Until She Met Daniel (5 page)

“Come in,” Daniel called, reflecting that an assistant would definitely be a helpful commodity. But there was no use wishing for what couldn't be had. Besides, the novelty of someone new would wear off and the revolving door of visitors would surely stop.

The door opened and he saw Jane Cutman, the tall woman with gray hair and warm blue eyes who'd come to the house as part of the welcoming committee.

“Good morning, Jane,” he said.

“Hello, Daniel. I've been deputized to ask you to lunch with us at the Senior Center.”

He hesitated. So far he'd accomplished little with his morning except being introduced to people and some of the town's issues, but that was part of starting a new job. Moreover, he was hungry. Food prepared for senior citizens probably wouldn't be very interesting, but that didn't matter.

“That sounds very nice. Thanks for the invitation.”

The woman chuckled. “Good. And don't worry. I won't let them fuss at you to eat with us every day. You're always welcome, of course, but I'm sure you'll be too busy. Folks want to meet you, though, so I was deputized to ask.”

“I look forward to meeting them, as well. When should I come over?”

“We're gathering now, but if you're in the middle of something, it'll be a while before we start, and even longer before everyone gets through the line. It's not fancy service. Volunteers serve the plates and we take them to our tables, except for a few who aren't as mobile.”

“In that case, I'll be out in a couple of minutes.”

Jane nodded and closed the door. She seemed a quiet, competent sort of woman, and he hoped she
would
be able to keep the seniors from expecting him to socialize too much. Having the Senior Center located within City Hall was a dynamic he hadn't anticipated.

Closing his laptop, he stood and walked into the hallway, carefully locking up behind him, though he had nothing confidential yet to keep private. A group of gray-and white-haired citizens were gathered and chatting near the double doors leading into the dining area.

Jane called for attention. “Everyone, this is Daniel Whittier. He's our new city manager.”

“Hello,” he said as various individuals stepped up to shake his hand and introduce themselves. “Nice to meet you,” he said, over and over again, the names blurring together.

A vaguely familiar woman smiled. “We were so disappointed you couldn't stay to have lunch with us yesterday, but Mandy explained you'd traveled all night and needed rest more than food.”

“Yes,” another lady added. “And it was so nice of you to still stop and say hello after your long trip.”

Apparently Mandy had gone back to the Senior Center and put a positive spin on his decision not to eat with them. Daniel wasn't sure what to think about it.

“You should be at the head of the line,” said the woman who'd introduced herself as Caroline White—mother of the mayor, he presumed.

He protested, but they insisted he was the guest of honor and should go before everyone else.

The first person he encountered at the serving table was Mandy Colson, carrying a large pan of a rice dish.

“Hi,” she said. “I see you were recruited to help eat the food. We've got pilaf and meat loaf, with mixed vegetables and salad. And dessert, of course.”

Meat loaf.
He might have known. What else could you expect from lunch at a senior center? Memories rose of his mother's flavorless meat loaf, dry but greasy, accompanied by a heap of smoldering anger because his father was late from work as always. The only good thing Daniel
could
say about his childhood meals was that he'd learned how to eat anything and still dispense a compliment.

* * *

M
ANDY
 
SIGNALED
 
TO
 
the volunteers to begin serving the plates. One table had been set aside as the official welcome table, with the mayor's mother as the designated hostess. Not surprisingly, Margaret Hanson and her husband were among those seated at that table—Margaret constantly wanted to be in the center of things.

While listening to Mrs. Brewster chatter about her grandchildren, Mandy watched Daniel fork up a large bite of meat loaf and shove it into his mouth with the air of a man determined to swallow without tasting.

He gulped slightly and she hoped he wouldn't choke, not that he wouldn't have plenty of help if he did. Half the crowd knew the Heimlich maneuver since she'd sponsored a first aid class two months earlier.

Instead of choking, Daniel's eyebrows shot up and his gaze dropped to his plate with a startled expression. He began chewing with renewed attention. Caroline White leaned closer and said something, while the others around the table nodded and laughed.

Mandy could guess what was being discussed. The first time she'd put “barbecue loaf” on the monthly menu, she had received a number of discreet phone calls, warning her that meat loaf wasn't a popular entrée, no matter what it was called. Basically, they'd said the men wouldn't eat it and the women didn't enjoy it that much, either. But Mandy had persisted. They'd had a lighter group than normal that day, and shortly afterward the phone had begun ringing off the hook...with requests for the recipe. She'd shared it happily, giving full credit to the author, a woman she'd met during her travels.

As one pan of meat loaf disappeared, she carried out another, and still more as folks returned to refill their plates. The volunteers took seconds around to the folks who found it hard to get to the serving table.

She slid back into the kitchen for a minute of solitude, then picked up one of the pans of warm blackberry cobbler she'd prepared for dessert. The berries had come from the youth group at the church down the street, picked the previous evening for a service project and proudly delivered that morning by Shawn, the pastor's son.

A smile tugged at Mandy's mouth as she recalled her conversation with Shawn; he'd shamefacedly confessed to being in on the goat-snatching prank after Saturday's practice game. She'd just grinned, understanding all too well what it was like to grow up with everyone expecting you to be a miniadult with the discretion of a senior citizen, simply because your parents were in a respected public position. Her hometown wasn't small, but the private university where her parents taught was its own little world, probably similar to a town like Willow's Eve.

After carrying in several pans of cobbler, she fetched vanilla ice cream from the freezer.

“Hey,” Clyde Bonner called from the serving table. “You going to eat today?”

“Sure.” Mandy took the plate he had prepared and she joined the rest of the volunteers. It was hard to ignore Daniel's presence a few tables away.

After she'd finished eating, she went to her office, wishing for once it was her habit to keep the door shut.

“Mandy?”

Great. It was Daniel. “Uh, hi. Everything okay?”

“Fine. I understand I have you to thank for the meal.”

“Nope,” Mandy denied. “Everyone chipped in. They were debating who got to pay, so I suggested everyone throw in a nickel. Not that it was necessary. There's always plenty of food. The meals aren't free at the center, just cheap. They say that Fannie considered fully funding free lunches, then decided that having to pay something kept people invested.”

Daniel looked taken aback. “I wasn't talking about the cost. I was thanking you for preparing such an excellent lunch.”

She shrugged. “I don't usually cook on consecutive days, but it sometimes works out that way when the volunteers aren't available. Normally I do it eight or nine times a month and fix my favorite recipes, such as meat loaf.”

“The meat loaf was a nice surprise. I don't usually care much for it.”

“Yeah, I saw your expression of horror when you heard the menu.”

“You're imagining things. I did
not
have an expression of horror.”

“Maybe, but tell the truth. You were trying to swallow without tasting it, weren't you?”

His voice was stiff. “As I said, meat loaf isn't my favorite dish, but I enjoyed yours.”

For Pete's sake, why was he acting as if he had a stick up his butt?

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” she asked politely, stifling a yawn. He might be gorgeous, but didn't he have a scrap of humor in his body?

“Yes. I heard something that made me wonder if you were the one who cleaned my office last night.”

Damn. How had that gotten around?

She shrugged. “It's not a big deal. The mayor asked if I could help get it ready, and there wasn't anyone else available.”

“I don't understand,” he said. “Why you?”

“Why
not
me?”

“You're the Senior Center director.”

“So?” Mandy had never believed a job well-done was beneath her, and having the title of “director” hadn't changed her opinion. “I told you, I help out with stuff. I've gotten to know folks and I volunteer for community projects.”

“But they said you were here most of the night.”

“If it was going to get cleaned, that's when it had to happen.”

Daniel muttered something to himself.

“Excuse me?” she prompted.

“Nothing. I...thank you, again. You must be tired.”

“There's nothing I can't accomplish as long as I have a big cup of coffee first thing in the morning.”

He grimaced. “From the Handy Spandy?”

“Heavens, no. That stuff must be filtered through potting soil.”

“You have a gift for understatement.”

She could sympathize since he'd obviously started his day with the worst coffee in creation.

“Do you still need coffee?” she asked, deciding to be generous.

“I meant to get a cup at lunch, but got distracted.”

She swiveled in her chair, grabbed a clean mug and filled it from her coffeepot. “Here you go. There's cream in that little refrigerator, if you want it, and sugar sitting on top.”

He stared at the cup before accepting it. “Thanks. I usually take it black.”

“You should get a coffeemaker in your office if you're interested in a steady supply. You're welcome to have what's served in the parlor all day, but if you have a favorite type, you'll want to make it yourself. I prefer my own.”

No way was she going to offer him access to her pot. Having him run in and out of her office for coffee wasn't a pleasing prospect, no matter how much she believed in hospitality. She didn't dislike Daniel,
exactly,
but no woman enjoyed being around a guy who seemed to radiate a subtle air of disapproval at the same time he was revving up her pulse.

“That's probably what I'll do, as well. I'll return the mug later.”

“No need. It's from the Senior Center and we've got plenty.”

Mandy breathed a sigh of relief when Daniel nodded and walked out...until he shut her door again. But before she could rise from her seat, it opened.

“Sorry,” he said. “I forgot.”

For the rest of the day, reminders of Daniel Whittier dogged her footsteps. A new person moving to Willow's Eve was an event, and since nobody knew much about Daniel, speculation was rife. Even when she stopped in at the Handy Spandy to get romaine lettuce for dinner, the customers were discussing him.

“Hey, Mandy, what's the new guy like?” asked Janine Grey when they met in the produce area. She was Dorothy Tanner's nineteen-year-old granddaughter and was home for a weekend visit from college.

Mandy hesitated. It seemed best to say nothing much. “Mr. Whittier is very professional and appears determined to make a strong start in his job,” she replied. “I don't know much more than that.”

“Mom was wondering if he's married with a family. She still has her casserole to bring over, but she doesn't know how big to make it.”

“Didn't think to ask him. There wasn't any family with him when he arrived. That's all I know.” Mandy couldn't think of anything more to say that wouldn't get her into trouble. She put her lettuce back in the cooler, deciding to do without a salad with dinner.

“Well, I'd better get going,” she said brightly, already heading for the door.

A short while later, she settled into one of the Adirondack chairs on her patio, but Mandy couldn't stop thinking about Daniel. The guy probably sent female hearts fluttering wherever he went, and she tried to recall what the mayor had said about him.

Mid-thirties.

Experienced in city management, with both a bachelor's and a master's degree from UCLA.

The details had basically stopped at that point, since asking questions about a prospective employee's personal life wasn't allowed in interviews. But the mayor had said he
thought
Daniel wasn't married. Being single could mean anything, but judging from the way Daniel had subtly checked out her bustline, he was heterosexual. A straight guy in his middle thirties could be single for any number of reasons, from having Peter Pan syndrome to being too cussed and obnoxious for any woman to want, no matter how attractive.

Daniel could be divorced.

Or he could have commitment phobias.

Mandy's ex had been just the opposite. Vince was so commitment eager, he couldn't wait to get married. Though she didn't question that his affection for her had been genuine, he'd probably also figured it would look good to the university if he were a solid, married man, and therefore perfect material to become a tenured professor.

But why had
she
gone through with it?

Never mind. That was long past. She had the here and now to deal with, and being attracted to Daniel might be a problem...the kind that sometimes meant it was time for her to move on again.

On the other hand, it wasn't as if she was a hormone-crazed kid. Vince had been nearly as good-looking, and she'd walked away from him with nothing more than relief. Her ex hadn't cheated on or abused her. He was just stodgy as hell and couldn't manage a conversation without quoting her father. But if good looks were the only thing that counted, she would have stayed.