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She and Forrest, she realized, had appeared like characters who had stepped from the pages of one of her books. They were the hero and heroine in all their splendor.
That much was clear, but from then on the dream had been a bit wacky. They had been dancing at a crowded ball, swirling gracefully around the floor. In the next moment, though, they’d been waltzing in Deedee’s store, and then later in Jillian’s own living room.
“Heavens,” she said, throwing back the blankets, “what nonsense.”
Leaving the bed, she started across the room, only to stop after going a few feet. She placed the fingertips of one hand on her lips, the sudden remembrance of Forrest’s quick but unforgettable kiss causing a shiver to skitter along her spine.
Now wait a minute. That kiss had not been in the dream. It had taken place in her very own entry hall. That cocky Forrest MacAllister had actually kissed her.
With a cluck of disgust she went into the bathroom, and minutes later was standing under the warm spray of the shower, vigorously shampooing her hair.
In all fairness she had to admit it had been a sensational, albeit short, kiss. And it wasn’t as though Forrest had hauled her into his arms and kissed the living daylights out of her—which would have been extremely rude.
No, it had been a rather...polite...yes, polite kiss. A tad pushy, considering they’d only just met, but definitely memorable.
As Jillian dried herself with a huge, fluffy towel, she was aware of a sense of something nagging at her. What was she forgetting? What was vying for attention that she couldn’t remember? She had been so exhausted the previous night, there was no telling what she didn’t recall in the light of a new day.
With a shrug of dismissal, she left the bathroom and dressed in jeans faded in spots to white, a baggy red sweatshirt that boasted the slogan Writers Always Have the Last Word, and red-and-white polka-dot socks.
After a cup of Earl Grey tea and a bowl of granola and yogurt, she called her secretary, Lorraine, to announce her arrival home.
Ever-efficient Lorraine reported that the necessary bills had been paid during Jillian’s absence, the newspaper delivery would resume today, the housekeeper had been instructed to stock the refrigerator yesterday per the usual procedure, and everything was under control.
“You’re a gift from the heavens,” Jillian said.
“I know,” Lorraine said. “I’m fantastic. I have your fan mail here, but fear not, I won’t darken your doorway for two weeks. You’re officially on vacation as of dawn today. What are you going to do this time?”
“I don’t know yet,” she said, frowning slightly. “The tour was so hectic I didn’t have a spare second to think about it.”
“Well, darn,” the secretary said. “I look forward to hearing about The Project. That’s in capital letters, you understand. Let’s see. Over the years, you’ve used your two-week hiatus to go on a cruise, take knitting lessons, volunteer to read stories to children in the hospital, and on the list goes. My favorite was when you wallpapered the bathroom.”
Jillian laughed. “Which had to be redone by a professional.”
“True. Goodness, Jillian, it’s hard to believe you haven’t settled on The Project. This is day one, you know, and you’re wasting time even as we speak.”
“I realize that. I’m thinking, I’m thinking. I’ll talk to you later, Lorraine. Oh, how are your husband and your grandchildren?”
“My darling hubby is still a couch potato, and the grandkids are brilliant and incredibly cute. Bye for now, boss.”
Jillian replaced the receiver slowly, then stared at it for a long moment.
Lorraine was right. She’d always decided on The Project well before her coveted two weeks began. Her publisher had her latest book in production, the grueling promotional tour was gratefully over, and she would have her self-indulgent fourteen days before starting a new novel, as per her usual routine.
“Think, Jillian,” she told herself.
She thought about The Project while she toted her luggage to her room and unpacked, then stored the suitcases in the back of one of the guest-room closets. She thought while washing and drying clothes, and making a pile to go to the cleaners’. She thought while she sorted through the stack of receipts she’d accumulated during the tour, and made a list of thank-you notes to be written to the bookstore owners who had hosted her autograph parties across the country. She thought while she put the paperwork in her large, sunny office and firmly closed the door, vowing not to open it for fourteen days.
She thought while she ate a peanut-butter and banana sandwich, then watched a talk show on television.
As dusk began to darken the living room, she closed the drapes, turned on several lamps, lit a crackling fire in the hearth, and thought.
She slouched rather ungracefully onto the sofa facing the fireplace, stretching her legs straight out in front of her and wiggling her red-and-white-polka-dot-clad toes. While the wobbling pattern of the socks made her slightly dizzy, it did not transmit a genius-level idea for The Project.
“Food,” she said, getting to her feet again. “I’ll feed my brain.”
A few minutes later, she replaced the receiver of the telephone, having requested a Super Duper Pizza Supreme Deluxe Extraordinaire to be delivered to the house.
Returning to the living room, she began to pace back and forth in front of the fireplace.
“Skydiving?” she muttered. “Oh, good grief, no, I’d probably break myself. Gourmet cooking lessons?” She shook her head. “I’d become fat as a pig. Learn to speak Russian? Japanese? French?” She frowned. “Who would I talk to in Russian? Oh, darn it, I’ve already wasted one of my precious fourteen days.”
She plopped back onto the sofa with a dejected sigh, and stared gloomily into the nearly-hypnotizing flames of the fire. When the telephone rang, she jerked in surprise as she was startled out of her semitrance. She snatched up the receiver of the telephone on the end table.
“Hello?”
“Jillian? Hi, it’s Deedee. I’ve been trying to call you all day, but it was so busy at the store, I didn’t have a chance. There’s something important that I need to talk to you about. I’d rather do this in person, but... Do you have time to chat?”
“Sure. What’s on your mind?”
“First of all, I want to thank you for doing the autographing yesterday. I know how tired you were, and I appreciate your tacking me onto the end of that grueling tour.”
“No problem. I always enjoy doing book-signings at Books and Books. Your customers are such sweethearts. Now, what’s this ‘something important’ you wanted to talk to me about?”
“Oh, well, you see—” Deedee paused. “Since you’re speaking to me at the moment, I assume Forrest MacAllister carried out his mission of delivering you safely home. Did you manage to get there without threatening to murder him, or inking him to death?”
“I slept all the way home.”
“Oh, you’re such a dud. That is one sexy hunk of man on the hoof, Jillian Jones-Jenkins. He’s nice, too. You know how highly Andrea speaks of him. You slept all the way home? I’m beginning to think you’re hopeless.”
“Me? Look who’s talking. You’re cruel to the male populace.”
“I am not. I’m dating three different men at the moment. It’s just that if any of them get too serious, I shoo them out the door.”
“You’re a coldhearted wench, Deedee. Is this topic the ‘something important’?”
“No. Well, yes, sort of. What I mean is—”
“Deedee!”
“Okay, I’m getting it together now.” She cleared her throat. “Jillian, I want you to keep an open mind while I’m explaining my ‘something important.’ Have you settled on The Project for your time off from work yet?”
“No, much to my frustration. I’ve already wasted an entire day. Why?”
“Well, you see, Andrea is very concerned about Forrest. He worked extremely hard while he was in Japan, with very little time off. He claims he’s not going back to work for a few weeks, but Andrea says he’ll never do it. He’ll end up in the office slaving away.
“She was getting stressed, really having a fit, as we were talking about Forrest. She’s so-o-o-o worried about him, Jillian. To calm her down, I suggested we try to think of a way to get him to relax, enjoy his time off, concentrate on something other than work. So, between us we came up with a plan.”
“That’s all very nice,” Jillian said. “However, I’m totally confused as to how this ‘something important,’ that has turned out to be Forrest’s work habits, has anything to do with me.”
“Because you’re the solution, the answer. Are you ready? Forrest MacAllister will be The Project you’ll take on during your vacation.”
“What!” Jillian shrieked.
“Jillian, please, just listen. You know Andrea isn’t supposed to get stressed right now, but she’s doing exactly that over her concerns about Forrest. Andrea needs you, Jillian. You’re the only one who can divert Forrest’s attention, get him to balance his life better with work and play. I told Andrea I’d talk to you because she gets uptight just discussing her work-weary brother.” Deedee sighed. “It’s so sad.”
“You two are Looney Tunes,” Jillian said. “I can’t take on Forrest as The Project. He’s a person, a human being, a man, for crying out loud. He doesn’t qualify for The Project.”
“Sure, he does. Whose project is it? Yours. You can do whatever you want to. You just said you hadn’t picked anything, and here it is, right before your very eyes. You’d be doing it for your dear friend Andrea, for those adorable twins she’s going to have. How can you say no to someone in need like she is? Like Forrest is, for that matter?”
“Deedee, Forrest MacAllister is not the type of man who is lacking in female company.”
“Indeed not. But the tricky part is, he doesn’t take enough time off to enjoy what’s out there. You’ve got to be brave, courageous and bold. Step right up, invite him out, help him get his life in order. This is a terrific project for you, Jillian. Think how good you’ll feel about what you’ve done for Andrea, and for Forrest.”
“No, I’ll think about where to get professional help for you and Andrea. You two are not playing with full decks. Deedee, this is crazy.”
“It is not! Listen, when the MacAllisters were kids, their mother periodically had them do Angels and Elves assignments. You know, nice things for people—like mowing their lawn, or washing their windows, or whatever. Isn’t that the sweetest thing?”
“Too sweet for words,” Jillian said, rolling her eyes heavenward.
“So, that’s what we’re asking you to do here. Forrest MacAllister will be The Project aka your Angels and Elves assignment.”
“Deedee...”
“Jillian, don’t say no. Just promise me you’ll think about it. When you really give this some thought, you’ll realize it’s perfect. You’ll have The Project, Forrest will get his priorities in order, and Andrea will relax and stay calm.”
“Deedee, I really don’t want—” The doorbell rang, causing Jillian to stop speaking. “Someone is at the door. It must be the pizza I ordered.”
“Good. Hang up. Just promise me you’ll think about what I proposed.”
“Yes, fine, all right, I’ll think about it. I’ve got to go, Deedee. Bye.” Jillian dropped the receiver into place and shot to her feet. “Pizza. Brain food.” She marched across the living room toward the entry hall. “Andrea and Deedee need some help for their brains.”
Before opening the door, she grabbed a twenty-dollar bill from the credenza in the entry hall. It was her “cash stash” for the frequent delivery of meals that held more appeal than cooking her own. Flipping on the porch light, even though the motion-sensitive lights would have been activated, she opened the door.
“Hi. That was quick. I only called you a few minutes—” She stopped speaking. Her mouth remained opened as her eyes widened.
Standing before her in the bright light, dressed in a dark gray suit, pale blue shirt, and gray paisley-print tie, looking like he’d just stepped out of the pages of Gentlemen’s Quarterly magazine, was Forrest MacAllister.
* * *
“Andrea?” Deedee said. “We’ve been momentarily saved by a pizza. Jillian was not going for The Project idea, no way, no how. Then the pizza she ordered was delivered and she had to answer the door. I got her to promise to think about Forrest being The Project.
“Now we wait and see what happens, and keep each other posted if we hear anything. I swear, when we decided that Jillian and Forrest would be perfect for each other, I had no idea that Cupids had to work so hard. This is exhausting. But victory shall be ours! Won’t it?”
Three
Forrest MacAllister, Jillian mentally repeated incredulously, was standing in her doorway. Forrest, who had been smiling, but who was now frowning and appearing rather confused as his gaze swept over her attire.
Jillian blinked, cleared her throat, and was unable to hide an expression every bit as confused as his.
“Forrest?” she said. “I thought you were the pizza.”
“No,” he said slowly, “I’m not a pizza. I’m a man. The one you have a dinner date with.”
“I do?”
He nodded. “You do. May I come in?”
“Yes, I think you’d better,” she said, stepping back.
Gracious but he was gorgeous. She had a funny little flutter in the pit of her stomach that she couldn’t chalk up to hunger. He smelled wonderful, too. His after-shave had a woodsy, very masculine aroma.
As she closed the door, Forrest turned to look at her.
Cute as a button, he thought. Jillian’s sweatshirt was baggy, her jeans as old as dirt, and the socks were weird. But she was femininity in spades, causing his heart to increase its tempo.
“I think we’ve had a communication problem, or something,” Jillian said.
“Actually, I was afraid this might happen,” he said. “I tried to call you today to confirm our date, but you have an unlisted number.”
He could have asked Andrea or Deedee for Jillian’s number, he knew, but he wasn’t ready to tell either of them that he was taking her out. The cackling glee he would no doubt have been subjected to was something a guy had to gear up for.
“When you agreed to go out with me,” he went on, “I wondered if you’d remember.”
Jillian splayed one hand on her chest. “I agreed to a dinner date for tonight?”
“Yes, ma’am, you did. We were standing right here in your entry hall last night when we made the plans for me to pick you up at seven-thirty.”
“Oh, Forrest, I’m so sorry. I don’t remember. I knew there was something niggling at me, but I couldn’t figure out what it was. This is embarrassing, and I sincerely apologize.”
“Hey,” he said, smiling, “don’t worry about it. You were so exhausted that I wasn’t certain at the time that you were really tuned in to what we were saying. How about a rain check?”
“Well, I—” she started, then gasped as the doorbell rang again. “Pizza.”
She spun around and opened the door. A few minutes later she closed it, and stood holding an enormous, square flat box.
“Mmm,” she said, inhaling deeply. “Doesn’t that smell delicious?”
“That has got to be the biggest pizza box I’ve ever seen.”
“Isn’t it great? It’s a Super Duper Pizza Supreme Deluxe Extraordinaire.”
Forrest laughed. “That’s quite a title.”
“Forrest, listen. I feel so badly about not remembering our date. Why don’t you stay and share this pizza with me? There’s enough here for a regiment of marines. You could take off your jacket and tie, be more comfortable, and we’ll have a pizza party.”
“Sold.”
“Good,” she said, matching his smile. “I’m glad.”
