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Dating for Two
Marie Ferrarella
It's all fun and games–until someone falls in love!Focused on building her toy company, Erin O'Brien didn't have time to think about romance, let alone act on it. Until she met handsome attorney Steve Kendall–and suddenly, pleasure became much more enticing than business! But she soon learned that the sexy lawyer had a second job–as a family man!A widower, Steve was willing to do anything to reconnect with his son. And the school Career Day was a perfect opportunity…and a fateful one. A certain quirky blonde toy designer instantly won the students' affection–and Steve's interest. Soon he finds himself wanting only one special woman in his life. But is it for his son's benefit, or to heal his own heart?
“Cooking relaxes me,” Erin explained.
“Funny, it has just the opposite effect on me,” he said.
“Your strengths obviously lie in other directions,” she countered.
Steve had to admit he appreciated the way she tried to spare his ego.
“If you don’t mind my asking, exactly what do you plan on making?”
“A frittata,” she said cheerfully. Combining a total of eight eggs in a large bowl, she tossed in a dash of salt and pepper before going on to add two packages of the frozen mixed vegetables. She would have preferred to use fresh vegetables, but beggars couldn’t afford to be choosers.
“A what?”
“Just think of it as an upgraded omelet. You have ham and bread,” she said, pleased.
“That’s because I know how to make a sandwich without setting off the smoke alarm,” he told her.
“There is hope for you yet,” she declared with a laugh.
Watching her move around his kitchen as if she belonged there, he was beginning to think the same thing himself—but for a very different reason.
* * *
Matchmaking Mamas: Playing Cupid. Arranging dates. What are mothers for?
Dear Reader (#ud78c2854-2805-567a-9b9c-56616451582d),
Many articles have been written about the really difficult world of the single mother. But more and more I am beginning to see a new phenomenon emerging: the single dad. I see single fathers with one, two and sometimes three kids in tow, shopping in the grocery stores, looking haggard in the mall or on the street, going to or from stores while attempting to keep children in line—mainly by distracting them.
What started me thinking along the lines that this story eventually took was a letter from a single father to an advice columnist. He wanted to know where to find maternal-minded women. He had a small son and he wanted not just a wife but a mother for his boy (which I found extremely sensitive). She gave him some decent-sounding advice (none of which I could use in my story), but the seed was planted. I started thinking about all those fathers I’ve been seeing and wondering if they were married and if they weren’t, and what did they do to try to fill not just one void, but two? Because, in essence, when a single father goes out on a date, he’s really dating for two: himself and his child.
Since I am master (mistress?) of this universe I’ve created, my single dad’s problems are solved by those three wonderful matchmaking mamas, Maizie, Theresa and Cecilia. Come and read their latest success story.
Thank you for reading and, as always, I wish you someone to love who loves you back. You have that, you have everything!
Best,
Marie
Dating for Two
Marie Ferrarella
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
MARIE FERRARELLA is a USA TODAY bestselling and RITA Award-winning author who has written more than two hundred books for Mills & Boon, some under the name Marie Nicole. Her romances are beloved by fans worldwide. Visit her website, www.marieferrarella.com (http://www.marieferrarella.com).
To Allison Carroll for displaying concern over and above the call of duty. Thank you.
Contents
Cover (#u9f5a8aa0-c4f9-5a0a-997f-ad4c2de8f9bf)
Introduction (#ud2486267-f284-594f-95c2-f3444e25f95c)
Dear Reader (#u0ba1bf2d-1cb9-5380-bc86-74e611347794)
Title Page (#u9f44739d-acfc-5519-b71b-c60a38a35002)
About the Author (#ub206cc14-9946-500c-8748-03c23d8acde9)
Dedication (#u1c93215e-72e6-5f5e-a679-b08b9ae11bef)
Prologue (#ulink_f222493b-fed6-58b2-a7e6-6dd67a432e3a)
Chapter One (#ulink_c00f95f8-f4f5-520e-b4ae-0a356c4685d6)
Chapter Two (#ulink_5c25575e-1da3-571b-9cd1-33830c118570)
Chapter Three (#ulink_7483b55a-6d2f-570f-8e75-a9daa3886ee8)
Chapter Four (#ulink_6d71694c-a99b-53b2-9647-82d6d803b11e)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Prologue (#ulink_e0ca2040-73c2-52fa-b247-a4b559f77c22)
That was the third time Maizie Sommers had caught her client staring off into space in the past half hour.
Eleanor O’Brien had come to the real-estate agency that Maizie owned several weeks ago. The middle-aged, sweet-faced woman wanted to downsize her lifestyle, replacing her thirty-year-old two-story house with a more space-efficient condominium. Maizie had given her the benefit of her expertise, instructing her on how to present her home to its best advantage. The crash course had definitely paid off. There were already several buyers not just interested in Eleanor’s house but ready to make an offer.
Eleanor had decided to hold off accepting one until after she’d found a condo that caught her attention.
But today, apparently, her attention was elsewhere. Maizie had taken her to three different condominiums today and she had the impression that her client was there in body, but her mind seemed to be a hundred miles away.
Initially, she had politely ignored Eleanor’s preoccupation. But there was no sense in showing her these homes if she wasn’t really seeing them.
“If you don’t mind my saying so, you seem rather lost in thought,” Maizie told the petite woman with the frosted blond hair. “You know,” she went on tactfully, “we don’t have to see these condos right now.”
Maizie wasn’t just pretending to be thoughtful of her client’s sensibilities—she really was concerned. She’d taken to Eleanor in these past few weeks and she prided herself on being a people person first, a Realtor—something she was exceedingly successful at—second. Or third if she counted the vocation she really had a passion for—matchmaking.
While she made her money being a Realtor with a very successful track record of matching the right person to the right home, her heart was even more firmly entrenched in her matchmaking endeavors, something she did on a joint basis with her two very best friends, Cecilia and Theresa, both accomplished businesswomen in their own chosen fields. Friends since third grade, the women enjoyed bringing happiness into people’s lives by matching them up with their soul mates. So far, that track record was stellar.
“If there’s anything I’ve learned in my years of selling homes,” Maizie went on as her client looked at her quizzically, “if you miss out on one, no matter how perfect it might seem, another one will be by soon enough—sometimes when you least expect it.”
Eleanor O’Brien laughed softly to herself. “That sounds like a slogan for a dating service, not a real-estate office.”
Maizie found it interesting that the first thing on her client’s mind was a reference to dating. Was that what was bothering the woman? Something to do with dating? Maizie’s radar was instantly engaged.
She linked her arm through Eleanor’s, subtly guiding the woman back to the condo’s front door. “Why don’t we take a break and go somewhere for a cup of coffee—or tea if you prefer—and you can tell me what’s really on your mind.”
For a moment, Eleanor looked torn between thanking her—coupling it with a protest that she was fine—and taking her up on her offer.
As it turned out, it was a very short internal debate. The woman’s need for a friendly ear to talk to won out.
“Well, if you’re sure that I’m not taking you away from anything else—”
Maizie flashed what one of her friends had referred to as her “disarming” smile. “You’re not,” Maizie assured the other woman.
Eleanor nodded just as they reached the door. “Then yes, I think I’d like that.”
Maizie smiled. “I know just the place.”
* * *
Ten minutes later, seated at a table for two in a family-friendly restaurant near Maizie’s office, Eleanor leaned in and asked her, “Do you have any children, Maizie?”
Maizie felt a sudden rush of maternal pride, the way she always did when she thought of her only child, Nikki. “As a matter of fact, I do,” she replied. “I have a daughter.”
Eleanor’s eyes met hers as she asked, “Is she married?”
Maizie smiled. She liked to think that her daughter was her very first real success story. Because Nikki had been so very caught up in her career—she was a pediatrician—her daughter had had no private life she could call her own. That was, until inspiration hit and Maizie had deliberately sent one of her clients, a widower with a toddler, her way. The rest, as people like to say, was history—and the beginning of a very gratifying matchmaking sideline.
Maizie never brought up what she thought of as her “true calling” unless the situation warranted it. However, she was beginning to get some very specific vibes from the woman sitting across from her that this just might be the case.
“Yes,” she told Eleanor, “as a matter of fact, she is.”
Eleanor sighed wistfully. “You don’t know how lucky you are. I have a daughter—Erin—and I don’t think she is ever going to get married.”
“By choice?” Maizie asked as she studied her client. After all, there were women who were quite happy not having to take a husband’s choices into consideration whenever they wanted to go somewhere or do something.
“By attrition,” Eleanor replied sadly, then attempted to backtrack. “I suppose I’m being selfish. I should just be grateful that I still have her.” Seeing Maizie’s questioning look, Eleanor realized how enigmatic that had to sound. She was quick to explain. “When Erin was seven years old, she came down with a form of cancer.” She closed her eyes, revisiting that painful time. “We came very close to losing her a number of times. She lived close to two years at that wonderful, groundbreaking children’s hospital in Memphis. During that time I almost wore out my knees praying.
“And then one day, all traces of her cancer miraculously disappeared and I got my little girl back. I can’t describe the joy her father and I felt.” Tears shimmered in her eyes as she relived what she was saying. “That’s why I feel so guilty wanting more.”
“But?” Maizie prodded, sensing the woman needed just a little encouragement to continue.
Eleanor inclined her head. “But I would love to see her married with children of her own.”
“She doesn’t have a steady boyfriend?” Maizie guessed, just to make sure that wasn’t the problem.
“She doesn’t have any boyfriend,” Eleanor answered with a heartfelt sigh. “She’s too busy.” Maizie’s client pressed her lips together. “Even her choice of careers is selfless and I know I should be happy she turned out this well—”
Maizie had been in the same place herself once, so she felt justified in interrupting her client. “You have nothing to feel guilty about. It’s only natural to want to see your daughter with someone special in her life, someone she can lean on.” Inspired, Maizie’s mind began going in several different directions at once. “What does your daughter do for a living?”
“She owns a toy company called Imagine That,” Eleanor said with no small pride. “She sells the kind of toys that you and I had as children—the kind that need imagination instead of batteries to make them come alive. Twice a year she takes a whole truckload of toys and brings them to the local children’s hospital. Erin says it’s her way of ‘giving back.’”
Maizie nodded her head, impressed—as well as eager to help. “She sounds like a wonderful person.”
“Oh, she is,” Eleanor said with feeling. “And I desperately want her to know the joy of holding her own child in her arms.” Again guilt rose its head within her. “I suppose I’m being selfish....”
“Not at all.” Maizie waved away the sentiment. “I’ve been exactly where you are.”
Eleanor looked at her with surprise. “You have?”
Maizie nodded her head. “Absolutely.”
“Did you do anything about it?” Eleanor asked, lowering her voice as if they were discussing a possible conspiracy. It was obvious that she was searching for some sort of advice or at least encouragement.
Maizie smiled over her cup of coffee. “Funny you should ask,” she began. She saw the hopeful expression that came into the other woman’s brown eyes. She signaled the waitress, and she told the young woman when she approached, “We’ll need to see two menus, please.” This was going to take some time, she decided. Then, turning back to Eleanor, Maizie got down to business. “Have I got a story for you.”
Chapter One (#ulink_bc95575b-00fd-526c-a756-3d2b0cba7cb6)
“There you go,” Steven Kendall said as he handed Cecilia Parnell the monthly check he had just written out to her company. “And it was worth every penny,” he freely admitted to her. “The job done by your house-cleaning service would even pass my mother’s stringent inspection, and trust me, my mother has always been a very tough little lady to please,” Steve attested.
Time and distance gave him the ability to look back at that part of his life fondly, although at the time, living through it as a teenager had been exceedingly difficult for him.
Cecilia smiled at the young business-litigation lawyer. He’d been a client of hers for a little more than a year now and she had never known him to be anything but cheerful. It was literally a pleasure doing business with the man, especially since he took no exception with what could be seen as an idiosyncrasy: she liked to be paid in person.
Cecilia laughed softly. “All my clients should be as difficult to clean up after as you and your son,” she told him. “And just because I don’t mention it, don’t think I’m not grateful that you don’t mind indulging me and maintaining this personal aspect of the process.” She tucked the check away into one of the many zippered compartments within her rather large hobo purse. “I know most young people your age prefer going the digital route—your internet bank account communing with my company’s internet bank account—but I must say that I really do like the personal touch.” She flashed a self-depreciating smile at Steve. “I know that must seem hopelessly old-fashioned to you.”
