The Accidental Encore (12 page)

“I’ve been looking at a couple of sites. Some I’ve heard of,
some I haven’t.”

“I’ve probably tried them all.”

“Which one should I use?”

“They’re basically the same. The bigger the name, the bigger
the dating pool.”

“Which do you use?”

“Right now, I’m using LoveFinders.com.”

“I haven’t looked at that one.”

“It’s a moderately sized regional service. The website is
pretty easy to navigate and the price is comparable.”

He typed in the site and watched two hearts meet in the
middle of the screen and explode into a parade of pictures of happy couples. He
felt nauseous and had to force himself to stay seated. “Why do they assault you
with these dopey pictures? I’d rather not sign up if I end up looking like
that.”

“They look happy, Craig. They look like well-adjusted men
and women who found love online. We probably wouldn’t qualify for
well-adjusted.”

He watched her take a sip and set the beer down. “What?” she
asked.

“You don’t think you’re well-adjusted?”

“On some levels, yes. In the dating arena, absolutely not.”

“Well, Allie. Honesty sounds good on you.” And looked good
on her, too. She was open and relaxed and sitting a little too close.

“I certainly don’t have to worry about hurting your
feelings.” She pointed at the screen. “The first thing you want to do is set up
your profile.”

He clicked on the profile link and scowled at the screen.
He’d probably have to fork over less information if he were applying for a
concealed handgun permit. “Why do they need to know all this?”

“They just do. You get to control what other people see on
your profile page.”

He began typing in his information. Name, address,
profession…

“Frances?” she said. “Your middle name is Frances?”

He lifted his fingers from the keyboard. “You know, I don’t
think I need your help after all.”

“I’m just kidding, Frank.”

“Seriously, Allie. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Touchy.” She clasped her hands between her legs and
shivered. “It’s freezing in here.”

“I like it cold.”

“This is beyond cold, Craig. This house is like a meat
locker.”

“There’s a blanket on the couch in the den if you want it.”

She got up and returned a moment later with the throw around
her shoulders. “Is this the only room in the house with any furniture?”

“I use this room, so there’s furniture.”

“Why do you live in such a big house if you only use the
office and, I’m assuming, a bedroom?”

“The market sucks right now. Besides, it’s not finished.”

“It looks finished to me,” she said. “Other than lacking
furniture.” When he didn’t answer, she said, “Okay, so where are we?”

“What’s a tag line?”

“A tag line is just a one or two sentence statement about
yourself.”

“Like?”

“Like, ‘I’m a home renovator who loves dogs and lives in a
gorgeous meat locker.’”

“That’s stupid.”

“It’s just an example,” she said. “You come up with one
that’s not stupid.”

“The whole idea is stupid.”

“It may be stupid, but it’s required.”

He followed her lead and typed, “I’m a home renovator who
likes dogs and beer.”

“That’s so much better,” she said. “Okay, next is your
relationship status.”

“Obviously I’m single, or I wouldn’t be online dating.”

“Yes, of course, but you need to put divorced.” When he
turned his head and stared at her, she shrugged. “You are divorced, aren’t
you?”

He enjoyed the look of panic on her face and knew he’d also
enjoy watching her smug expression disappear when he told her the truth. “No.”

She sat up straight and blinked those green eyes at him. “You’re
still married?”

“Technically, yes.”

“Craig…” She stood up and moved around the front of the
desk, placed her hands on the edge, and leaned over giving him a bird’s eye
view of her plum colored bra. “I’m pretty sure they don’t allow you to date
while you’re still married.”

He reclined in his chair and steepled his hands in front of
his face. “You’re probably right. I’d better put widower.”

She stood upright so fast he feared she’d lose her balance
and fall over. Her mouth hung open as she stared at him with a faint crease
between her brows.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

“What?”

“I’m starving. I’m going to order a pizza. You want in?”

She nodded like a robot as he reached for the phone. “I like
the works. That okay with you?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Whatever.”

Chapter 14

Allie stood in the middle of Craig’s office and listened as
he ordered a large pizza with everything for delivery. She felt as groundless
as the leaves from the giant oak tree outside his window aimlessly falling. A widower?
Craig?

“It’s going to be about thirty minutes.”

It might take her that long to get her jaw working again.
“That’s okay,” she managed before stumbling around the desk to take a seat.
“You’re a widower, too? What are the odds?”

“Not bad, considering it was the same accident.”

“You lost your wife in the same accident that killed Mark’s
wife?”

He nodded. “They were friends. Best friends.”

Allie picked up her beer, took a long swallow, and set it
down on the coaster again. “Wow. Okay, I’m a little speechless.”

“I’m going to savor this moment,” he said. She knew he was
trying to lighten the mood, jolt her out of the shock he’d put her through, but
she couldn’t even muster a smile.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I can’t imagine how hard that must
have been.”

“It was a long time ago.” He pushed back from the chair and
stood up. “I want another beer. You?” he asked.

“No. I’m fine.”

She sat there in his office staring at the bookshelves lined
with architecture books, manuals on every subject a builder might need: plumbing,
electrical, code, woodworking, HVAC, framing, renovation. Some novels sat on a
lower shelf: thrillers and war books. The only picture in the room was the one
of him and Mark as kids. Several framed portraits of Leah were scattered
through the house, but nothing else. Was there a shrine to his dead wife in his
bedroom? Why did she care?

She rubbed her hands along her jeans and tried to come to
terms with the man she’d chalked up as a bitter divorcee. All of her
assumptions, stereotypes, and impressions blurred and began forming into a new
picture, this one painted with a much more narrow brush. She hated that she’d
so easily categorized him like she did with the men she met online. She was too
quick to judge, too quick to assume, and too quick to dismiss people for what
she thought they were and not what they really were.

He walked back in carrying a beer and a small bowl of
peanuts, Blackjack on his heels.

“I owe you an apology, Craig. I’ve horribly misjudged you.”

He carefully set the bowl down between them on the desk and
eased into his seat. “I seriously doubt that. Look,” he said with a sigh, “I
don’t want your pity. It was a long time ago.”

“I know, but I assumed you were divorced. I assumed quite a
number of things about you, and I’m sorry.”

“You don’t owe me an apology for something you didn’t know.”
He reached for the keyboard, irritation written all over his face. “Can we just
get back to this?”

“Sure.” She pointed at the screen and tried to steady her
roller coaster emotions. “The rest is pretty self-explanatory. Do you have
kids, want kids, your ethnicity…”

“Body type?” he asked after filling in the required
information. She noticed he checked the wanted kids button. She wondered if
they’d tried to have a baby before her death.

“They give you choices.” When he selected average, she
cleared her throat. “I’d say you’re athletic.” He turned to stare at her with a
cocky grin on his face. What should have annoyed her helped to steady her
ground.

“You’ve been checking me out?”

“No.” She should have known he’d twist her words around. “I
don’t know if you exercise, but you appear more in shape than some of the
average guys I’ve dated.”

“Do you want me to flex for you?”

“Put whatever you want, but if you keep making fun of me,
I’m leaving.”

“No, you’re not. The pizza’s not here yet and I can hear
your stomach growling.”

Allie put a hand to her belly as it rumbled like thunder in
the sky. “I didn’t have lunch.”

“Why not?”

“I was working and I just forgot,” she said and directed his
attention back to the screen. He filled in the rest of his information: height
5’11”, faith Christian, he didn’t smoke and drank socially. He stopped typing
when he came to the age and location range. “What do you think for the age
range? Twenty-one to forty?”

“Twenty-one?” she asked. “Seriously?”

“Why not?”

“Craig, you’re thirty-five. You think you’ll have anything
in common with a twenty-one-year-old?”

“Attraction?” he offered.

She rolled her eyes. He laughed and hit the delete button.
“I’m just trying to get your goat.” He changed his answer to twenty-five to
forty.

“Oh, that’s so much better.”

“Look, if I want kids—which I might—my age range
can’t go too high. If I start with thirty, most of those women are only looking
for a quick husband so they can get on with the family making.”

She hated that he was right, and as a woman approaching
thirty, she knew exactly what he was talking about. “Fine, but don’t say I
didn’t warn you.”

“Warning heard and ignored.”

She was curiously surprised to see him include in his list
of interests, along with the usual sports and beer, architecture, fishing, and
the guitar. “Do you play?” she asked.

“I can pick a tune or two, but I can’t read music.”

“Have you tried?”

“Yes, and it’s like those braille dots in the recipes for
you.”

It was the second time he’d mentioned something she’d said
in passing. The man, for all his faults, and there were plenty, certainly did
listen. “See,” she said when he put down time at the gym and running. “I knew
you were athletic.”

He ignored her and moved on to answer the remaining
questions. “Astrological sign? What the hell for?”

“Some people believe in that.”

“Believe in what?”

“You know, all the signs have ideal matches. Yes,” she said
when he geared up to argue. “I know you think that’s stupid, but some people
use that as a gauge.”

He snorted in disbelief, but marked himself as a Leo. Of
course, she thought. He certainly was a lion. “You went to Appalachian State?”

“Yeah. Did you think I went to Alabama like Mark?”

“Hummm. I just assumed you had.”

“Why?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. You seem like a big school kind
of guy, like Alabama or Michigan or something like that.”

“App State was close to home. After my dad died, I didn’t
want to be too far from my mom.”

“Oh.” So his father died young and his wife died tragically.
She could feel herself drowning in sympathy for him, but knew that was the last
thing he wanted. “Sorry about your dad.”

“Long time ago, Allie. Why do they need to know my income?”

“Again, some people want to know that information. You don’t
have to tell, but most of the men do.” She touched his sleeve. “I’ll turn my
head if you don’t want me to see.”

“Why? You could always just look up my profile. I’m not
putting that down. I own my house and my business. If that’s not enough
information for these ladies, then screw them.”

“That’s one way to look at it. Okay,” she said as they
entered the challenging section. If he didn’t want to put his income, which had
to be substantially more than she’d first assumed considering his house, he was
going to hate this part. “This is where you need to be creative.”

“Great.”

“You need to write two to three paragraphs about yourself
and what you’re looking for in a date.”

He winced and looked at her like a middle-schooler forced to
take a writing test. “Two to three paragraphs?”

“If you put too little, you look like someone who can’t
communicate. If you put too much, you sound like a bragger. Best thing to do is
describe your job, your life, your dog, and then talk about the kind of woman
you’re interested in meeting.”

He blew out a breath just as the doorbell rang. “Saved by
the bell.”

***