Lost and Found Husband. Sheri WhiteFeather

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      Chapter Two

      Eric drove to Dana’s place and parked at the curb. She lived in a cozy, tree-lined neighborhood. The bungalow house in front boasted 1930s appeal with a sloping roof, a stucco exterior and a stone walkway. He assumed that was where her landlord lived. He didn’t see anyone peering out from behind the lacy curtains, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t being watched.

      He picked up her gift from the passenger’s seat and got out of the car. He’d stopped by the florist and gotten Dana an orchid because of her obvious love of flowers. But suddenly he’d realized he’d made a mistake. Not necessarily for Dana, but for himself. Corrine’s wedding bouquet had been made up of the same type of orchids.

      How could he have overlooked that? Eric scowled. Maybe he hadn’t. Maybe it was deliberate. As to why, he couldn’t be sure. But it didn’t sit well with him.

      He headed for the side gate Dana had mentioned and opened the latch. Her yard was an explosion of greenery and festive blooms. Her tiny house sat amid the garden, which also contained a three-tiered fountain.

      He knocked on her door. She answered and sent his libido into a tailspin.

      She had the wow factor.

      She’d donned a white dress with a bold red print. The slim-fitting garment hugged her in all the right places and was just low enough in front for him to see how bountiful her breasts were. Her shoes, a pair of flesh-colored heels, added about three inches to her height, elongating her already shapely legs. But what really enticed him was her hair. He’d never seen it loose, and tonight it tumbled around her shoulders in a mass of golden waves, making him itch to touch it.

      Her makeup was stunning, as well, her eyes lined in a manner that reminded of him of an old-time movie star. Her lips were painted the same shade as the print on the dress, which he now realized were red dahlias. Instead of wearing a flower in her hair, she was wearing them on her dress.

      “You look incredible,” he said.

      “Thank you.” She spun around and showed him every curve. “I primped for hours.”

      “It paid off.”

      “Is that for me?” she asked.

      The accidental orchid. “Yes.” He handed it to her.

      “Thank you. It’s beautiful.” She hugged it to her chest, much too close to her heart. “Come in, Eric.”

      As he entered her home, she put the potted plant on the windowsill, where a host of herbs created a fragrant mixture. Everything in her young vibrant world was tuned to the senses. A mosaic-topped café dining table was paired with mismatched chairs, and a mint-green loveseat that served as her sofa was bursting with tassel-trimmed pillows. A wooden coat rack held a collection of fringed shawls, and glass lamps were draped with feminine scarves.

      “You have flair,” he said. “This is like an antique gypsy cart.” Gypsy included, he thought.

      “Oh, thank you. I always thought it would be exciting to be an artist, but I don’t have any talent in that regard. So I try to make up for it by keeping artistic things around me.”

      Did she keep artistic men around her, too? Was that part of her attraction to him? By most creative standards, Eric was on the conservative side. But he still fit the bill, he supposed, with his art-teacher vibe.

      “You could be an interior designer,” he told her.

      “Really? Do you think so? That’s something to consider. I’m torn about what to be when I grow up.” She flashed her twentysomething smile. “If I ever do grow up.”

      “Being grown-up is overrated.” Nonetheless, he was as grownup as it got. “Are you ready to head out?”

      “Sure. Just let me get my wrap.” She removed one of the shawls from the coat rack. They weren’t just for show.

      Before they exited her yard, she led him to the fountain. “Isn’t he adorable? He’s one of the reasons I want to see the Valentine art show. I love angels, and cherubs are my favorite.”

      He studied the statue in question. “People often mix cherubs up with putti. Unless you know the origins of the art, sometimes it can be difficult to tell.”

      She made a face. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

      “Putti is plural for putto. They’re childlike male figures, predominantly nude, and sometimes with wings.”

      “So what’s the difference?”

      “Cherubs СКАЧАТЬ