of it as a falling star…and to make a wish.”
Of course, her big wish—meeting her soul mate—hadn’t come true. Since Barrett was still regarding her with that amused smile, she lifted the bucket. “Eaten yet?”
He eyed her offering. “Ah, food I can actually relate to. Join me for dinner?”
She shouldn’t. Let the guy get back to work, don’t spend too much time with him. “I’d love to.”
She followed him inside. Gene and Judy’s place looked like what King Kong would regurgitate if he ate Florida—flowery prints, pink—yes, pink—carpet with green throw rugs in the shape of lily pads, and a three-foot-high neon flamingo. Barrett walked into the kitchen, which had the same fanatical I-love-Florida decor, complete with magnets on the fridge attesting to every attraction they’d ever visited.
“I haven’t had a chance to put these away yet. I guess you can set the bucket between the Spam-and-pea casserole and something called a pretzel salad.” He looked at the orange dish questioningly.
“Scary, isn’t it? That’s Frieda’s speciality. A layer of crushed pretzels, a mushy layer that I think is cream cheese and strawberry gelatin on top, then a layer of grated cheese. I’ve always been afraid to try it.” She eyed the counter full of homemade offerings. “Uh-oh.”
First, they made her fast food look pitiful. Second, all these dishes meant Barrett had been thoroughly checked out by the local populace who had female relations to pawn off. They’d obviously been perusing the gelatin recipe book they’d compiled a few years back.
“It’s a very friendly community,” he commented, taking the Pissin’ in the Snow casserole to the refrigerator. He eyed it as though he expected it to wiggle right off the plate under its own power. “I’ve never lived anywhere where people bring you food.”
Poor guy didn’t have a clue. Or a chance. He bent to slide the gelatin into the fridge, and his jeans molded a very fine behind. It was a very good thing she wasn’t interested in him, because she could have some very fine fantasies about that very fine behind. And, she thought with a sigh as he turned to grab another dish, that very fine face with a mouth that could turn a bad day into ten degrees from Heaven.
“Here, let me help,” she said, setting down her bag and bucket and handing him the remaining three dishes. They sure hadn’t wasted any time, that was for sure.
“Guess I won’t need all these,” he said, opening the freezer door to show her stacks of gourmet TV dinners. “At least for a few days anyway.”
“You’ll be set your whole stay, believe me.”
He must have picked up on the ominous tone in her voice. “You make it sound like that’s a bad thing.”
“That food, my friend, comes with strings attached.” At his blank look, she added, “Obligations. Let me put it this way. You’re going to meet a lot of single women in the next week. Think parade.”
He still didn’t get it, not by his questioning look as he took out two plates from the cabinet.
“Parade of women,” she clarified.
“Women? But why?”
“You’re single. Judy, the owner of this house, considered it her social duty to tell everybody. These women have nieces, daughters, granddaughters…you name it, they’ve got at least one woman in their family who, in their opinion, needs marrying off. And you are the target.”
Ah, the smart guy finally figured it out. His voice cracked when he said, “They’re going to bring women here for me?”
“’Fraid so.” She took the plates from him since her warning had sidetracked him.
“But I’ve got to finish my study in—” he glanced at his watch “—six days, fifteen hours and two minutes or the snails might not get their land. And I’m never late. Parades of women would be worse than having my sister and her four kids cavorting around.” Then he obviously thought of the babies and added, “Maybe not.”
“Well, for one thing, everyone knows about your sister raiding your place. The fact that you let her family stay makes you one swell guy. Any guy who treats his sister so nice is on the A-list right off the bat. You’re smart, another plus. You have a job.” She started to set the plates on the table, but it was covered in papers and books on snails. On half of the table sat an aquarium filled with branches. The bottom was covered in moss. She redirected herself to the vacant counter. “And you’re a hottie, another downfall for you, I’m afraid.”
He lifted his eyebrows. “A hottie?”
“Yeah, you know…you don’t know. Hot. Good-looking.”
He set two cans of lemonade on the counter. “You think I’m good-looking?”
She blinked, holding back the words, Well, duh. He wasn’t kidding, wasn’t fishing for a compliment. She also held back the words, Would telling you I’d love to jump your bones make it any clearer? Nah, probably not. “You’re not so bad.”
He took her in, not with a leer like Ricky the maintenance dude