To Catch a Husband. Laura Altom Marie
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awards for her culinary skills, her hubby built an addition on to their home—right alongside the new nursery—to accommodate them all.
“And you’re not worth it?”
“I didn’t say that,” she said with a grin and flip of her flirty new hair. In this car, she not only felt pretty, but confident. As if maybe she really did have a shot at landing a great catch like Adam. Even better, if her luck held, she might land Adam himself.
While the sun set, they dined on black bean soup, grilled filet mignon, wilted watercress and horseradish-whipped potatoes on a patio with radiant heaters and a breathtaking view of Mount Hood. Upping the fairy-tale atmosphere were the little things. Such as their fingers brushing when she’d handed Adam the salt; the way, when she’d said her feet were cold, he’d gallantly lifted them onto his lap and used his fingers to warm her toes.
She wasn’t sure how it’d happened, but tonight had to have marked a changing point in their relationship. Sure, they’d still be great friends, but now there’d be that added spark she’d long dreamed of them sharing.
Over a dessert of cranberry-apple crumble with Irish oatmeal crust, Adam asked, “You ready to hammer out the details?”
“Of what?” Charity asked, still dreamy over the unexpected—magical—night’s course. Chez Bon was a million miles from Ziggy’s, and the fact that Adam had wanted to share the place with her made her feel like the most special woman in the world.
“You know.” Adam reached over the low candle and flower arrangement in the table’s center to steal a bite of her dessert.
“Hey!” she complained, pulling the plate closer to her and hopefully out of his reach. “I’m still eating that.”
“Sorry. I’m starving. Gracie’s a great cook and all, but I’m more a meat-and-potatoes guy.”
“We had meat and potatoes.”
“Yeah, but not enough.”
Rolling her eyes, she shoved her half-finished dessert toward him. “Here. Knock yourself out.”
“Cool. Then maybe we can stop by McDonald’s on the way home. I’d kill for a Double Quarter Pounder with cheese.”
“Thanks,” she said with a half grin.
“Sure, but for what?”
“Sucking every shred of romance from this beautiful setting.” A local guitarist sang folk tunes and some of the other couples dining on the patio had started to dance in the moonlight.
“They might be feeling romance vibes,” he said. “But not us, right? I like you—a lot. But you know what I mean. That’s why we have to work out the details of this whole pretend-dating thing, just so we don’t accidentally have a for-real date or anything along those lines.”
Charity leaned forward, elbows on the table. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Me? Kid on a topic as serious as romance?” He laughed. “When I lost Angela, I threw away the key to—” He pressed his palm to his chest. “Don’t get me wrong. I still love people. My family—even you. Just not that way.”
“Sure,” she said, suddenly nauseous from the rich food. Or maybe it was Adam’s ridiculous speech making her sick? Had he forgotten kissing her? Had he forgotten giving her a car as an apology gift? The way their fingers brushed while passing each other the salt? How he’d warmed her cold feet?
“So?” he asked. “Ready to hit the road?” Shell-shocked, she nodded.
Charity was just pushing back her chair when Gracie, Adam’s sister-in-law and Chez Bon’s head chef and half owner, bustled over. She was six months’pregnant and she looked radiant, with a contentment Gracie feared she’d never know. “How was everything?” she asked.
“I’m still hungry,” Adam complained.
Gracie swatted him over the head with a dishrag.
“It was delicious,” Charity said. “Best meal I’ve had since the last time you fed me.”
“Wonderful,” Gracie said. “I’m glad at least one of you enjoyed it. Although, Charity, Beau tells me you and Sam are getting to be quite the item. Maybe next time I’ll see you two lovebirds at my best table?”
“You all right?” Gracie asked Adam when he choked on his last swig of coffee. Patting his back, to Charity she said, “Beau said you two look darling together. You and Sam, that is. This oaf of a brother-in-law of mine you’re with tonight is strictly friend material.”
Oh, now that made Charity feel better—not!
What was she supposed to say to a thing like that? And what had given Beau the outrageous idea that she and Sam were a couple? Sure, they’d been out for a few casual lunches at the Subway down the street from the office, but those had been no big deal. Nothing like this night during which every bone in her body screamed this was it. The night Adam finally got his head out of his rear and realized how great the two of them could be as so much more than friends.
“Well,” Gracie said, again to Charity, as if Adam wasn’t even at the table. “I know you have a long drive ahead of you in that darling new car. Gillian told me all about it. Plus, I imagine you’ll want to get home early enough to call Sam to have him wish you good-night.”
“Gracie,” Charity said, placing her napkin on the table in front of her, “I think you’ve got the wrong idea about me and Sam. He’s just—”
“You don’t have to pretend things are casual between you on my account,” Gracie said. “Beau’s good at sniffing out interoffice romances.”
Adam snorted.
“Did you say something?” Gracie asked, hand on his shoulder.
“Bug,” Adam said. “Hand me your keys and I’ll get the car.”
“I can do it myself,” Charity said.
“But I already said I’ll do it for you.”
At the intensity behind his dark stare, Charity’s stomach did a nervous flutter. Could he have made the request to be gentlemanly? Or had Gracie’s rambling about Sam actually upset him? At the very least, sparking his competitive edge where his office rival was concerned. Just in case, she, as demurely as possible, reached into her purse for the keys, handing them across the table, trying with all her might to ignore hot tingles when their fingers brushed yet again.
“Thanks,” he said, eyes suddenly bright. “I’ve been itching to get my hands on this baby’s wheel. See how she performs on that curvy section between here and Johnson Avenue.”
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