This Matter Of Marriage. Debbie Macomber
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gasped. “You mean to say you just got in? But this was just your first date.”
“I know.” Try as she might, Donnalee couldn’t keep the wistful tone out of her voice.
“He’s not there with you, is he?” Hallie’s voice dropped to a whisper.
“No. Good grief, what kind of woman do you take me for?”
“A woman who’s been too long without a man! Was he everything you hoped?”
“More. Hallie, I can’t believe it! He’s warm and gracious, romantic and so much fun. I could have talked to him all night. We walked along the waterfront and held hands.”
“Did he kiss you?”
“Yes…and I even told him about Larry.” The subject of her divorce wasn’t something Donnalee discussed freely or often, and certainly nothing she’d intended to talk about on her first date. When she’d mentioned it to Sanford, she’d made light of it. The marriage was a mistake, she was too young to know what she was doing, that sort of thing. It amazed her how easily he’d read between the lines. His hand had tightened around hers and he’d stopped. With the breeze off Puget Sound ruffling her hair and the ferry gliding across the dark waters, its lights a glittering contrast to the night, he’d placed his hand under her chin and raised her eyes to his. Then, ever so gently, he’d kissed her.
Donnalee didn’t elaborate on the kiss. Hallie was her best friend, but some things you kept private.
“Are you seeing him again?”
“Tomorrow. Today,” Donnalee amended. She’d planned to play this cautiously, and she still would but…she liked this man, liked him so much it frightened her. It was all happening too soon.
“You’re really crazy about him, aren’t you?” Hallie sounded almost disappointed. Surprisingly, Donnalee understood. She knew her friend didn’t begrudge her happiness; Hallie just hadn’t expected her to find the right man this effortlessly. Frankly, neither had Donnalee. So far, Sanford was…perfect. She realized it was too early to say he was the person she should marry—but marriage was a distinct possibility.
“What about you?” Donnalee asked. The last time she’d talked to Hallie, she’d agreed to meet with Rita’s husband’s friend. The one Rita had declared the ideal match for Hallie. “Did Marv phone?”
“Precisely at seven.”
“Isn’t that when Rita suggested he call?”
“Yes, and that worries me. He seems to carry this punctuality thing to extremes.”
“He’s an accountant, so what do you expect? How’d he sound?”
Hallie giggled. “Like an accountant. He couldn’t squeeze in a date with me until next Thursday night.”
“It’s tax season,” Donnalee reminded her. “What do you expect?” she said again.
“I don’t know. Going out with a guy named Marv doesn’t exactly thrill me.”
“You might be surprised. I had a preconceived idea about Sanford, remember?”
“Do people actually call him that?”
“Apparently so. He said when he was a kid, his friends called him Sandy, but that just didn’t suit him anymore. He said I could call him Sandy if it made me more comfortable. But he doesn’t look like a Sandy. He looks like a Sanford. It’s a perfectly respectable name, and so is Marv.”
“Marv,” Hallie repeated slowly. “You’re right. It’s not a bad name.”
“Not at all.” Neither of them pointed out that Hallie had gotten a date—without paying two thousand dollars for the privilege.
“How long did you two talk?”
“A minute,” Hallie murmured, “two at the most. He’s on a schedule.”
Donnalee was beginning to understand her friend’s qualms. “Don’t be too quick to judge him. Who knows, he might turn out to be Mr. Wonderful.”
“Why am I having trouble believing that?”
Five
Bachelor #1
February 20
Tonight’s the night. I’m meeting Marvin—Marv. It goes without saying that I shouldn’t count on this blind date, but I can’t help myself. Not after the way I’ve worked to turn myself into a desirable enticing woman, irresistible to mortal man.
Yes, I’m at goal weight. It would have been easier if I’d blasted away those ten pounds with dynamite, but they’re gone, which is reason enough for celebrating. Marv’s taking me to the Cliffhanger, a pleasant surprise. The fact that I actually have a dinner date (with someone Rita feels is perfect!) excites me. I have faith in networking. Donnalee is delighted with Dateline, as well she should be for two thousand bucks, but I prefer to tackle this dating thing on my own. So far so good, although I haven’t actually met Marvin—Marv. We’ve talked a couple of times and he sounds…interesting.
It isn’t like I’ve spent the last six years in a vacuum. Dating isn’t exactly a new experience.
But now, I’m looking at each man as a potential husband and father. Not that I’m going to ask for a sperm count or character references, but there are certain traits I want in a man.
Commitment is a biggie to me. I want to do this marriage thing once, and only once, so I plan to do it right.
This date with Marv is the beginning of a journey, though I can’t say exactly where this journey will take me. My, oh my, I do get poetic. I’ll write tomorrow after I meet Marv. I only hope Rita knows me as well as she thinks.
H allie was going to annihilate Rita. The instant she opened the door and met Marv, she had her doubts. For starters, he didn’t look like she’d expected—or Rita had implied. Not like Sean Connery at all. More like Elmer Fudd. And he wore a checkered bow tie.
She wasn’t the only one disappointed. Marv seemed dissatisfied, too. So much so that Hallie wondered what Rita had told him about her.
“You must be Hallie,” Marv said, stepping inside her home. He glanced around like an appraiser, as though tallying the worth of her furniture and personal effects.
He was so short—that wasn’t his fault, though Rita might’ve warned her—she was a good two inches taller without wearing her heels. But his brusque unfriendly attitude was another matter. If he’d bothered to greet her with a smile, she would have felt differently. Instead, he scrutinized her the way he had her furnishings, without emotion, without warmth.
“Would you like a glass of wine before we leave?” she asked, hoping her first impressions had been wrong, willing to give the evening a try, if for nothing more than the fact that she’d spent almost a hundred dollars on her dress. Besides, he was taking her to her favorite restaurant, one she could seldom afford on her own. Any man who invited her to dinner at the Cliffhanger was probably redeemable.
He declined her offer of wine, explaining severely, “I’m driving.”
“Coffee, then?”
“Decaffeinated, please.” He helped himself to a chair while she got their drinks. He pinched his lips in disapproval when she returned with a mug for him and a wineglass for her. If this was how the evening was going to continue, she’d need that wine. Maybe she should bring the bottle with her; a swig now and again was bound to improve her mood—if not his.
“I understand Rita’s husband works with you,” she said, hoping to cut through the awkwardness and salvage this so-called date.
He nodded. “You’re a friend of Rita’s, correct?”
“Uh, correct.”
“You’ve known