A Mother's Wish: Wanted: Perfect Partner / Father's Day. Debbie Macomber

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      Wanted: Perfect

       Partner

       Debbie Macomber

      For Arlene Tresness, a grandma like me,

      a lover of books, a devoted reader of mine. Thank you for your unfailing support and enthusiasm. (Your grandchildren think the world of you!)

       Prologue

      “Is our ad there?” Fifteen-year-old Lindsey Remington whispered to her best friend. She glanced nervously at her bedroom door. Lindsey’s biggest fear was that her mother would find her and Brenda scanning the Dateline section of the Wednesday paper and discover what they’d done.

      Okay, so it was a bit … dishonest to write an ad on Meg Remington’s behalf, but it was clear to Lindsey that her mom needed help. She was convinced that Meg wanted to remarry, whether she knew it or not.

      It wasn’t as if Lindsey could pull a potential husband out of nowhere. So she wrote the ad, with her best friend advising her.

      “Here,” Brenda said excitedly, pointing to the middle of the page. “It’s here. Oh, my goodness! It’s really here, just the way we wrote it.”

      Lindsey found the ad. She read aloud:

      “Wanted: Perfect partner. I’m dating-shy, divorced and seeking a man with marriage in mind. I look like a beauty queen, cook like a mom, kiss like a woman in love. Box 1234.”

      “It sounds even better in print,” Brenda said.

      “Do you think anyone will actually respond?” Lindsey asked.

      “I bet we get lots of letters.”

      “I still think we should’ve said her kisses taste better than chocolate.”

      “It didn’t fit. Remember?” They’d worked long and hard on the wording. Lindsey had wanted to describe her mother as “stunning,” and Brenda was afraid it might not meet the truth-in-advertising rules.

      All right, so her mother wasn’t fashion model material, but she was very pretty. Or she could be, with a little assistance from the magazines Lindsey had been reading lately. Luckily Meg had a daughter who knew the ropes.

      “Don’t worry, Linds,” Brenda said with a romantic sigh. “This is the best thing you could ever have done for your mother.”

      Lindsey hoped her mom appreciated her efforts. “Just remember, this guy has to be perfect. We’ll need to be careful who we pick.”

      “No problem. If we don’t like the sound of one guy, we’ll choose someone else,” Brenda said, as if they were guaranteed to have tons of applicants. “That’s the beauty of our plan. We’ll screen all the applicants before your mother has a chance to date them. How many teenagers get to choose their own stepfathers? Not many, I bet.”

      Lindsey returned her attention to the ad, gnawing on the corner of her lip. She was experiencing a twinge of pride along with a mild case of guilt.

      Her mother wasn’t going to like this. When Meg learned what she and Brenda had done, she’d probably get all bent out of shape.

      As for the ad, Lindsey figured if she were a man inclined to read the Dateline section, the ad would intrigue her.

      “Some men will write just because your mom’s pretty, but it’s the part about her being a good cook that’ll really work,” Brenda assured her. “My grandma says Grandpa married her because her German potato salad was so good. Can you believe it?”

      Brenda brought up a good point. “How will we know if a man is marrying her for her looks or her meat loaf or ‘cause he loves her?”

      “We won’t,” Brenda said, “but by then we’ll be out of the picture. Your mother will be on her own.”

      Lindsey wished she knew more about men. Unfortunately her experience was limited. She’d only gone on two real dates, both times to school dances. And her mother had been a chaperone.

      “The day will come when Mom will appreciate what we’ve done for her,” Lindsey said. “She’s the one who’s always saying how important it is to go after your dreams.

      Well, this is my dream for her. She wants a man. She just doesn’t know it yet.”

      “All she needs is a little help from us.”

      “And she’s got it,” Lindsey said, smiling broadly.

       One

      Those girls were up to something. Meg Remington peeked in her fifteen-year-old daughter’s bedroom to see Lindsey and her best friend, Brenda, crouched on the floor beside the bed. They were speaking in heated whispers.

      Meg cleared her throat and instantly both girls were silent.

      “Hi, Mom,” Lindsey said, her bright blue eyes flashing.

      Meg СКАЧАТЬ