attraction.
“Even a bag of microwave popcorn has directions that say ‘this side up,”’ he said. “How come there’s no arrow for top and bottom on this sucker?”
“A bright guy like yourself can figure it out. This is the end of orientation, the final exam. No cheating.”
Liz was alone with him in the newborn nursery. He was the only trainee volunteer, darn the luck. It would have helped if other trainee volunteers were there to take the edge off the one-on-one orientation.
Liz stood beside him, next to the changing table. In front of him was a battered rag doll for practicing. She wished she could say that the green wraparound lab coat Joe wore diminished his appeal, or blurred his heartthrob image. But no such luck.
He shook his head. “You never said anything about changing diapers when you were trying to discourage me from volunteering. The term ‘cuddling’ seems self-explanatory and does not encompass this.”
“Backing out already, Mr. Marchetti?”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“I never said I wanted you to quit.”
“Not in so many words,” he shot back. “But my work experience is with people. I’ve learned to read between the lines, decipher the body language. All the tricks of the trade.”
“That’s something we have in common then. I’ve got some people experience myself. And in mine, nine times out of ten, they’ll let you down.”
“Then I’ll just have to show you I’m a ten,” he said, giving her a boyishly mischievous look.
“Everyone needs a challenge. Mine is to make sure you can handle our little bundles of joy. The key word here is joy. You have to trust me on this. Cuddling is a more satisfying experience for everyone involved if the baby is clean and dry.”
He frowned at the diaper in his hand. “Then show me the blueprint for this.”
She grinned. “Sell it somewhere else. I might buy your performance if I hadn’t seen Act One the other night. You know more about this baby stuff than you’re letting on. The question is why you’re trying to pull the wool over my eyes.”
Call her a reverse chauvinist, but she found it hard to believe that a man would volunteer to cuddle babies. Not only that, he’d shown up ten minutes ahead of schedule for his orientation. Since a part of her had expected him to let her down, she was still a little off-kilter from his early arrival.
As hard as it was to admit, Joe Marchetti was too good-looking, too charming, and too likable. She would have to be made of stone to keep from having feelings, more accurately a small, almost infinitesimal crush on the man. Her antidote—she would see his appeal and raise him a healthy dose of apathy. That meant she could neutralize the Marchetti toxin before it had a chance to work on her. She would bet her favorite stethoscope that he wasn’t used to women ignoring him. But ignore him she must.
She didn’t believe in happily ever after with any man, let alone a proven playboy like Mr. Marchetti. Her own father had been one. She would be a fool to fall for Joe’s shtick and get dumped, or go through years of misery like her mother had. Either way her heart would come out the loser.
“Pull the wool over your eyes?” He gave her a bogus look of smarting dignity. “I’m wounded, Liz. My incentive for being here is completely aboveboard. One would think that you think I have an ulterior motive.”
“Let’s just say I’m skeptical.” She smiled sweetly at him.
“Want to tell me why?”
She shook her head. “I want to wait and see.”
He shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
“After all, you signed the volunteer contract. Item one—a commitment to actively participate in the Volunteer Program, for no less than three months, three hours per week.” She smiled and rubbed her hands together. “That means I have you, my pretty, for the next three months—no matter what.”
“Define ‘no matter what.”’
“Never you mind. Just do me proud. The life of the Cuddlers Program may be in the balance.”
“You got it.” Then he looked at the diaper again, and the doll used for training. “But if you ever tell anyone that I was playing with dolls, that contract won’t be worth the paper I signed it on.”
“Deal,” she said. She looked around the nursery. Empty isolettes were parked haphazardly against the wall. “It’s a slow day in here, or I would let you show off your skill with the babies.”
“You would trust me?” he asked, phony humility in his voice.
“Now you’re fishing for compliments. Like I said, the way you handled the support group babies the other night convinced me you already have a certain amount of expertise. But remember, those babies were a few weeks old. You’re going to be handling little ones a couple of hours old. There’s a difference.”
“Piece of cake. It’s like riding a bike. You never forget.”
“You wouldn’t want to share how you acquired the knowledge in the first place, would you?”
“You already know I’m an uncle.”
She nodded. “But that doesn’t qualify you for nanny of the year. I know a lot of men who want nothing to do with babies, let alone children.” My father included, she thought before she could stop it.
“My sister Rosie strong-armed me into babysitting.”
Liz glanced from the top of his head to his worn jeans below the hem of his lab coat, then to the tips of his scuffed loafers. He was tall and had a muscle or two tacked on to that rather attractive frame. He was no lightweight. She remembered Rosie Marchetti Schafer. Joe’s little sister wasn’t strong enough to force him to do anything he didn’t want to. If his acquired knowledge came from babysitting his niece, it was definitely because he wanted to.
“How is your sister?” Liz asked, genuinely interested. She remembered the pretty, dark-haired woman and her hunky husband. They were hard to forget, let alone jettison the surprising envy Liz had felt watching a loving couple like Steve and Rosie Schafer.
“Fine.”
Liz put a hand on her hip and shook her head at him. “I can see you didn’t inherit the gift of gab.”
“What?”
“Fine?” she mocked. “No embellishment? That’s all you have to say?”
He stared at her for a moment, then proceeded to expertly diaper the doll without blueprints, arrows, or visual aids of any kind.
Task accomplished, he gave her his full attention. “Okay. I’ll embellish. Stephanie, my niece, is beautiful, healthy and in the process of being spoiled rotten by her doting uncles and grandparents. My sister and her husband are ecstatically happy. They love being parents. They could be the poster couple for the American family.”
For just a moment, Liz
