Authors: Chantilly White
The buzzing of her tabletop alarm clock jerked her out of
the pastry-filled fantasy she'd fallen into with thoughts of the baker. Hell,
she'd marry the woman for a daily dose of those éclairs. But for now, she
needed to hurry if she was going to meet her Cupid's Cavalry date on time.
DeeDee had talked her into a membership in the dating
service years ago. Allison had agreed as a lark and to help her friend grow her
business. Now she used the service during the rare dry spell, just for fun, or
if she was bored.
"The purpose of your membership," DeeDee
frequently scolded, "is to find a lasting relationship, Alli. Not to aid
and abet your speed-dating habit!"
To which Allison would respond, "If I meet The One
through the service, I won't toss him back, but so far no such luck. I can't
help it if Cupid's arrow keeps missing its mark."
That usually shut DeeDee up, at least temporarily, but she
searched her database regularly and sent any prospects to Allison's inbox,
hoping she'd finally found The One to knock Allison off her feet.
Rushing through her shower, Allison smoothed
brown-sugar-scented lotion into her skin and left her wild curls to dry
naturally while she selected her ensemble for the date. It was just a casual
lunch, nothing too fancy, but it went against her female creed to look anything
less than her best, especially on a first meeting.
Especially with the handsome hunk of man she'd selected for
today. Just thinking of his profile photo had saliva pooling in her mouth.
Clean cut, well dressed, with the slightest lift to his firm, wide mouth. Dark
hair and darkly dangerous green eyes in a rugged face. She shivered. Delicious.
The information in his profile had been a bit sparse.
Usually, guys trended the other direction, tossing in every interest,
viewpoint, and third-grade spelling-bee championship they could come up with.
Mr. Turner was a local boy—he'd graduated high school in Mission
Viejo—with a passion for reading and swimming, but he'd not listed a
college, only a short stint in the military. She wondered what he'd been doing
since.
His eyes, though. . . His eyes had grabbed her attention
right away.
A glance outside showed a grey, wintry day, so she went for
stylish but toasty. A fitted cable-knit sweater in rich burgundy warmed her
pale complexion and set off her hair. She paired it with black skinny jeans
tucked inside knee-high patent-leather boots, then added a metallic scarf in
shimmery gold around her neck. A jeweled clip tamed her curls.
She tapped a pearly-pink fingernail against the point of her
chin while she studied the results in her full-length mirror. Jewelry next.
Digging into her armoire, she opted for big gold hoops for her earlobes and
clasped a chunky bracelet around one wrist. Her shiny black handbag—a
birthday gift from Jeff the previous year—and a tailored forest-green pea
coat with a swingy edge finished off her look to her satisfaction.
Adjusting the sweater's neckline, Allison gave herself a nod
of approval. She was ready.
How had he let himself get talked into this? A dating
service, for the love of God.
When he'd come home from his years of mourning, ready
to—as Sally put it—re-renter society, Ben had intended to take
things slowly. To let nature take its course, as it were. He might meet an
attractive woman at the grocery store or on the street somewhere and ask her to
go for a drink. Or take a liking to a friend of a friend. He did still have a
few friends, he'd reminded his cousin, even after being out of touch for so
long. Besides, he had business interests to launch.
No rush.
But Sally hadn't earned her reputation as a bull-terrier by
mistake. Once she got it in her head to pair him up, she'd thrown herself into
the project wholeheartedly.
It was as annoying as it was endearing.
"Stop!" she'd commanded, a hand held in the air to
halt his objections of her taking charge. "Leave it to me, Benjamin. Trust
me, you need help."
Sally had spent the two weeks since New Year's Eve 'shaping
him up.' After an emergency trip to her friend Sid's favorite barber—Ben
still wasn't used to his smooth cheeks and short hair—he'd tried to put
his foot down on the rest. He should have known better.
She'd hounded him into a couple of do-it-herself treatments
involving his travel-roughened skin and nails, over which she was sworn to
secrecy. On pain of death. In between visits with extended family to renew his
relationships—and wow, Sally's kids had grown—he'd dealt with reestablishing
his financial connections, checking over his many accounts. Creating the
foundation for his business plans.
And every free moment, Sally had dragged him through a
seemingly endless supply of clothing stores to replenish his wardrobe.
God, he hated shopping. He'd have been happy with a few
pairs of jeans, a couple of shirts and sturdy shoes, all ordered online, but
Sally had had other ideas. She'd preyed on his inability to deny her anything
and made free with his wallet. His closet now rivaled hers for sheer volume of
contents, and that was saying something. He'd probably never wear half of it.
It was embarrassing.
Then had come the ultimate humiliation—the dating
service.
"There's nothing wrong with letting nature do its
thing," Sally had argued, "but there's nothing wrong with giving it a
helping hand, either."
"I've barely been home a couple of weeks, I'm not ready
to date," he'd said.
"It's never too soon when you've been gone half a
decade. Just consider it practice."
"Says the woman hunting for her third husband."
"Don't snark, Ben."
Staying with his cousin while getting his life back together
and finding his own place had its drawbacks. She'd badgered him senseless for
two days straight, until it was just easier to cave. Thanks to a personal friendship
with the woman who ran the service, Sally had finagled him to the front of the
line and right onto the site, expediting the waiting period and background
checks. Undoubtedly, his financial profile and relationship to Sally, also a
member of the club, had helped pave the way.
Two days later, he had his first request.
He hadn't even looked at the woman's profile, had just waved
his hand at Sally and let her have her way. She'd set the whole thing up via
email. He didn't think that was the usual way it was done, but he didn't argue.
"Mission accomplished," Sally had said
triumphantly.
"That's a bit premature, don't you think?"
Sally had shrugged, the picture of angelic innocence.
There'd been something about the smirk lurking around the corner of her mouth
he hadn't quite liked, but he trusted his cousin. She wouldn't set him up with
anyone abominable.
Besides, he'd made her a deal. He'd go on a date with a
woman of Sally's choosing, and she would throw her considerable energies into
helping him find his new place, whether the date panned out or not.
When he'd taken off six years ago, he'd left with only a
knapsack and a driving need to get away. To escape the pain of his wife's loss.
He'd sold nearly everything they'd owned, including the condo in San Clemente
and their vacation cabin in Big Bear. The few belongings he'd kept had been
stored and waiting for him in Sally's three-car garage or in her guest room,
where she'd generously offered him to stay any time he wanted, for as long as
he wanted.
"Shake," Ben had said after they'd worked out
their deal. Sally had grabbed his hand in her soft pudgy one, leading him
through the complicated series of moves they'd devised when they were kids.
Bargain sealed, they'd both walked away satisfied.
The result being he now found himself sitting straight as a
poker in stiff new jeans and a pair of shoes in serious need of breaking in,
his face still tingling like wind-burn from his morning shave. He didn't
exactly miss the ZZ Top look, but neither had he missed the daily shaving
routine.
"Brat," he said, thinking of his cousin.
"I beg your pardon, sir?" The waiter, in the act
of setting a tall glass of iced tea in front of Ben, drew back in
consternation.
"Nothing, sorry. Just thinking out loud."
Withdrawing with an uncertain nod, the waiter left him in
peace.
Shifting again in the hard-wood seat, Ben ran a hand across
his chin and cheeks. Aside from the unprotected skin, he felt. . . exposed. All
that hair had provided a decent disguise for a long time, almost like a mask.
He had nothing left to hide behind.
Well, he was done with camouflage now, wasn't he? Cured.
Ready.
Right.
His heart gave a tug that had him rubbing a fist over the
spot to soothe the ache. He'd come to grips with the fact that the ache would
never fully fade. But after more than six years, he either had to get back in
the game or call it for good, and he wasn't willing to take the coward's way
out.
Some might say he had already, with his years-long trek
across the planet, and in some ways they were probably right. He hadn't coped
with his losses well. Orphaned at fifteen when his parents' small plane had
crashed in the Rockies, Sally's parents had taken him in. They'd surrounded him
with all the support and love and affection in the world. Still, those were
tough times. Finishing his high school years with Sally—his cousin as
well as one of his best friends—by his side had helped, but he'd never
stopped missing his mom and dad.
Then he'd met Caitlyn, and his future had seemed brighter
again. They'd married as soon as they could, right after they graduated high
school and she turned eighteen. With a sizeable inheritance from his parents,
Ben could afford to laze his way through life with Caitlyn by his side, but
they'd both believed it was important to accomplish something with their lives
and gifts. To give back.
He didn't need to pull her photo from the beat-up wallet in
his back pocket to trace her beloved face in his mind. They'd been so
incredibly young. So naïve.
They'd joined the army together, and both wound up in
Afghanistan over the years, only at different times and in different units.
Four years later, Ben finished his final tour and went home. And Caitlyn. . .
didn't.
It was only later he learned a short visit home with him had
resulted in her first pregnancy. Their first child. Had she even known? If
she'd told her CO, would she have been sent home in time to save them both?
Those questions tormented him still.
Maybe his inheritance had allowed him to be too
self-indulgent. People lost loved ones every day, but they had to get through
it, had to move on, go back to work, support their families. He'd had the
luxury of being able to do anything he wanted or nothing at all, and perhaps
he'd chosen ill, taking off the way he had. Chucking it all.
On the other hand, he'd come to know himself over those six
years in ways he never had before. He'd learned to bear up under the pain. Had
finally learned that he had a purpose in life and deserved a future. That
living that life, fulfilling that purpose, maybe even finding love again, meant
honoring the lives of those he missed, not forgetting. He'd learned it was okay
to go on living.
So he would live, as hard as it seemed some days. He would
love, if he was lucky a second time. And he would remember. He was done
running. He was ready to find his future and grab it with both hands. If a
dating service with a ridiculous name like Cupid's Cavalry could help him along
that road—as Sally insisted it would—he'd give it a shot.
Cupid's Cavalry to the rescue. Maybe.
Taking a sip of iced tea, Ben scanned the busy bistro.
Despite the white-linen tablecloths and cut-crystal candle holders, the place
had a relaxed feel. Nice, but not too elegant, a good vibe for a first date. If
only restaurants in general would learn to accommodate men of his size better,
he thought, shifting on the tiny seat again. He felt like a character out of
the fairytales he used to read to Sally's kids when they were babies—Papa
Bear trying to fit into Baby Bear's chair.
Since he didn't know what his 'Cupid's Connection' looked
like, he'd left his name at the front. She was late, but he didn't mind being
there first. It gave him time to settle in, get his thoughts in line, get
comfortable. He used to be good at small talk. Dating couldn't have changed
that much since the last time he'd tried it, and it was only lunch. An hour at
the most, then he'd be free.
If Sally was home when he got back, maybe they'd start
house-hunting this afternoon.
Musing, Ben rubbed his hand over his naked face again. His
computer skills were rusty, having mostly involved the random email to let
Sally know he was still alive while on his journey, sent whenever he'd traveled
through a town big enough to have an internet café. But he was eager for his
own space, so he'd spent a little time Googling real-estate listings over the
past few days. Nothing had jumped out at him yet, but. . .
The woman came in like a whirlwind, rustling the thick green
leaves of multiple potted and hanging plants near the front door of the restaurant.
Chattering to the
maître d'
and
unwinding a long, bright scarf from around her neck with one hand, she texted
speedily with the other, hardly looking at the screen.
That hair. Wild copper curls cascaded almost to her waist,
shot through with strands of pure gold. He knew her instantly, even before she
turned around. The meaning of Sally's smirky grin as she'd sent his mystery
date's email confirmation suddenly became clear.
Tall, slim, impossibly sexy in painted-on black jeans and
high-heeled boots, she hustled toward his table, her head now bent over the
cell phone in her hand, a slight frown marring her perfect complexion. She
caught the edge of her full bottom lip between brilliantly white teeth, and he
cursed the unwelcome bump in his pulse.