Nick didn’t pan out. I hoped, too, that I wasn’t being overly hopeful.
“You know,” Mom said, “I should look up that Randall on Facebook.”
Dad might have gotten over Candy, but that wistful note in my mother’s voice told
me Randall might be the one she thought about on those cold and lonely winter nights
when Dad and my brothers went off to the deer lease. Maybe she dreamed about Randall
putting her in checkmate or capturing her queen.
“Speaking of high school,” she said. “We’ve got our forty-year reunion coming up.
I was thinking I’d come to Dallas on Saturday to look for a new dress to wear.”
“So you can look good for Randall?” I teased.
“So I can look good for your father ,” she said, after a brief pause adding, “okay, maybe for Randall, too.”
A knock sounded at the door and, despite my mother’s pep talk, a sick feeling came
over me.
“Gotta go, Mom. See you Saturday.” I ended the call, shoved the phone into my pocket,
and opened the door to find Brett on the porch. With his sandy hair, boyish good looks,
and lean but muscular build, he was easy on the eyes.
Brett wore a suit tonight. His job as a landscape architect required him to be two
people—a smart businessman who could land high-dollar contracts for major landscaping
projects and an artist of sorts who used foliage as his medium. He was good at both
sides of the business, earning him a reputation as the must-have landscape designer
in Dallas. His reputation was beginning to spread nationwide as well. The country
club gig he’d recently completed in Atlanta had put him on the short list of potential
landscapers for an extensive job at a resort in Palm Springs that was undergoing renovation.
As we sat at my kitchen table eating our manicotti—well, Brett was eating his while
I was merely poking mine with a fork and moving it around on my plate—I took a good,
hard look at him, knowing it might be one of my last. Brett was a caring and thoughtful
guy, intelligent and hardworking, too. His skills in the sack weren’t bad, either.
But whether he was The One remained to be seen.
Still, even though I’d fortified myself with a glass of sangria, I felt my conviction
slipping as I looked at Brett. I drank another glass, only half-listening to Brett
prattle on about a big new gig he’d landed with the city of Grand Prairie’s Parks
and Recreation Department, the upcoming fall planting season, expected rainfall amounts
predicted by The Old Farmer’s Almanac. My thoughts now loosened somewhat by the alcohol, I realized if I wasn’t convinced
by now that Brett was the man I was meant to spend my life with, I owed it to myself
to take a chance with Nick. Yep, as hard as it would be, telling Brett we needed to
take a break was the right thing to do.
When we finished the manicotti, I rinsed the dishes and stuck them in the dishwasher.
Despite the two glasses of sangria I’d polished off, my nerves were still on edge.
I led Brett to the living room, but rather than sitting next to him on the couch for
our usual presex make-out session, I took a seat on one of the chairs. He cocked his
head and gave me a questioning look.
Damn! Did he have to look so sweet and concerned and unsuspecting? I felt as if I were
about to kick a puppy.
I took a deep breath, looked at Brett, looked away, looked back at him. No sense putting
things off any longer. This wasn’t going to get any easier. It was now or never, Tara.
“Brett, I—”
Bam!
My front door flew open and banged against the wall of the foyer as my best friend,
Alicia Shenkman, stormed in. As always, Alicia was impeccably dressed in designer
jeans, wedges, and a black tunic-style top with a red sash around her waist. Her platinum
hair hung in asymmetrical, angular lines on either side of her face. Ultrachic.
As much as I loved Alicia, her timing tonight totally sucked. I regretted giving her
a key to
“You know,” Mom said, “I should look up that Randall on Facebook.”
Dad might have gotten over Candy, but that wistful note in my mother’s voice told
me Randall might be the one she thought about on those cold and lonely winter nights
when Dad and my brothers went off to the deer lease. Maybe she dreamed about Randall
putting her in checkmate or capturing her queen.
“Speaking of high school,” she said. “We’ve got our forty-year reunion coming up.
I was thinking I’d come to Dallas on Saturday to look for a new dress to wear.”
“So you can look good for Randall?” I teased.
“So I can look good for your father ,” she said, after a brief pause adding, “okay, maybe for Randall, too.”
A knock sounded at the door and, despite my mother’s pep talk, a sick feeling came
over me.
“Gotta go, Mom. See you Saturday.” I ended the call, shoved the phone into my pocket,
and opened the door to find Brett on the porch. With his sandy hair, boyish good looks,
and lean but muscular build, he was easy on the eyes.
Brett wore a suit tonight. His job as a landscape architect required him to be two
people—a smart businessman who could land high-dollar contracts for major landscaping
projects and an artist of sorts who used foliage as his medium. He was good at both
sides of the business, earning him a reputation as the must-have landscape designer
in Dallas. His reputation was beginning to spread nationwide as well. The country
club gig he’d recently completed in Atlanta had put him on the short list of potential
landscapers for an extensive job at a resort in Palm Springs that was undergoing renovation.
As we sat at my kitchen table eating our manicotti—well, Brett was eating his while
I was merely poking mine with a fork and moving it around on my plate—I took a good,
hard look at him, knowing it might be one of my last. Brett was a caring and thoughtful
guy, intelligent and hardworking, too. His skills in the sack weren’t bad, either.
But whether he was The One remained to be seen.
Still, even though I’d fortified myself with a glass of sangria, I felt my conviction
slipping as I looked at Brett. I drank another glass, only half-listening to Brett
prattle on about a big new gig he’d landed with the city of Grand Prairie’s Parks
and Recreation Department, the upcoming fall planting season, expected rainfall amounts
predicted by The Old Farmer’s Almanac. My thoughts now loosened somewhat by the alcohol, I realized if I wasn’t convinced
by now that Brett was the man I was meant to spend my life with, I owed it to myself
to take a chance with Nick. Yep, as hard as it would be, telling Brett we needed to
take a break was the right thing to do.
When we finished the manicotti, I rinsed the dishes and stuck them in the dishwasher.
Despite the two glasses of sangria I’d polished off, my nerves were still on edge.
I led Brett to the living room, but rather than sitting next to him on the couch for
our usual presex make-out session, I took a seat on one of the chairs. He cocked his
head and gave me a questioning look.
Damn! Did he have to look so sweet and concerned and unsuspecting? I felt as if I were
about to kick a puppy.
I took a deep breath, looked at Brett, looked away, looked back at him. No sense putting
things off any longer. This wasn’t going to get any easier. It was now or never, Tara.
“Brett, I—”
Bam!
My front door flew open and banged against the wall of the foyer as my best friend,
Alicia Shenkman, stormed in. As always, Alicia was impeccably dressed in designer
jeans, wedges, and a black tunic-style top with a red sash around her waist. Her platinum
hair hung in asymmetrical, angular lines on either side of her face. Ultrachic.
As much as I loved Alicia, her timing tonight totally sucked. I regretted giving her
a key to
Similar Books
