stomped her way back to her apartment, considering various methods of torturing and killing Carter Matthews. She rejected drawing and quartering as too kind.
The man had the gall to make an analysis of her life when he was the one being sent a pin-stuffed voodoo doll? She’d been a darn good girlfriend to Jerry, even putting up with his endless obsession with Mortal Kombat, figuring the man had a dream and she should support him as he supported her.
Well, he didn’t exactly support her. Or understand what she did. Or listen to eighty percent of what she said, because he called her work as a creativity coach “way above his mental ability level.”
That part might have been true.
In the beginning, Daphne had found him distracted, and endearing. Then, in the last few weeks, his inattentiveness had become annoying.
Hurtful.
But he had been behind her idea of building a creativity center for children. It was the one thing that drove Daphne, fueled her desire to create all that she had never had as a child. A center like that could be a place of mental freedom, allowing kids to open their imaginations to the world.
To have fun, to create. And maybe, to feel like their ideas, their creations, were welcomed.
Jerry, the indulged only child of wealthy parents, had pledged to give her the start-up funds, then continue his support through the family foundation. Groundbreaking was scheduled to happen in two weeks—
Or had been anyway.
She’d had her funding and a comfortable relationship that demanded nearly nothing of her, until she’d made that rash—
Preemptive strike.
Whatever. She refused to use Carter Matthews’s words, even if her mind might betray her.
Her doorbell rang and Daphne crossed to it, half hoping Jerry would be there, ball cap in hand, calling the whole thing a silly mix-up. And half hoping he wasn’t.
Maybe the Breakup Basket had been a sign—or an open door—to force Daphne to change her life. To do more than go to work and come home to an empty apartment and an empty heart.
She shook off the thought as she opened the door. All she needed was a minute to recoup and get her plans back on track.
“How was Reno?” Kim, her best friend from kindergarten on up, stood on the other side of the door, a steaming bag from Garden Palace Chinese in one hand and a bottle of Jose Cuervo ready-mixed margaritas in the other.
There were many reasons why Kim was her best friend. And she was holding two of them.
Daphne opened the door wider, waving Kim in and relieving her of her burden. “The creativity convention in Reno was fine. It was the trip home that stunk. My direct flight was delayed—twice—then forced to land in Sioux City when the pilot’s appendix burst. They lost my luggage somewhere over the continental United States, I lost my lunch in the turbo-jet’s bathroom during ungodly turbulence and then finally lost my car.”
“Your car?”
Daphne nodded. “I forgot where I parked it in the Indianapolis lot. Even the guy who ran the lot couldn’t find it. So he gave me a phone number and told me to call the manager after nine tomorrow.”
“Wow, talk about a bad day.”
“I came home to worse.” Daphne sighed, grabbing some dishes, then sinking into a chair at her kitchen table and telling Kim about the basket, her mistaken call to Jerry, and the mix-up with Carter Matthews. “That man is an evil monster, Kim. We should hang a warning poster about him outside the building.”
Kim laughed, her blond ponytail swinging and her bright green eyes dancing as she did. “Aw, he’s not that bad. He’s the guy who just moved into 4-B right?” Daphne nodded. “The women around here have been buzzing about our new neighbor and trying to outdo each other to snag one of the last bachelors standing.”
“Why?”
“Don’t you read the paper? He’s a frequent flyer in Gloria’s Gossip and Gab column. You know, one of those moderately wealthy, handsome guys who think marriage is for wimps. If that’s what evil monsters look like, sign me up for the movie.”
Daphne thought of Carter Matthews’s dark brown hair, the way the waves were displaced when he ran his fingers through it, leaving him looking like he just tumbled out of bed. His eyes, deep and blue, the kind most women fantasized about. Most women, though. Not her. And not Cecilia anymore, either, apparently. “Looks can’t make up for bad personality.”
“But they sure help.” Kim winked. “So, what are you going to do about Jerry?”
Daphne sighed. “Honestly, I’m relieved. Jerry wasn’t exactly Prince Charming.”
“Then why did you stay with him for five months?”
She shrugged. “I guess I thought he had all the qualities I wanted, or maybe did, somewhere in there. He was like a houseplant—a little time and some sunlight and he’d grow into what I needed.”
Kim laughed. “That man needed way more than a little fertilizer.”
“You’re right.” Daphne poured them each a margarita, then took a couple sips of her own before going on. The tequila hit her brain fast, skipping right past her empty stomach. “He was just so supportive of the creativity center, I thought—”
“You could turn ground chuck into sirloin?”
Daphne laughed. “I’ll never tell Carter Matthews this, but he did me a favor. It was time to break up with Jerry. I just wish the creativity center didn’t have to be part of it, too.”
“You don’t think he’ll look past this and still put his money into it, out of a sense of civic duty or something?”
“Nope. He made that really clear.” Daphne dished up some Chinese food for each of them, then toyed with a fortune cookie. “Do you know what I really want, Kim?”
“Besides hitting the lottery?”
“A man who cares about me. About what’s important to me. Someone who…” She paused a minute. “I don’t know, fills in the gaps.”
“Are we replaying the dialogue from a Tom Cruise movie?”
Daphne laughed again. “No. I guess it’s more that I want to have fun, but I never seem to do it. I go to work, I come home and I live the same day three hundred and sixty-five days a year.”
“Something you’ve been doing for a long time,” Kim said with the soft tones of a longtime friend.
“Yeah.” Daphne shook off the thoughts. “Anyway, I’ve just had a heck of a day. Makes me all melancholy. I think once I find a new supporter for the creativity center, I’ll feel better.”
Kim’s hand covered hers. “Don’t worry, Ducky, you’ll think of something,” she said, lapsing into Daphne’s childhood nickname. When she’d been a child, it had started out as the second half of Daffy Duck, a tease from kids
