Searching for Perfect (2 page)

His ears roaring, he blinked in sheer confusion. This could not be happening. The last time he took Connor’s advice and commented on a woman’s body, he’d gotten a drink thrown in his face. “I didn’t think women liked when men did that.”

She rolled her eyes. “That’s ridiculous, we live for it.”

Ned made a mental note to go back to bodily compliments. “Do I get one more shot?”

“Last one. This is the most important. If we got in a fight, how would you apologize?”

Finally. There was no way to get this one wrong. “I’d tell you straight out I was sorry and that I’d work on fixing what I can so we don’t have the same issue in the future.” Hello,
Self
magazine. Communication and stating a verbal apology was a number one priority with women.

Debra stuffed her cards into her purse and gave him a look. “Why the hell would I care if you’re sorry? Actions speak louder than words. I want jewelry. Sorry, Ned, you’re just not for me.”

Ding.

By the time he hit table twenty, he was aggravated, tired, thirsty, and disillusioned. Most cared about his appearance, money, or man toys, and all he wanted to do was get serious and leave all the junk behind. Despite weeks of reading women’s magazines, he’d flunked every five-minute session.

Finally, he reached the last date. The woman seemed nice enough, but he’d been here before. No more. This time, he was running the date his way.

“Hi, I’m Bernadette.”

He leaned forward, placed his elbows on the table, and narrowed his gaze. “Hi, I’m Ned. When will you be ready to be married and have kids?”

The woman jerked back. She seemed shocked, but he bet she was just pretending. He hadn’t met a female without an agenda this whole night. “Umm, I’m not sure. I want
to be in love with the right person. Then marriage and kids can come later.”

Hmm, good answer. Ned raised the stakes. “How long? A month? Two? You’re already past thirty, and statistics show once your eggs reach thirty-five, your fertility starts declining, and chances of a healthy baby decrease by forty percent.”

Was that a moan? He was only citing statistics straight from
Glamour
or
Self
. He forgot which one. Her lower lip trembled but he had her full attention. “I’m only twenty-nine,” the woman whispered.

“Right on the precipice. I would rethink your plan if you want to birth at least two children. You do want children, right?”

Another small moan. “Yes, I’ve always dreamed of having children.”

Finally. A woman who knew what she wanted. He relaxed. “Me, too. I think we have similar philosophies. It’s been a tough night, but I’m glad we finally met. I think I’m supposed to wait till the end, but since this worked out so well, how about dinner Friday night?”

Ding.

The woman pressed a trembling hand to her mouth. She blinked rapidly. Were those tears? What was going on?

He opened his mouth to question her, but a vision in hot pink swarmed into his line of sight.

Dream woman.

She was even more stunning close up. Her lips held just a touch of glossy moisture, and his nostrils kicked in at the scent of sandalwood and cinnamon. She laid a hand on
Bernadette’s arm and whispered something in her ear. Bernadette nodded, swiped at her eyes, and stood up. Dream woman patted her back, pointed her in the other direction, and watched her walk away.

“Hey, we were setting up a date.”

Dream woman swung around and met his gaze head on.

He stilled. Those golden eyes sucked him in deep and held on tight. He struggled for breath, entranced by the white-hot heat and fury beating from her in waves. Deliberately, she placed her palms flat on the table and leaned in.

“I want to talk to you.”

His spirits perked up. “Great. Did the clock start?”

“Forget the clock. I need to finish up a few things and then I’d like to have a chat. I’ll meet you at the diner next door in ten minutes.”

No way. She was interested in him? Odd, she looked a bit intense for having just asked him out, but he’d go anywhere with her. Maybe this horrific night would turn out alright. “Don’t I need to fill out my request sheet first?”

Was it possible she looked even more furious? Her expression fascinated him, all sharp angles and soft skin. Funny, if you took away each of her features, it seemed as if her face was too big for her body, but when put together, she had movie-star looks. Like Julia Roberts. A long, gazelle-like structure, highly cut cheekbones, thick brows, huge eyes. “I’m sure that sheet won’t be needed. I’ll see you at the diner.”

She pulled back, swiveled on her four-inch pink heels, and disappeared into the crowd.

Ned dumped the sheet. Other than Bernadette, the event had been a bust. But his date with Dream Woman was everything he’d hoped for. Who needed long term if he could enjoy her for one perfect night? He’d have just enough time to pop another breath mint and rub a tissue over his orange face to see if he could lighten it up.

Ned headed toward the diner.

K
ENNEDY SIPPED HER
coffee and studied the walking disaster across the table.

It took a while to calm down her client, but she’d convinced poor Bernadette that the man was joking and then hooked her up with Brian, who’d been making moony eyes at her all night. Speed-dating events were a bit . . . touchy. Some clients loved the quick pace and even quicker decision making. Many thrived on sheer dating stress and adrenaline, rising to the top and scoring the best overall first impression.

Others tanked.

Like this guy.

She took her time and let him stew. He probably thought he was going to score with her, but she had a completely different intention for this meeting. As the top recruiter and makeover expert at the Kinnections matchmaking agency, she’d come across various types of men and learned the fine art of patience. She helped them find true love by using a mixture of encouragement, motivation, empathy, and teaching behavior modification.

But this bozo had broken all the rules, and she wasn’t allowing him back into society without an attempt to protect future women. The harsh lights of the diner emphasized
the garish tone to his skin. Dear God, he was a living Dorito. He waited patiently for her to speak, but she noticed he grabbed a few napkins to wipe down the white Formica counter before settling his elbows on the edge. Great, a germaphobe to boot. “What’s your name?” she asked.

“Ned.”

“Hi, Ned, I’m Kennedy. Can I ask you a question?”

“You can ask me anything.”

“What did you hope to accomplish tonight?”

He blinked behind thick black-framed glasses. Usually, she loved a good designer frame with a funky style, but these were just wrong. Oversize, squared, they dominated his face and swallowed his eyes. “I don’t understand. I’m looking to meet a woman who’s right for me.”

“I see. Do you usually approach strange women with the same questions you fired off at Bernadette?”

His unibrow hiked up alarmingly, scaring her. Her fingers itched for a wax strip. “I was getting to know her. I thought we were connecting.”

She tapped a nail against the chipped mug. “You thought you were connecting? You insulted her, zapped her confidence, and instilled a fear of being alone and childless for the rest of her life. Did you honestly consider that meeting a success?”

He jerked back and shook his head in confusion. “No, I didn’t mean to do that. I was being direct.”

“Age and weight are two sacred items never to be discussed. They’re the Holy Grail of silence, Ned. Didn’t you know that?”

He ran his fingers through his hair. The shaggy brown strands hung almost to his shoulders and covered most of his face. Kennedy wondered if he ever visited a hair salon. There was no cut or attempt at a fashionable style. He reminded her of a neglected sheepdog. “Yes, of course, I know about that. I completely forgot because I was upset. I dealt with twenty sessions of torture by women who only focused on money, date destinations, or how many planes I owned.”

“You own a plane?”

“No, that’s the point! I thought the goal of this thing was to find a woman with similar philosophies, but all they cared about was money.”

She studied him more closely. He seemed genuinely upset and didn’t give off the creepoid vibe she expected to find. His orange hands wrapped around his coffee mug as if seeking comfort. The white lab coat looked ridiculous paired with pants straight from the eighties. A shiny khaki material that hung loose on his hips and displayed no pockets or discernible form. The large, smeared coffee spot in the middle of his chest reminded her of the barking stain commercial. This man needed to carry a tube of Tide to Go.

But it was the pocket protector that gave it away.

Oh yeah. Major nerd. From the glasses to the clothes to the poor social conversation, this man screamed, Help me. Could he be genuine? Curiosity piqued. “What are you looking for? To get laid? A few dates?”

He straightened his shoulders. A loose thread dangled from the lab coat. “I want to find a wife.”

“Why?”

He never flinched. Just met her gaze with a directness
that surprised her. “I’m tired of being alone. My career has come first for the past decade. I’m not interested in a parade of women who aren’t interested in settling down. I want a family. Companionship. Is that too much to ask?”

He put down the coffee and flexed his fingers. She noticed his nails were bitten to the max. Frustration shot from him in waves. It was rare to discover a man so focused on marriage. Normally, she’d do a victory dance and sign the guy up for Kinnections on the spot. Too bad he didn’t seem to have a clue. Maybe he just needed some advice.

“There’s nothing wrong with that goal, but people need a bit of the dance first. A hint of flirtation. A give-and-take of conversation to build trust. That leads to a first real date.”

“I know. I prepared for this.”

She raised a brow. “You’re orange, dude.”

“I tried to use bronzer to get the beach look. I figured women liked it.”

“You have a coffee stain on your shirt, you’re wearing a lab coat, you haven’t cut your hair since 2000, and I feel like I just got dragged into the woods and buried under a flock of pine trees to die. Is that your cologne?”

He gave up and began picking at his nail. “It’s proven women are susceptible to the emotional power of scents. A leisurely walk in nature evokes feelings of happiness.”

“Not with half a bottle. I’m experiencing more of a horrific run through the forest while a deadly black bear chases me.”

“I overshot. I had to work late. Besides, I don’t want a woman who believes clothes or looks are important.”

Kennedy sighed. “Clothes
are
important. A first impression
gives you the opportunity to show the other person you care. You don’t need to sport Calvin Klein, but clean, pressed, and at your best increases your chances to meet the right person.”

“I tried.” His eyes lit up. “Would you like to go to dinner Friday night?”

“No.”

“You didn’t ask me here for a date, did you? You wanted to kick my ass.”

She smothered a laugh. It was a shame. Good intentions in a male were gold, especially one who truly wanted to find love and didn’t want to hide behind casual sex and a few good times.

Unless . . .

The idea took root, flowered, and exploded into full-bloom roses. Unless she took him under her wing. Taught him how to interact with women. Gave him a makeover. Coached him to close a first meeting to a real date instead of waffling in the shark-infested waters with no help. A surge of excitement tingled in her blood, something she hadn’t experienced in a long time. Possibility.

She ached to transform him.

She was damn good at her job, and had numerous solid matches to back up her confidence. Lately, she’d wondered if she was going through a slump. Nothing excited her anymore. Her own dates were commonplace and led down an endless path of disappointment. The lovers she took to bed were satisfying for an hour or two, but in the harsh morning light, she felt no need to keep them around. Her career was satisfying, but she hadn’t done anything spectacular or
out of the box lately. She was stuck, while everyone around her seemed to be moving forward at a rapid pace. Most of her close friends were engaged or involved in permanent relationships. Usually she adored the dating scene with the lure of the unknown and expanse of possibility spread before her. But she had struggled with burnout lately, and began spending most of her hours at Kinnections or hanging with girlfriends.

But this man presented a true challenge.

Kennedy switched gears and downshifted into business mode. First, she needed more information before making the commitment. He remained ultra still in the chair, no fidgeting or impatient movements. Definitely a desk jockey. “What’s your full name?”

“Nathan Ellison Raymond Dunkle.”

Fascinating. This just kept getting better and better. “You got stuck with a real doozy, Ned.”

His face remained deadly serious. “I know. If my mother was still around we’d sit down and have a conversation regarding her original intentions.”

“You know if you put the R in, you come up with NERD.”

The unibrow lifted again. “If you think you’re being clever, I’ll have you know that even the junior high jocks figured that out pretty quickly. You’ll have to work much harder to impress me.”

Kennedy fought a smile. Good. He had a sense of humor buried under all that intelligence. You couldn’t teach a person that part, you either owned the trait or not. Definitely raw material to extricate and polish. “Touché. And what do you do?”

“I’m an aerospace engineer.”

She pressed her finger against her lips and pondered the amazing scene unfolding before her. Did this get any better? “You’re a rocket scientist.”

Impatience simmered from his frame, though he remained still. “Yes, that’s what an aerospace engineer is. But we don’t call ourselves rocket scientists any longer. It’s outdated.”

Her gaze fell to the pocket protector and his outfit. “I apologize.”