That Runaway Summer. Darlene Gardner

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СКАЧАТЬ not the saying. Yours doesn’t make sense.”

      “Neither do me and Dan,” Jill said as she went into her bedroom and closed the door on her personal sanctuary. She’d painted an accent wall bright yellow and bought a matching bedspread, creating a sunny atmosphere. “So you can stop matchmaking.”

      “You might as well tell me to quit breathing!” Penelope exclaimed. “Matchmaking is what I do. You know that. But I need a little help to succeed. If Dan isn’t your type, who is?”

      Jill plopped down on her bed and slipped off her sandals. “I don’t have a type.”

      “Then tell me about the last guy you dated back home in South Carolina.”

      Jill had to clamp her teeth together to stop from pointing out her home state was Georgia. How she hated lying to her friends—to anyone, really. Her way of dealing was to reveal as little about herself as possible, which meant saying next to nothing about Ray Williams.

      “You don’t want to hear about him,” Jill said. “He couldn’t have been more wrong for me.”

      “I most certainly do want the scoop on your ex!” Penelope declared. “But not tonight. Johnny must not know I’m on the phone. I can hear him calling me from upstairs.”

      “Then you should go.”

      “It sounds like he’s in the bedroom. So, believe me, I’m going,” Penelope said with gusto, then laughed. “We’ll talk more later. Early in the week’s not good and we’re leaving for Hawaii Friday. Can you do lunch either Wednesday or Thursday?”

      “I’m working on the river Thursday.” Jill’s bartending schedule allowed her to guide three or four groups of white water rafters per week, most of the trips concentrated later in the week and on weekends. “On Wednesday I’m having lunch with Chad Armstrong.”

      “The pharmacist?” Penelope sounded surprised. “He’s your type?”

      “He’s a friend.” Jill would have been more accurate in reporting Chad was an acquaintance. They’d served together a few months ago on the planning committee for the spring festival. “He needs to talk to me about something.”

      “Sounds like he’s interested in you,” Penelope said.

      “That’s not it.” If Chad were romantically inclined toward her, Jill would have picked up on it. “It has to be something else.”

      “Any idea what?” Penelope asked.

      “None,” Jill said. “Guess I’ll find out Wednesday.”

      “We’ll get together when I get back from Hawaii, then,” Penelope said. “I want to hear what your ex did to sour you on other men.”

      “I’m not sour on men,” Jill denied. Her view of human nature was too positive to let one traitorous man she hadn’t even loved turn her against the male sex.

      “Good,” Penelope said. “Then there’s hope for you yet.”

      She rang off, leaving Jill wishing she could be more open with her friend. Penelope could be a touch over-bearing, but like Felicia Feldman, she wanted the very best for Jill.

      Trust no one.

      Jill mentally repeated the mantra that shouldn’t have been so hard for her to follow. She’d already been burned twice, first by Ray, then by the neighbor in whom she’d foolishly confided in Savannah.

      No. She couldn’t tell Penelope how Ray had tried to sabotage her efforts to get Chris out of Atlanta any more than she could disclose her attraction to Dan.

      After that kiss tonight, she couldn’t afford to let Penelope finagle another situation where Dan’s magnetism might get the better of her common sense.

      THE CROWD AT ANGELO’S restaurant seemed particularly thick on Wednesday afternoon as Dan settled into a chair at a table across from Stanley Kownacki.

      Maybe it was often this crowded at Angelo’s for lunch. In the year that Dan had lived in Indigo Springs he’d eaten there only once, and that was for dinner.

      “This is a view of you I don’t often see.” Stanley leaned back in his chair. He was a big-boned man in his late sixties with a head of dark brown hair that didn’t match his graying whiskers.

      “We don’t eat out together much,” Dan pointed out. They wouldn’t be having lunch now if Stanley hadn’t pushed. Although he seldom acted like it, Stanley was Dan’s boss. Today he wouldn’t accept the excuse that Dan was too busy to break for lunch.

      Stanley’s laugh was a pleasant, low rumble. “I meant I don’t usually see you sitting down. You work too hard.”

      “So do you,” Dan countered. “What choice do we have? We’re booked solid every day.”

      “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” Stanley gestured to the menu on the table. “Go ahead and decide what to order first. I recommend the fettuccine Alfredo.” He put his fingers to his lips and kissed the tips. “Divine.”

      “I’ll have that, too.” Dan ignored the menu. He was far more interested in what Stanley had to say than the food.

      A skinny waitress with dishwater-blond hair who appeared to be about seventeen approached their table carrying a tray containing four glasses of water. The glasses knocked against each other with each step she took, some of the water sloshing over the brims.

      Her eyes cast frantically about, probably for somewhere to set down her burden. Finding no empty surfaces, she slipped one hand under the tray. Dan half rose and took two of the glasses before she could attempt the balancing act.

      “Thank you.” Her tremulous smile revealed a mouthful of braces. “I’ll be back in a minute to take your order.”

      “We’re ready now, sweetheart,” Stanley said. “Two fettuccine Alfredos. Extra garlic bread. A root beer for me. How ’bout you, Dan?”

      “Coke’s fine.”

      The young waitress glanced down at the order pad sticking out of the pocket of her half apron. The two remaining water glasses bobbled. The pad remained where it was.

      “Okay,” she said without much conviction, then left.

      Dan followed her slow retreat, rooting for her to get where she was going without incident. His gaze slid past the waitress and alighted on a woman with her back to him. Even if a hat had covered her short, curly dark hair, he’d have recognized Jill Jacobi. She had an innate grace and certain way of holding her head that telegraphed she was giving you her full attention.

      It seemed she was focused on the man across the table from her. He was about Dan’s age, with a familiar face Dan couldn’t place.

      “See someone you know?” Stanley asked, then laughed. “Of course you do. Half the people in this restaurant bring their pets to us.”

      “Actually,” Dan said slowly, “I see someone I probably should know.”

      “Who’s СКАЧАТЬ