Dates And Other Nuts by Lori Copeland Page B

simple, and yet he couldn’t say it to Temple.
    Staring at his image in the mirror, he thought about the slip he’d made with her. Had he actually asked her to marry him?
    No. No way.
    â€œI’ll marry you. I didn’t realize you’d asked.” Her words came back to him like a rushing wind.
    Was she kidding, or was she testing the waters?
    Could she have been serious?
    Come on, Craig. Where’s your head! It was a jokel
    Â 
    AT PRECISELY 7:25, Craig parked the Lincoln in front of Gabrielle’s apartment building. Glancing up at the second story, he drew a breath of resignation. A few minutes later, he rang the doorbell and waited, glancing up and down the wide hallway. Not great, but nice.
    When the door opened, Craig’s interest was piqued. Gabrielle was actually pretty. Blond curls framed a gamine face, and bright blue eyes sparkled back at him. The mix of hot-pink jeans, painted red toenails in sling-back sandals and a chartreuse tank top was cute.
    â€œCraig Stevens,” he said. “Temple’s friend?”
    â€œHi. Gabrielle.” She giggled. “Temple’s friend, too.” With a grand sweep of her hand, she invited him in. “Entrée.”
    Craig stepped inside, smiling.
    â€œParlez-vous français?”
    He knew just enough French to know he couldn’t speak it. “Very little. Are you French?”
    â€œNo, but I’m in Europe a lot. Let me take your jacket.”
    He shrugged out of his coat, and handed it to her, now acutely aware of an odor that was beginning to make him slightly nauseated.
    â€œWant a beer?”
    â€œSure.”
    He caught a movement from the corner of his eye. A long, gray cat crept along the baseboard, an evil look in its yellow eyes as it measured him up and down with a Garfield look of disdain. He wasn’t an animal person.
    â€œYour cat?”
    Gabrielle’s voice came from the depths of the refrigerator. “One of them. I have five.” She shut the refrigerator door with her foot. “It’s difficult in an apartment, but cats are really good about taking care of themselves. You don’t smell my litter boxes, do you?”
    â€œUh, no,” he lied. Litter boxes. His stomach rolled.
    â€œI didn’t think so. Do you like cats?”
    â€œActually, I don’t know much about them.”
    â€œYou didn’t have one as a child?”
    â€œNo.” Not likely to have one as an adult, either. Certainly not five.
    â€œA dog?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œOh. Light beer okay?”
    â€œFine.”
    He followed her back to the living area where she gestured for him to sit down. “Asseyez-vous.”
    He perched on the edge of the couch, edging back a fraction when he noticed a yellow feline resembling a tacky fur neck-piece curved around the leg of the coffee table.
    â€œYou really should get a cat,” Gabrielle said. “They’re lots of company, and they do virtually take care of themselves.”
    â€œI don’t have the time to give to a pet. I’m gone a lot.”
    She brightened. “Yeah, Temple said you work out of Dallas/Fort Worth, too. It’s a wonder we haven’t bumped into each other before.”
    Gabrielle sank onto the floor and pulled another motley yellow cat into her lap. One eye fixed on him with a challenging look, while the other free-floated.
    â€œHow is Temple, anyway?”
    Craig shifted, counting cats. “You haven’t seen her lately?” If Temple had fixed him up with someone she didn’t know very well, he’d strangle her.
    â€œNot lately. I fly international flights—Paris, mostly. We only talked for a moment when she called about us meeting. How’s she getting along?”
    â€œFine.”
    Casually leaning back, Craig crossed his leg, then jumped, almost spilling his beer. Something furry had attached itself to his thigh.
    With a glance at Crabrielle, he attempted to brush it away