Finding Mr. Right. Gwynne Forster
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me do that for you.”
She looked up at Byron Whitley, towering over her in a way that few men did. When he smiled and extended his hand for the matches, her left hand went to her chest as if to lower her heartbeat. He took the matches from her hand, lit the candles and asked her, “Would you go to dinner with me Sunday evening?”
She wanted to say no. Indeed, she thought she was going to decline. Not because she didn’t like him, but because she did. And that was the problem. She didn’t know whether he liked her or knew that she was attracted to him and planned to take advantage of that fact.
“Will you?” he urged.
“I’d love to. Thank you.” Embarrassed because she’d agreed so readily. He raised an eyebrow, but she pretended that she didn’t see it.
After Maggie said grace, Clark asked Darlene about her first day at work. “I think they were all being nice to me. I liked the orientation that Mr. Harris gave me.”
“It was probably very thorough,” Byron said. “That firm knows its business. You’ve landed a good position. What area are you in?”
“I’m in contracts.”
“Good,” Byron said.
With Tyra’s help, Maggie served dinner. She believed that serving one course after another made a meal more enjoyable. For dessert, they each got three heaping scoops of crème caramel.
Byron tasted it, closed his eyes. “I’m never leaving this place. After a meal like this, I could sit here until it’s time for the next meal.”
“Oh,” Tyra said, “I’m not sure I’d like to see roots growing from you.”
Darlene giggled. “I doubt he’d grow the kind of roots you have in mind, Sis.”
Her comment had a suggestive overtone. “What kind of roots do you think I have in mind?”
“Let’s just say you’re not thinking of carrots.” Then, as if to dispel any misunderstanding, Darlene turned to Byron. “I’m out of line, but this is kind of funny.”
Byron’s laugh shook his body. “She’s got your number, Tyra.”
“Yeah,” Clark said. “She’s used to getting away with it. If Tyra sent her to her room, she’d stay there five minutes, come out, say she was sorry, hug Tyra and that would be the end of it.”
“I’m not a pushover.” Tyra felt uncomfortable under Byron’s intense stare. “Let’s go into the living room and play some music,” she suggested, to break the tension.
She and Darlene helped Maggie clear the table and clean the kitchen. “What are you up to, Darlene?” Tyra asked her.
“Nothing. Just relaxing after a hard day’s work.”
“Don’t make jokes, Darlene. I know you. And nothing’s going to convince me that you worked hard on your first day on the job. Nothing! Go in the living room and pick out some music, anything but hip hop.”
“I don’t do hip hop any more, Sis. You’re way behind. I’m going upstairs for a minute.”
Maggie put away the dish towel, removed her apron and looked at Tyra. “You didn’t have to come in here to help me clean up. Why you trying to avoid that man? I saw how he looked at you, and you saw it, too. He’s not wearing a ring, so what’s your problem?”
“If you’re trying to shove me into his lap, you can forget it. I’m not about to throw myself at him.”
“You’re not fooling me, Tyra. He’s gotten to you. You’re thirty-one years old, and men your age are getting married. So quit fooling yourself. Leave that tray here. I’ll take the coffee in. Find another excuse to avoid Mr. Whitley. If a man like him looked at me the way he was looking at you, I’d be in there where he could see me. I’m gonna have to sit you down and talk to you.”
“All right.”
Byron Whitley met her in the hallway. “Are you avoiding me? If you’re not interested, say so. I won’t be offended.”
Well, you couldn’t get more direct than that. She forced herself to meet his gaze. “I always help Maggie in the kitchen. She’s the housekeeper, but she’s been part of our family since we lost our parents in an automobile accident.”
“And you became mother to Clark and Darlene, I presume.”
“I did with a lot of help from Maggie, who’s been with our family since I was nine. She’s a widow now, and this is her home. What time do you want to have dinner Sunday?”
“I’d like to pick you up at six-thirty. There’s a wonderful little restaurant I know in Buckeytown. It’s mainly Italian, but they serve great Maryland-style crab cakes.”
“I…look forward to Sunday.”
“Me, too,” he said without a trace of a smile. “Since you’re not avoiding me, let’s have some of that coffee I smell.”
“It’s in the living room.” When did Maggie pass them with the espresso? Surely she hadn’t let the man fluster her to the point that she didn’t see what was going on around her. She got through the evening by focusing on the music, changing the CDs and finding music by performers that Byron and her family preferred. At the end of the evening she announced that breakfast would be served from seven to seven-thirty, said good-night and went to her room. She had some choice words for Clark and Darlene, but saying them would have to wait.
The following morning, Clark and Byron said goodbye to Tyra. She promised Clark that she would give him a call. Once she had assured herself that both her brother and sister were settled in at work, Tyra placed a three-way call to them.
“What do you two mean by setting me up with Byron Whitley? Take care of your business and stay out of mine.”
“Now look, Sis,” Clark began, “that wasn’t really my intention. If I’d thought about it…”
Darlene interrupted. “So what’s the big deal? If you looked for a year, you wouldn’t find a better prospect than Byron. He’s tall, handsome, and he’s got a brilliant legal mind. You should be thanking Clark. And Byron liked you. Anybody could see that.”
“Yeah,” Clark said. “And he’s the right age—forty. Don’t tell me you didn’t like him. I could see that the minute you opened the door and looked at him.”
“I’m warning both of you. I can find a man on my own. I don’t need help from either of you.”
If Clark was trying to be a matchmaker, she’d no doubt frustrated him. Although he may not have planned it, Clark had already warmed up to the idea. “Byron says he has a dinner date with you this coming Sunday. I hope you’re not going to disappoint him.”
“If you hadn’t meddled in my personal life, Clark, you wouldn’t have to worry about that.”
“He’s a great guy.”
“Remove your halo, Clark. Let me know if you’ll be home this weekend.”
“Since you’re not interested in Byron, Sis, can I go to dinner with the two of you Sunday?” Darlene said. Tyra threw up her hands. “Oh, stop acting so innocent. I’ll show you both a thing or two. See you tonight.”
Byron sat at his desk trying to focus on a case. He seemed unable to think about his legal strategy. He’d spent the previous night at the Cunningham home, hoping to be distracted from the case. But he hadn’t counted on that much of a distraction. He wanted to see Tyra Cunningham again, and he knew himself well enough to know that if he enjoyed her company at dinner, he’d want to see more of her—much more. She’d made a strong impression on him: not even the delicious crème caramel dessert had gotten his attention.
His intercom light blinked, and he pushed the button. “Mr. Whitley,