Clint’s eyes had narrowed, as if accepting her challenge. “I’ll call you. Are you free this weekend?”
Another test passed. Available on weekends. Faith had felt a flutter; she hadn’t been on a fourth date since she was eighteen years old. “I think I’m free on Friday,” she’d murmured.
They stood on the sidewalk, waiting for a cab as tourists streamed into souvenir shops to buy sweatshirts, having been tricked into thinking that late August in San Francisco meant summer. Clint leaned in and kissed her, and Faith let him. It had been a good kiss. Very competent. There was potential in that kiss, she thought. Then a taxi emerged from the gloom of the famed fog, and Clint waved it over.
And so, in preparation of the fourth date—which would possibly be the date, when she finally slept with someone other than Jeremy—here she was, parked in front of his apartment, binoculars trained on his windows. Looked as if he was watching the ball game.
Time to call her sister.
“He passes,” Faith said by way of greeting.
“You have a problem, hon,” said Pru. “Open your heart and all that crap. Jeremy was eons ago.”
“This has nothing to do with Jeremy,” Faith said, ignoring the answering snort. “I’m a little worried about his name, though. Clint Bundt. It’s abrupt. Clint Eastwood, sure, that works. But on anyone else, I don’t know. Clint and Faith. Faith and Clint. Faith Bundt.” It was much less pleasing than, oh, let’s say, Faith and Jeremy or Jeremy and Faith. Not that she was hung up on the past or anything.
“Sounds okay to me,” Pru said.
“Yeah, well, you’re Prudence Vanderbeek.”
“And?” Pru said amiably, chewing in Faith’s ear.
“Clint and Faith Bundt. It’s just...off.”
“Okay, then break up with him. Or take him to court and force him to change his name. Listen, I gotta go. It’s bedtime for us farm folk.”
“Okay. Give the kids a hug for me,” Faith said. “Tell Abby I’ll send her that link to the shoes she asked about. And tell Ned he’s still my little bunny, even if he is technically an adult.”
“Ned!” her sister bellowed. “Faith says you’re still her little bunny.”
“Yay,” came her nephew’s voice.
“Gotta go, kid,” said Pru. “Hey, you coming home for harvest?”
“I think so. I don’t have another installation for a while.” While Faith made a decent living as a landscape designer, most of her work was done on the computer. Her presence was only required for the last part of a job. Plus, grape harvest at Blue Heron was well worth a visit home.
“Great!” Pru said. “Listen, ease up on the guy, have fun, talk soon, love you.”
“Love you, too.”
Faith took another pull of Red Bull. Pru had a point. Her oldest sibling had been happily married for twenty-three years, after all. And who else was going to give her romantic advice? To Honor, her other sister, if you weren’t calling from the hospital, you were wasting her time. Jack was their brother and thus useless on these matters. And Dad...well, Dad was still in mourning for Mom, who’d been gone for nineteen years.
The wash of guilt was all too familiar.
“We can do this,” Faith told herself, changing the mental subject. “We can fall in love again.”
Certainly a better option than having Jeremy Lyon be her first and only love.
She caught a glimpse of her face in the rearview mirror, that hint of bewilderment and sorrow she always felt when she thought of Jeremy.
“Damn you, Levi,” she whispered. “You just couldn’t keep your mouth shut, could you?”
* * *
TWO NIGHTS LATER, Faith was starting to think that Clint Bundt was indeed worth the ten minutes she’d taken to shave her legs and the six it’d taken to wrestle herself into the microfiber Slim-Nation undergarment she’d bought on QVC last month. (Hope. It sprung eternal.) Clint had picked an upscale Thai place with a koi pond in the entryway, red silk wall hangings making the room glow with flattering light. They sat in a U-shaped booth, very cozily, Faith thought. It was so romantic. Also, the food was really good, not to mention the lovely Russian River chardonnay.
Clint’s eyes kept dropping to her cleavage. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but you look good enough to eat.” He grinned like a naughty boy, and Faith’s girl parts gave a mighty tingle. “I have to tell you,” he went on, “the very first second I saw you, I felt like I was hit on the side of the head with a two-by-four.”
“Really? That’s so sweet,” Faith said, taking a sip of her wine. So far as she could recall, she’d been dressed in filthy jeans, work boots and soaked to the skin. She’d been moving some plants around in the rain, trying to ease the mind of the city councilman who was concerned over the park’s water runoff (which, please, had been nonexistent; she was a certified landscape architect, thank you very much).
“I wasn’t sure I was capable of speech,” Clint now said. “I probably made a fool out of myself.” He gave her a sheepish look as if acknowledging he’d been quite the love-struck suitor.
And to think she hadn’t even noticed that he’d been...well...dazzled by her. That’s how it went, right? Love came when you weren’t looking, except in the case of the millions who’d found mates on Match.com, but, hey. It sounded good.
The server came and whisked away their dinner plates, setting down coffee, cream and sugar. “Did you see anything you liked on the dessert menu?” he asked, smiling at them. Because really, they were an adorable couple.
“How about the mango crème brûlée?” Clint said. “I don’t know if I’ll survive watching you eat it, but what a way to go.”
Hello! Tingling at a 6.8 on the Richter scale. “The crème brulee sounds great,” Faith said, and the waiter sped away.
Clint slid a little closer, putting his arm around Faith’s shoulders. “You look amazing in that dress,” he murmured, trailing a finger down the neckline. “What are the odds of me getting you out of it later on?” He dropped a kiss on the side of her neck.
Oh, melt! Another kiss. “The odds are getting better,” she breathed.
“I really like you, Faith,” he whispered, nuzzling her ear, causing her entire side to electrify.
“I like you, too,” she said and looked into his pretty brown eyes. His finger slid lower, and she could feel her skin heating up, getting blotchy, no doubt, the curse of the redhead. What the heck. She turned her face and kissed him on the lips, a soft, sweet, lingering kiss.
“Sorry to interrupt, lovebirds,” said the waiter. “Don’t mind me.” He set the dessert on the table with a knowing smile.
“This!”
The bark made all three of them jump. Clint’s
