“Do you think they’re having fun?”
Ophelia gave Amelia a stern look and reached for the teapot. The three of them were gathered in Ophelia’s kitchen. That was the safest place to hide from Lindsay. She’d never think to look for them there.
Admittedly, if their niece had intended to hunt them down for what they’d done, she’d have turned up by now. The odds, therefore, were very good that she’d decided to give in and go on the date Cecelia had devised for her. It would all work out, Ophelia was certain.
But if Amelia didn’t stop worrying, Ophelia was going to scream. “Of course they’re having fun. Cecelia chose the man, so you can be sure he’s neither an idiot nor a dud. Please give him a bit of credit.”
“Really, we’ve done all we can to make this a success,” Cecelia added. “We just have to leave the details to him. And to Lindsay, of course.”
Amelia’s alarm was immediate. “That’s an awful thing to say! Lindsay is an utter disaster at dating.”
Well, there was no arguing with that. Ophelia lifted the tea bag from her cup. “Undeniably so. But she’s still our niece and, as such, possessed of a high degree of intellect. She can handle this, I’m sure. Besides, she’s a delightful person, fun to be around, interesting—”
“For heaven’s sake, Ophelia, you sound as though you’re giving a eulogy.”
“She probably is,” Amelia lamented, “for this date.”
Ophelia clattered her cup down on its saucer, startling her sisters. “All right now, that’s quite enough!” As the eldest, even if only by a few minutes, it had always been her duty to comfort and guide her sisters, but—as Lindsay would put it—she’d had it!
She stood and paced back and forth in front of the . . . what was that called? Oh, yes, oven. “We all agreed this was a worthwhile undertaking, didn’t we?”
“Yes, Ophelia,” the other two answered in chorus.
“And we felt this young man was, really, when it came down to it, a rather good match for Lindsay, didn’t we?”
“Yes, Ophelia.”
Cecelia remained silent. Ophelia fixed her with a stern look. “Well? Didn’t we?”
She sighed heavily. “Oh, I suppose so. At least as good a match as we could find amongst our acquaintances.”
“All right, then. It seems to me we simply need to relax and let things run their natural course.”
“I suppose you’re right.” Amelia seemed mollified.
Ophelia inclined her head. Of course she was right. That was not open to debate. With a sigh, she sipped her tea, only to choke a moment later when Amelia added, “Even if Lindsay’s most natural course with men is one that leads to disaster.”
Wow.
It was the only word that came to Brendan’s mind. He could scarcely take it all in. Nothing had happened the way he’d expected. It was better. Far better. So much so that he was nearly positive he was dreaming.
No . . . not even his dreams were this good.
Lindsay was seated behind him on the bike, her arms draped loosely around his middle as they made their way into traffic. He could feel her resting the front of her helmet against his back as they accelerated, and his breath caught in his throat.
Wow.
There it was again. That word. Well, it was about as appropriate as it got when you were faced with God working a miracle.
As the motorcycle’s speed increased, Lindsay couldn’t keep the grin from her lips. With each burst of speed, she’d had to hold onto Brendan a bit tighter. Just for safety’s sake, of course.
What a shame there were speed limits.
She tightened her grip even more as the bike made a sudden move to the left.
“Sorry!” Brendan called back. “Debris in the road.”
“No problem.” And it wasn’t. Not in the least.
If only The Three Aunts could see her now.
Soon—too soon, in fact—the ride was over. Lindsay slid from the back of the cycle and pulled off her helmet. Tucking it under her arm, she turned to survey the building in front of them.
“Ready?”
His smile was cocky. “Always.”
She knew her responding grin was decidedly fiendish, but she couldn’t help herself. “We’ll see.”
She led the way through the glass doors of the library, then down the stairs to the children’s section. Gaily colored decorations greeted them as they entered the room.
“Lindsay, over here!”
She turned to see her friend Amy, the children’s librarian, waving her and Brendan over. Amy was one of the calls she’d made that morning. She’d been delighted to take part in Lindsay’s plans. “Just leave your helmets on the desk there and come join us.”
In a circle at Amy’s feet sat about thirty children of various ages, all watching, eyes wide, smiles eager.
Lindsay didn’t dare look at Brendan. She was too close to losing it.
“Let me guess, story time, right?” His voice was low and right next to her ear.
She nodded.
“And I don’t suppose there’s any chance you’re the reader?”
She shook her head. “Nope. No chance at all.” She glanced up at him. “Amy was thrilled that a man was willing to read to the kids. Unless, of course, you’d rather not. Remember, no pretense.”
He studied her for a moment. “Do I get to pick out the book?”
“I suppose so.”
With that he turned and disappeared between the shelves.
What is he up to? She went to join Amy and the children.
“You’re right on time.” Amy patted Lindsay’s arm. “That’s great. The children are all ready, aren’t you, gang?”
“Yeaaaaaahhh!” they chorused.
Amy glanced behind Lindsay. “Where did your friend go?”
“To—” she started to explain, but suddenly Brendan was right there, his hand on her shoulder, finishing for her.
“—pick out a book. Can’t do story time without the best materials.” With a quick squeeze to Lindsay’s shoulder, he stepped past her and went to sit in the storyteller’s chair. Kind of a small one, but he fit himself into it, book at the ready.
“OK, who’s ready for a story?”
The children cheered as he began. At the first few words, Lindsay’s eyes widened. He’d chosen one of her favorite books, I Love You, Stinky Face. It was a fun story of a little child at bedtime asking his mother if she would love him, even if he were all kinds of terrible things. Lindsay adored the mother’s responses. She always said she’d love him, no matter what, even if he smelled so terrible that his nickname was Stinky Face.
Amy and Lindsay stood watching as Brendan read, changing his voice to match each new terrible creation, gesturing wildly when the creature was a slimy, swamp-dwelling monster or a space alien. . . .
The children were mesmerized.
So was Lindsay.
Amy leaned against her. “Where did you find this guy? Are there any more of him around?”
Lindsay chuckled. “I didn’t find him. The Three Aunts did.”
Amy’s jaw dropped. “The Three found him?” She shook her head. “I don’t believe it.” Her eyes narrowed as she studied Brendan. “Maybe he’s some kind of robot they made—”
“Amy!” She choked back a laugh, unwilling to admit she’d entertained similar thoughts.
“Or a cyborg. Or a clone. That’s it. I’ll bet he’s some kind of mutated clone your mad scientist aunt created.” She gave a dramatic sigh. “I knew he was too good to be true.”
Lindsay’s chuckle was interrupted by Brendan’s triumphant “The End!” followed by the children’s jubilant applause.
The sweet-faced little girl sitting beside Brendan fixed wide, imploring eyes on him. “Read us another one! Please?”
Brendan reached out to tug her pigtail. “I will another day, I promise.”
Amy looked as though she was about to swoon. “Oh, honey, if you don’t keep him, I will.”
“What if he decides not to keep me?”
Amy’s smile was wicked. “Even better. Just let me know in any case.” And with that she turned back to the children. “Well, wasn’t that fun? Let’s thank Mr. . . . ?” She looked at Brendan.
Before he could answer, the children surged forward, surrounding him, asking questions, all chattering at once. It took a few minutes for him to extricate himself, but soon he came to stand beside Lindsay.
“So, did I pass the test?”
She looked up at him. “Test? What test?”
“Ah, ah, ah. No pretense, remember? You wanted to know if I liked children, right? And if they liked me?”
She opened her mouth to deny it, then stopped. He was right. She’d convinced herself she was just having fun, but the truth was this had been a test. “Yes, I guess that’s what I was doing.”
“So, did I pass?”
“With flying colors.”
He nodded, clearly pleased, then took her arm and turned toward the door.
“ ’Bye, you two.” Amy waved at them. “And Lindsay, don’t forget to let me know if that item becomes available, you hear?”
Heat filled her face. Brendan’s curious look didn’t help. “Item?”
She shot Amy a glare, then grabbed her helmet and headed out the door. “So where did you learn to get along with children so well?” Sidetracking was one of her best skills.
Usually.
Brendan stopped at the bottom of the stairs and leaned against the wall, a stance Lindsay was beginning to recognize. “The truth will set you free. No games, remember?”
With a sigh she sat down on the top step. “You. The item is you. Amy thinks you’re wonderful, and she’s offered to take you if things don’t work out for us.”
“Ah.” He pushed away from the wall. “See there? Now don’t you feel better?”
She watched him, bemused, as he came to the top stair and held a hand out for her. She took his hand and let him pull her to her feet. “That’s it?”
He gave a nod. “Yup. Since I’m not available at the moment”—he paused and looked at her—“am I?”
“Definitely not.”
A twinkle lit his eyes at her firm response, and he reached out to take her helmet from her and gently slide it over her head. “Well, then”—he fastened her chin strap—“it’s not something we need to think about.” He cupped her face briefly, his fingers warm against her skin. “Is it?”
It took a moment for her to find her voice. “No, it certainly isn’t.”
He pulled his helmet on and got on the bike, starting it up. She slid into place behind him, and he looked at her over his shoulder.
“Now”—there was no missing devilish gleam in his eyes—“my turn.”