had been so wrapped up in her own plans; he didn’t want her to guess he had thought she wanted him to marry her. “What do I have to do?”
“Well,” Josey replied thoughtfully, “my dates will be far more significant now. I’m going to be much more discerning. I mean, after all, I’m searching for a husband now. I’m not going to agree to dinner and a movie with a friend of a friend just for kicks.” She spun her ice around in her glass with the tip of her straw. “So I think, I’ll check the man out on the first date. And if he makes the cut, I’ll invite him to do something with you and me as our second excursion. That way, you can check him out and tell me afterward if he’s someone to pursue further, or a complete waste of my time.”
“I would like to take this opportunity to bring up a couple of points here,” Nate interrupted, sounding even to himself too much like an attorney. “First of all, I’m quite sure that on a second date, if the man likes you in the slightest way, he will be a little confused at my presence. I mean, another man hanging around?”
Josey opened her mouth immediately to answer, but Nate held up his hand. “Wait, let me finish. Because the thing is, you and I know quite well the platonic nature of our relationship. But will a man understand this? And will a man want to share you in any way, friendship included, with another man?”
“That’s easy,” she replied promptly, with the same satisfied expression he was sure her students wore when they answered a tough question in class. “One very important husband-to-be trait is being so comfortable with himself that knowing I’m best friends with a handsome man wouldn’t faze him in the slightest. If he feels threatened, he’s no good for me. Because after I’m married, you’ll still be my best friend. He’d have to get used to it right away. And we don’t have to hang out with you the whole night, either,” she added. “We can just have drinks with you and go out to dinner later, or meet you after dinner, or whatever. Just so we’re with you long enough for a decent conversation so you can evaluate him.”
“Handsome, huh?”
Josey wadded up her napkin and threw it at him. “It figures you’d fixate on that subtle compliment. Pay attention, will you?”
Nate retrieved the napkin off his lap and put it next to his plate. “I’m just kidding. The other thing is that I can’t tell you if a man is right for you. Don’t you think your feelings are the most important thing to go on? If you think a man is nice, and you bring him to me for approval, and I say, sure he’s nice, go for it, you’d better make certain your feelings for him are genuine before you buy a wedding gown. There are plenty of responsible, dependable men in the world, believe it or not. But you can’t fall in love with all of them.”
“Thank you, Dr. Bennington, for the lecture on love and romance.”
Nate frowned at her. “I’m serious, Josey.”
“For crying out loud, I’m not a two-year-old. Being in love is the most important thing. Because without love, everything else—all the things I want—won’t mean anything.” She signaled for the waitress and ordered decaffeinated coffee for Nate and an herbal tea for herself. Nate felt a wave of affection for this woman who knew him so well.
They stayed silent for the few minutes it took the waitress to return with two steaming mugs. As Nate lifted his for a sip, Josey said matter-of-factly, “I just want someone sensible looking out for me, so I’m not blinded by my quest.”
“I always look out for you, Jose. Whether you want me to or not.”
Josey reached over and squeezed his hand again. “I know. And guess what? I always count on that, whether I admit it or not.” Her eyes, sizzling with excitement, burned into his.
At that moment, something happened to Nate. His heart did a sudden, very deliberate, slow-motion somersault, landing somewhere near the bottom of his gut. It startled him, but he didn’t have a chance to ponder it for more than a split second because Josey prompted, “Well?”
Nate tilted his head back and drained his almost empty water glass to moisten his suddenly dry mouth. “Well what?” he finally replied.
“Can I count on you to help me? If you don’t want to, I suppose that’s all right. I can manage.”
“No,” Nate said. “No, don’t do that. Bring on the candidates. I’ll do my best.”
“Thank you, Nate.” And his heart might have flipped again if Josey hadn’t followed up her expression of gratitude by saying, “And if you tell my parents a thing when we go to the Cape for my dad’s book reading in a couple of weeks, I will smack you upside the head. I don’t want them knowing about this. My mom will never leave me alone about it. And my father—forget about it.”
“You just got finished telling me how trustworthy and dependable I am. Now you think I’m going to—”
“I don’t think. I know. You always gang up on me, you and my parents. All three of you, trying to outdo each other, telling me what’s good for me.” Her voice was still fierce, but her lips hinted at a smile.
The waitress casually dropped the check on the table next to Nate’s plate.
“You love it, admit it,” Nate said, pulling out his credit card as Josey offered him several bills. He pushed her hand back. “I’ve got it this time.”
“Thanks. I’m serious, now. Don’t tell my parents anything.” Then she really did smile widely, and leaned down to retrieve her handbag off the concrete next to her feet before leaning over Nate’s shoulder and putting her lips close to his ear.
“Anyway,” she whispered, and her sudden warm breath in his ear startled him, “keeping your mouth shut is for your own good. You know they’re both nuts about you. If I did tell them my whole plan, they’d just try to make me marry you.”
Chapter Three
Josey’s mother was talking her ear off. As usual. Josey held the phone slightly away from her head, angling the receiver toward the ceiling, but her mom’s voice carried so far she may as well have been sitting in Josey’s living room. It wasn’t that her mother was loud or nagging or annoying. She was just—exuberant. About everything.
“I swear, I put this slipcover on the sofa—this slipcover that I bought for $12.99, Josey—and the sofa looks like an entirely different piece of furniture. I’ll buy you one, too, honey. Just name the color—”
“Mom.” Josey interrupted. “You don’t have to do that for me.”
“Oh, honey, your sofa is so—so…” Josey knew her mother wanted to say “ugly” or “disgusting” but was tactfully choosing her words, not wanting to insult her daughter. “So young-looking. Like you bought it at a garage sale your first year out of college.”
“That is where I bought it.”
“My point exactly, Josey-Posy. So I’ll pick one up for you, and when you come to the reading, I can give it to you then. Is there anything else you need for your place? They had dish towels on sale, too….”
Josey marveled at the way her mother prattled on. To listen to her, any stranger would think she was a crazy old lady, with nothing else to do in her life but take on her daughter’s interior decorating. But she was a young woman, only fifty, with many priorities, including her work at a travel agency.
