Turn Up the Heat. Isabel Sharpe

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СКАЧАТЬ Candy had hardly looked at another man.

      Oh. Well. There was that guy she’d met at the bachelor party she organized last year. And the father of the little girl who had the Barbie birthday party a couple of years before that. And the cute guy who helped her ver-r-ry attentively at Best Buy when she was getting Chuck a new TV for his birthday.

      But those men were either spoken for, or she was, so she’d been friendly, and left it at that. Now, gulp, she was free. And if Justin had recently moved, maybe there wasn’t a girlfriend in the picture, unless he’d left one on the beach in California.

      Candy turned on the engine, shivering—not from eighteen degrees as much as from Justin. Maybe he was only being neighborly, but her female instincts told her he’d been more than that; the excitement of possibilities had been buzzing in the air between them. Look how she’d jumped to make it seem the whole multiple-dates thing was just a favor to Marie. Candy hadn’t wanted him thinking she was desperate for a man, but obviously she’d also wanted him to know she hadn’t been swept away by anyone yet. Hint, hint.

      She wanted to cancel her date tonight with Ralph, knock on Justin’s door and see what talking to him felt like, even though common sense told her this was a temporary thrill. No matter how wonderful Justin turned out to be, odds were he’d end up just a friend in the long run.

      Though, mmm, the idea of what could happen in the short run was enticing. Maybe Justin would turn out to be the person Marie prescribed to banish Candy’s ghosts of Valentine’s Day romantic failure.

      Oof. Pull back, girl. She was getting ahead of herself, which was a good trait when she was planning an event and imagining everything that could go right or wrong, but not so good when she bulldozed ahead, making assumptions and decisions based on factors she couldn’t control. After all, Justin said he wanted her to come over because he was cold, maybe that was all there was to it.

      And romance with a neighbor could be complicated. Candy had inherited her late grandmother’s house here in Shorewood four years ago, bless Grandma, which meant Candy had been able to put her savings toward starting up the party business. But it also meant she wasn’t ever planning to move. Having an ex-boyfriend across the street could be awkward.

      One other uneasy thought: Candy had waved hello to Justin a few times, but today was the first time he’d approached, when she was dressed like the kind of person she wasn’t. If that was all that attracted him, they had little hope of hitting it off. Her usual look—sweats and fuzzy slippers, glasses and no makeup—would make him run.

      There. Reality was much more reliable than fantasy, as Chuck always had to remind her. Tonight, she’d simply celebrate that she wasn’t going to spend the rest of her life with a dormant sex drive, since seeing Justin had woken her hormones from hibernation in a big hurry.

      Baby steps toward healing, maybe, but forward motion was the only way Candy would get there.

      She pulled out onto Prospect Street and headed for Harry’s Bar and Grill on Oakland. Tonight she was meeting Ralph Stodges who apparently liked his women dressed to seduce, since Marie had matched him up with Sexy Glamour Girl. Despite Candy’s initial misgivings, dating as different types had so far been the perfect way to ease into the concept of new romance with an appropriate sense of fun.

      Her first date, as Superwoman—coffee at Alterra by the Lake—had been … interesting. Frank was good-looking and intelligent, but seemed to feel challenged, and kept trying to prove he knew more about pretty much every topic that came up. Tedious, but she’d enjoyed indulging her sense of power and smarts even if she did have to wear that god-awful severe suit.

      Her next date—lunch at The Knick as the Professor—was much more fun, probably because that personality came most naturally. Certainly more natural than the one she was trying out tonight. Sam had been thoughtful, interesting and funny, though there was a decided lack of sizzle between them.

      Fine by her. She needed to enjoy this experimentation and continue the process of accepting that she and Chuck weren’t going to end up together forever. Admittedly, there were times, home alone in bed, when she still had hope he’d come back, and still times she thought resuming a dating life was a mistake, that she was merely looking for second-best after she’d already had the love of her life. What was the point?

      Maybe the point was that second-best would turn out to be better than nothing? She should count herself lucky that she’d loved so deeply. Many people never did.

      Somehow that didn’t make her feel much better.

      Her late arrival at the bar was made later when it took ten minutes circling blocks before she found a place to park. Then she couldn’t resist calling her best friend since fourth grade, Abigail Glucklich, because God forbid anything should happen the two of them didn’t share immediately.

      “It’s quarter after six, you’re supposed to be on your date. Why are you calling me? Is Ralph horrible?”

      “I haven’t met him yet.” She got out, locked the car and started toward the bar.

      “Losing your nerve? You were a mess when we were picking outfits, no matter how often I told you how gorgeous you were.”

      Candy grinned. Abigail had provided clothes, shoes, makeup and advice to bring Sexy Glamour Girl to life, since Candy’s wardrobe definitely wouldn’t suit. And yes, Candy had been squirmingly uncomfortable no matter what the mirror said. She kept hearing Chuck’s voice assuring her she was pretty and sexy without artificial trappings. “No, not losing my nerve.”

      “Then …?”

      “I met a guy.” Her voice turned girlish and giggly without her permission.

      “What?” Abigail’s normal sleepy tone rose an octave. “Where? How? When?”

      “Just now. My neighbor across the street.”

      “The Bakers’ old house?”

      “That’s the one.”

      “What happened? You went over and jumped in bed with him?”

      “I said I met him. As in ‘Hi, how are you, I’m Candy.’”

      “Oh.” She sounded disappointed. That was Abigail. In Candy’s place she would have accepted Justin’s invitation for coffee and made sure they drank it in the bedroom, leaving poor Ralph at Harry’s glancing at his watch, wondering what had happened to his date. “What is so momentous about meeting your neighbor? Though of course I can guess.”

      “He’s gorgeous.”

      “Now we’re talking.”

      “And from what I can tell, available.”

      “Even better.”

      “So what do I do next?”

      “Take him cookies.”

      Candy stopped on the sidewalk and burst out laughing. “Do what now?”

      “Cookies. A plate of homemade cookies says, ‘Hello and welcome to the neighborhood. I’m Candy and I can bake. What’s more, in bed I can cook. Let’s get married.’”

      Candy snorted and kept walking. “Oh, that’s subtle.”

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