Meeting Mr. Right. Deb Kastner

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      “Rubbing alcohol? That wouldn’t have been my first choice.” He sounded none too thrilled about it.

      “Don’t be a baby. Now put out your hand.”

      Ben frowned but allowed her to pry the fingers of his left hand open, palm upward.

      Vee doused a cotton ball in rubbing alcohol, cupped his hand in hers and began dabbing at the red, angry blisters that covered his palm.

      “Ow,” Ben complained, trying to pull his hand out of her grip. “That hurts.”

      Vee persisted in wiping the wounds, ignoring his protests. “If you insist on pulling away like that, it’s going to take a lot longer to get this done.”

      “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he asked suspiciously. “You’re making it hurt on purpose.”

      Was he teasing her? Maybe. She couldn’t tell, so she went for a neutral—though truthful—response. “Of course not. I would never do that.”

      Vee carefully wrapped his hand in strips of gauze so he couldn’t accuse her of further assaults on his person. “There. All better. Just keep it clean, okay? Doctor’s orders.”

      “Hey, are you forgetting who the paramedic is here?”

      “Fine, then—mother’s orders. If you don’t like it, take it up with your mom. She’s the one who gave me the supplies to get you bandaged up. And if you don’t keep that gauze clean, you’ll be answering to her.”

      “Do you really think I can do that? I work with cars, remember?”

      “That could be an issue. I don’t know how you’re going to avoid grease when you’re tinkering with a car engine. I suppose you’ll just have to do the best you can.”

      “I will,” he promised, but under his breath he muttered, “I’m glad you’re a firefighter and not a nurse.”

      “That makes two of us. I didn’t try to hurt you on purpose, but I’ll be the first to admit my bedside manner is a little rough.”

      “A little?” He chuckled and shook his head. “If that’s what you’re like when you’re trying to help me then I’d hate to think of the damage you could do if you really were trying to hurt me.”

      Hurt you like you hurt Olivia? Vee thought to herself. He must have noticed the shift in her expression that accompanied the new direction of her thoughts because he quickly changed the subject.

      “Now that the work’s done—the planting and the bandaging—would you like to stay for dinner? I know I told you I can’t cook, and I can’t, but even I can manage to throw a couple of steaks on the grill without ruining them. Mama usually ropes me into grilling for her when the weather cooperates, so I’m guessing that’s probably what she has in mind for today. We’ve got plenty of room at the table for one more, and I’m sure my parents would love for you to stay and visit the family.”

      “I should be offering you a steak dinner for all the help you’ve been to me today. I wouldn’t have gotten even a quarter as far along as we did together.”

      “No problem. I was glad to help. It was for a good cause. And we do work well together.”

      He sounded as surprised as she felt. Vee shivered in what she thought must be discomfort, though in truth she didn’t dare identify the emotion. Is that what Ben thought, that they worked well together?

      “As for dinner,” she said and then paused. She already had other plans. Not an in-person date with a handsome hunk who wanted to take her to dinner or out to the movies like Ben’s mother had suggested, but definitely the next best thing. Those plans in question were calling to her, tugging at her heartstrings to make short work of leaving and hurry along to Cup o’ Jo Café.

      But then there was Ben, with his convincing half smile and dancing gaze. She hesitated.

      Vee couldn’t believe she was tempted, even for a moment, to stick around and share a dinner with Ben and his family—but she was. No wonder Olivia had fallen for the man hook, line and sinker. Ben could be very charismatic when he wanted to be.

      Nice, even. And he was good-looking, no denying that fact.

      Which was exactly why she had to say no.

      She took a deep breath and plunged in before she lost what was left of her mental faculties and caved to his suggestion.

      “I’m sorry, Ben,” she murmured, pausing only for a moment at his crestfallen look. If she didn’t know any better, she would think he actually cared what her answer would be.

      But that wouldn’t change it. “As much as I’d love to share a meal with you and your parents this evening,” she continued, “I already have other plans.”

      Chapter Four

      Dear BJ,

      This week has been very tough for me. Sometimes I just feel like I need to let my hair down—do you know what I mean? I’m so guarded all the time, worrying about what people think of me and, even more, what they expect of me. I’m afraid I might not be living up to everyone’s standards.

      It’s stressful keeping everything bottled up inside all the time. It would be nice to be able to see things differently for a change, from another point of view. From a different set of eyes.

      Oh, who am I kidding? I am what I am and that’s all...well, you know. I’m starting to sound like Popeye now. Terrific. Who ever knew that he was such a sage?

      I guess I should just accept the way that God made me and not try to make myself anything different. I might feel like a distinct person inside my heart, but people don’t see that, do they?

      That’s never going to change. I’m never going to change.

      It’s just that when I read your emails, I feel...well, differently about myself. Stronger. I wish I could be as easygoing as you obviously are.

      I downloaded the graphics you sent me. They’re really good! I’m attaching a revised script that incorporates the photographs, so we can begin preparing the final presentation. Let me know if you have any modifications you’d like me to make.

      Faithfully,

      Veronica Jayne

      The rich smells of roasted coffee, nutmeg and baked apples warmed Vee’s nostrils as she entered the Cup o’ Jo Café. She inhaled deeply and the tension she always carried around in her shoulders and neck was immediately soothed by the colorful, welcoming atmosphere. The familiar quiet buzz of the other patrons talking as they sat in booths enjoying a hot meal heartened her. Cup o’ Jo had been a regular hangout for Vee growing up, and even now it was her go-to place when she needed a lift in spirits.

      Or a computer with internet service. Tonight, she needed both. She couldn’t wait to see if BJ had replied to her last post.

      Jo Murphy Spencer, the owner of the café, approached in her usual exuberant way, her red curls bouncing and her smile beaming. СКАЧАТЬ