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She punched off her phone. “That woman has gone out with and found something horribly wrong with practically every guy on our site. During our interview I thought she seemed a little wound-up, but I didn’t see this coming. She needs about a year’s worth of therapy, not a relationship.”
“Oof. Sorry.” Maybe Candy needed that, too. Or maybe she just needed another excuse to delay this moment.
“Anyway, this isn’t about her.” Marie came out from behind her desk and perched on the edge, beaming. “This is your time. We are going to find you someone absolutely fabulous. How did you do on the sheets I had you fill out?”
“Dismally.”
“Hmm.” She held out her hand. “Let me see.”
Candy pulled the papers from her briefcase. “I couldn’t decide between answers. I think I checked all the options practically every single time. Do I like staying home or going out? Yes. Do I like old movies or contemporary? Yes. Do I like restaurants, bars, clubs, movies, museums or lectures for a favorite night out? Yes. What is more important, career or family? Both. And on and on. I’m hopeless.”
“Hopeless?” Marie took the papers. “Let’s call you well-rounded. Adventurous, open-minded, cosmopolitan.”
Candy conceded the point. “Yes, better term than hopeless. But when I got to the introductory paragraph I splintered completely. I felt I could put up four different profiles.”
Marie looked up from the papers. “What would you call those profiles? I mean if you had to classify them. What would those four different parts of you be?”
Candy blinked. She’d expected Marie to laugh, not put on her psychologist hat. “Well. One part of me is playful. Like a kid. The part that dresses up as Sally the Silly Fairy at kids’ birthday parties. So one part I’d call goofy.”
Marie reached back for a pad and pen and started writing. “Child at heart. Go on.”
“Let’s see.” Candy sipped her tea, considering. “Another would be the part of me that likes to read, to do crossword puzzles, jigsaw puzzles, play Scrabble, to curl up in front of a fire with a glass of wine and a good book I can later discuss, to take classes in things I’d like to know more about. Call her … the Professor.”
“Professor.” Marie wrote it down. “I like that. Next?”
“Next … is the ambitious side of me, the part that loves organizing, planning, waking up every day knowing what I want to accomplish and knowing I will do it. Continually conquering challenges, beating back problems, making sure everything flows smoothly.” She frowned, trying to come up with a title. “Battle-ax?”
Marie pursed her lips disapprovingly. “Superwoman.”
“Superwoman!” Candy laughed. “That works, too.”
“Is that it?”
“Well … no.” Candy felt herself blushing and held the cup of tea close to her face. “There’s one more.”
Marie’s eyebrow raised. “Ye-e-es?”
“It’s the smallest part. I’m not even sure it really is a part of me, maybe just a fantasy.”
“I’m listening.”
“The part that would like to get dressed up for an absurdly expensive restaurant, to travel to Paris, Monaco, ski the Alps. To wear hot lingerie every day, and have the confidence to seduce a stranger in a bar merely by giving him the right look.”
“Hmm, yes.” Marie eyed Candy speculatively. “I can see her in you, but I don’t think you’ve indulged her yet. Chuck sure didn’t let you.”
Candy’s mouth dropped. “Didn’t let me? What do you mean? Chuck was very supportive of whatever I wanted to do and whomever I wanted to be.”
For one unbearable moment Marie just watched her, and Candy started feeling anxious as well as angry.
“Yes, sorry. I crossed the line.”
Candy let out the breath she’d been holding. She had to keep reminding herself that her girlfriends judged Chuck unfairly, probably out of loyalty because he’d hurt her so badly. She didn’t have much nice to say about Marie’s ex-husband Grant, either, after he’d left her for some bimbo barely old enough to drink. “It’s okay. I guess Chuck is still a raw topic. I’m not even sure I should be here. How can I fall for another guy when this one is still so special to me?”
“Oh, honey. I know how hard this is.” Marie capped her pen, face radiating gentle sympathy. “Of course I don’t want to push you to do anything you don’t want to. But I think this is the right time and the right way. I guess I’ll have to ask you to trust me.”
“I do.” She drank more tea to keep herself from breaking down and bawling. “I do trust you. I’m just a little …”
“Conflicted?” Marie smiled warmly. “I went through the exact same thing after my marriage broke up and I was looking to date again. I had to force myself the first few times. Then it got easier.”
“But you never found anyone.”
“No. But looking did me a lot of good, made me realize that Grant not wanting me anymore didn’t mean no one did. And besides.” Her smile turned wicked. “I didn’t have Milwaukeedates, and you do.”
Candy laughed. “Of course.”
“So.” Marie uncapped her pen again and poised it over the pad. “Let’s call the fourth one Sexy Glamour Girl.”
“Okay.” Candy finished her tea, stronger already. Marie was really good at her job. “So that’s me. How do I put all that together in a couple of paragraphs?”
Marie sat, eyes narrowed in contemplation, tapping her chin with a professionally manicured fingertip. “I have an idea. Kind of a wild idea, but …”
“I’m all ears.”
“Why don’t you make four profiles?”
Candy let out a startled laugh. “Four?”
“I know, crazy, right? I’m thinking of it as an experiment to see which part of you men respond to the most. See which part you enjoy bringing to the foreground the most. It would actually be fascinating from a psychological standpoint.”
“I’m … I … I’m …” She made herself breathe. “I’m stammering apparently.”
“Take your time.”
“Would that be fair to the guys I was seeing? If I’m not really being me?”
“But you are being you.” Marie pushed herself off the desk, headed behind it and opened a file drawer. “It’s not like you’re changing any part of yourself, just emphasizing one in each case. If the guy’s got half a brain he won’t think he knows you entirely because of how you present yourself on the site.”
“I don’t know, Marie.” Candy was getting excited even as her sensible self told her there had to be disastrous aspects to this plan that she couldn’t see yet.
“This will give you a chance to explore certain parts of yourself that might have been …” Marie circled her hand, coaxing out her next word. “Underappreciated.”
Candy put her hands to her temples, ignoring the second unreasonable jab at Chuck. “I need to think this through.”
“Of course.” Marie pulled out several sheets from a folder. “I have four sets of profile sheets here, one for each of you. You’ll probably fill them out in half an hour this time.”
“I haven’t said I’d do it.” She was turning the idea over and over. Instinct was telling her she was going to say yes, but common sense wouldn’t let her yet. Four different women?
“Filling these out doesn’t commit you.” Marie held the papers across the desk. “You’ll have a blast, especially given your talent for performing.”
“I haven’t been on stage in years.” Candy heard the laugh beginning in her voice. She never would have considered doing anything this impulsive and stupid if Chuck were around. He’d be here to tell her she was going off half-cocked again, not thinking through the pros and cons, not making a list and approaching the problem calmly and logically.
But Chuck wasn’t here.
“Maybe not on stage, but whenever you manage your events you’re performing in a way.” Marie shook the papers insistently toward Candy, who gave in and took them. “Plus, even though this is hardly scientific, I’d be curious about the results. Who knows, you might help me help other people decide how to present themselves, too. Oh, and you’d only have to pay regular fees. The three extras would be on the house.”
Candy slid the papers absently into her briefcase. “What if a guy recognized the other three of me when he’s looking through profiles?”
Marie smiled. “Pardon me, but my experience has been that while men are visual creatures when it comes to the opposite sex, they’re more likely to take in an impression of a woman than focus on her features. You probably haven’t spent much time browsing other sites, but I’m constantly having to tell men on ours not to submit long-distance pictures of themselves in sunglasses.”
“Why not?”
“Women want to see eyes, read faces. Men are okay with the bigger picture, shall we say.” She gave Candy a critical once-over. “We can do your hair and makeup differently for each, glasses for one profile, your contacts for another. And since most clients view primarily the profiles I suggest to them, it probably won’t even be an issue. If it is, who cares? We’ll explain. Not like we’re breaking a law.”
“True …” Candy shut her briefcase, excitement still bubbling away inside her. It did sound fun. More than that, appearing as a caricature of one part of herself felt more like a game and less like a risk, more like a dare than a date. Most importantly, this didn’t make it seem as if she was finally giving up hope that Chuck would come to his senses and want her back.
“Well? You’re grinning, that has to be a good sign.”
“I’ll do it.” She finished her tea and stood, feeling giddy and fizzy, better than she had in a long time. “I’ll really do it.”
Marie broke into a wide triumphant grin. “Candy, honey, get ready for some serious dating fun.”
2
JUSTIN PULLED ON his thermal jacket, thrust his hands into puffy black gloves and stepped into boots that promised to keep his feet warm and dry through whatever winter could offer. So far it had offered a lot. Very generous was winter here in Wisconsin. Not much in common with the last thirty winters of his life spent in San Diego. When he’d announced his plans to move to Milwaukee, his friends all got the same bewildered look in their eyes. Dude, what are you smoking? They’d predicted he’d last through January then come shivering back to sunny California.
So far he was holding strong, but days like this …
He peered through the back window at the outdoor thermometer the previous owners left with the house, which he could barely see. Five-thirty and nearly dark. And this was better than it had been in December, when it had started to get dark an hour earlier.
The temperature registered … eighteen? Sorry, but that wasn’t enough degrees for him. Who was responsible? Who could come to the state and fix it? Shouldn’t spring have started by now? Near the end of January? He was certainly ready.
He braced himself and opened the door, cringing at the blast of air that attacked him as if he were naked. The day before had been miraculously warmer, enough to melt the snow on his roof, which meant that as temperatures dropped again, his gutters became icicle hangers and his driveway a skating rink.
Yes, he had moved here on purpose.
He closed his eyes, briefly picturing palm trees, sunshine—he’d seen the sun maybe ten times during the three months he’d been here—sandy beaches, waves made for surfing.
No point torturing himself. He started on the perilous journey toward his garage for a bag of salt, reminding himself that he owned this spacious two-thousand-square-foot house with full basement, instead of the cramped two-bedroom he’d sold in Solana Beach, his hometown on the California coast. Point in Wisconsin’s favor, they were practically giving houses away here. He’d jumped on this one, a typically midwestern brick bungalow on a quiet street in Shorewood, just north of the city of Milwaukee, and made enough profit on the sale of his old house not only to buy the place with cash, but to allow himself time to settle in and write the first book in what could turn out to be a very profitable series with Troy, his closest friend from college.
Justin hadn’t been planning to move, but the coauthoring book deal from Troy and the amount of work they’d need to do together, coupled with the nasty break-up of a relationship, had certainly planted the seed. It wasn’t until his new neighbor, out of the blue, made a very generous offer to purchase his house that Justin started to view the idea seriously. In the end, it almost seemed as if the fates were pointing him here.
The fates clearly had a high tolerance for cold.
He made it to the garage, no falls or bruises, all bones intact, hefted the bag of salt and managed to work out a method of sprinkling and shuffling carefully forward at the same time, ice crackling under the mineral assault. If he was lucky, he could get the car over this and onto the street without smashing into anything. Snow driving and Justin were only just getting acquainted.
At the end of the driveway he’d turned and started on the sidewalk when a movement across the street caught his eye. His neighbor, whatever her name was, had emerged from her house into the strong beam of her back-door light, and was sauntering toward her car, a bright red minivan parked on the street. He’d seen her through the window a couple of times, but meeting people on a block where no one was ever outside unless he or she was pushing a roaring snowblower had proved complicated.
This woman intrigued him. Not just because she was young, attractive and he hadn’t happened to see a guy attached to her, but because, unless she was one of twins or triplets, every time he’d seen her in the past week she’d been sporting a completely different look. Not just different clothes, but hair, accessory styles, even her movements. The first time he’d noticed the change from her usual casual outfit and aura, she’d been striding aggressively toward her car in a pantsuit masculine enough that he could have worn it, no coat, hair in a severe bun, eyes imprisoned by thick, dark-framed glasses. The second time, late one evening, she’d been taking out her trash at the same time he was watering plants in his living room—plants he’d bought to remind himself that not every living thing had died in October. That time, Mysterious Neighbor wore unobtrusive rimless glasses and had her hair in a soft, long braid, exposing chunky gold earrings. On her slender body a bulky hip-length cream sweater hung over casual tan pants and sensible brown shoes. She’d moved in slow dreamy steps, a book tucked under her arm.
Tonight? Whew.
Dark hair hanging sexily loose past her shoulders, tight black miniskirt, fabulous legs in sheer black stockings, which happened to be one of his favorite looks. His gaze followed those shapely legs downward into black lace-up stiletto ankle boots. Under her gaping long black sweater—she must be part Siberian not to be wearing a coat—a purple clingy top dropped low enough to make him yearn for a two-scoop ice cream sundae in spite of the cold. Delicate silver earrings, a silver bracelet, rings on her fingers—bells on her toes?
He realized he was gaping and gave what he hoped was a friendly and neighborly wave, which was all they’d exchanged so far. Her answering smile reached across the street and practically pushed him off his feet.
Whoa.
He crossed, almost forgetting to check for cars, took off his right glove and offered to shake with frozen fingers. “Hi there. I’m Justin.”
Her fingers, extracted from black leather and lace, were warm. “I’m Candy.”
He was about to say, yes you are, when it occurred to him what could be a fun compliment from someone she trusted would sound slimy coming from a stranger. “Nice to meet you, Candy …”
“Graham.”
“Candy-gram?”
She shrugged, smiling wryly. “Dad had a weird sense of humor. My real name is Catherine. I’ve tried to switch to the full name, but …”
He knew this one. “But everyone has always called you Candy, and using another name would be like throwing part of yourself away.”
Her turn to gape at him, but unfortunately not because he was the hottest thing she’d seen all winter long as had been the situation when he was doing it. “How did you know?”
“My last name is Case.”
“Case?”
“Justin …”
“Justin Case.” She cringed, where every other person who made the connection burst out laughing. “Oof. Sorry.”
“Thanks.” He was distracted by the way her full curving lips were colored a plummy shade that complemented her top. She parted those lips and her breath emerged, a soft white cloud in the dim light. He had a sudden and urgent desire to kiss her, and when he lifted his gaze to her eyes and felt the earthquake shock of attraction, he almost did.
Almost. “Uh, yeah, my dad was quite the jokester, too.”
“Apparently.” She broke the eye contact, glancing across the street at his house. “Well, welcome to the neighborhood, Justin Case. How long have you been here?”
“Since November.” He put his glove back on, crossed his arms over his chest. She had dynamite eyes, lashes long but not fake-looking; subtle liner and smoky brown shadow made them large and smoldering, yet he had the feeling that when she wasn’t dressed and made-up in one of her guises, she’d look farm-girl sweet. Nothing turned him on more than the combination of heat and innocence. He wanted to ask if she was seeing anyone, and how she’d feel about staying indoors with him for the rest of this miserable season. “Pretty serious cold here today, huh.”
“Today?” She blinked at him.
“My thermometer said eighteen. Brutal!” He shook his head, taken aback when she looked puzzled. “For this time of year, I mean.”
“You’re not from Wisconsin, are you.”
“Uh. Southern California?”
She smirked. “That explains it. Eighteen is a pretty normal temperature. This winter has actually been really mild. We usually go subzero in January.”
