4

 

I gave myself a once over to make sure I hadn’t left the apartment, sans pants or something. Nope. Everything was as it should be. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” If I were a cat, I’d be hissing.

The epitome of wide-eyed innocence, he lifted a shoulder as if he had no idea he’d said anything offensive. “I was merely observing that you’re overdressed for the type of church we’re going to. Too formal. And you have long sleeves. The building doesn’t have air.”

Now I was downright mad. How dare he? Overdressed? In my opinion, I was quite fetching, especially since I’d gussied up in churchy clothes in two minutes flat. “I’m sorry there was no time to dress to suit you, but you did say you were in a hurry.” I lifted my hand and waved him on.

He wheeled and vaulted up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

Show-off. I glowered at his back the whole way up.

As we reached the top of the hill, the guard came out of the guardhouse. “Morning, Dr. Flynn. On your way to church?”

Huffing and puffing, I paused behind Timothy, smiled, and waved at the guard. I was only trying to be sociable, but the surly sentinel was not amused. His eyebrows puckered together until they were one thick line across his forehead. “She with you?”

“Yes, Bayani. She’s with me. We’ll be back in a few hours.”

As we walked to his car, he beat me to the passenger side and pulled open the car door for me. My. How formal. Then I remembered another question from the marriage application. He’d asked how I would react if he opened my door.

Hmm. I dipped my head in his direction and moseyed over to the car. “Thank you so much, Dr. Flynn.” Still steaming over his reaction to my clothing, I couldn’t resist the small dig, but it never hurt to be civil.

“You are definitely welcome, Miss Callahan.” The look on his face was priceless—a baffling mix of consternation and approval. He hauled open his own door, buckled his seatbelt, shoved the key in the ignition, and sat there studying his fingernails.

What did he want now?

“Seatbelt.” His voice had taken on a slight brusque tone.

Bristling at being treated like a child, I fastened my seatbelt and folded my arms across my chest. The tension in the cab was thicker than the humidity. Perhaps now was not the time to get confrontational, but part of me had been seething since our first meeting. I shifted in my seat and gave him my best belligerent glare. “So, tell me Dr. Flynn. Why do you dislike blondes?”

“I did not say I disliked blondes.” Timothy jammed into reverse and backed out of the parking spot.

“Oh yes, you did.”

He halted the car and faced me. Rubbing the back of his neck, he rolled his shoulders. “No, I did not. I said that you were a brunette in your picture, and I wasn’t expecting you to have changed.” He hit the gas and made a left out of the lot.

I could play this game, too. “OK, but you can’t deny that you implied you were somehow dissatisfied with my appearance.”

“I was not dissatisfied with your appearance, although you must admit you were wearing a rather unorthodox traveling ensemble.” For a split second, he shifted his attention away from the road and glanced at me sideways. The ghost of a smile played across his handsome face. Was he teasing me?

I tapped my fingers on the center console and shook my head at this ridiculous sparring. Taking a deep breath, I tried again. “I will agree that what I was wearing was not haute couture, but that has nothing to do with being blonde.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being blonde, but I was counting on someone with less…”

“Less what?”

“Less presence, perhaps. Someone who blended in.”

Now I was totally confused. “Blended into what? The wallpaper?”

Silence filled the air, as he seemed to search for precisely the right word. “What I mean is when you breezed into my office, you projected a certain allure. I have the feeling when you enter any room you’re the center of attention. All eyes are drawn to you.”

Did I hear a compliment, or was he poking fun at me? Just to be sure, I pursued an explanation. “So, are you saying I draw attention to myself in a good way or a bad way?”

He was driving with concentration, but he sneaked a quick look at me between weaving through traffic and gunning the engine. I caught a glimpse of lightheartedness in his upturned mouth. He was enjoying our repartee.

Me? Maybe a little.

“Miss Callahan, are you unaware of your magnetism? What I’m looking for in a wife is…a touch of the demure. Decorous, diffident, you know, retiring.”

“You mean boring and prudish? If you wanted prim and proper, you shouldn’t have chosen me.” Had he assumed all computer programmers were shy geeks? Now I was sorry I’d practically begged him to take me to church.

He slowed to steer around an erratically moving car, made a left, and sped off again. “Could we table this conversation for another time? We should be at church soon.”

“Fine. End of conversation.” I turned my head and stared out the window. What was I doing here? Maybe I should pack it in and take the next flight for the States.

Twenty minutes later, we reached our destination.

Timothy drove into a crowded parking lot filled with cars, trucks, jeeps, motorcycles—every style of vehicle you could think of, some dating back several decades.

By now, I knew what was expected and after he parked the vehicle, I waited. Sure enough, he hurried around to my side and opened the door. This time he offered me his hand. Hmm. I had a flicker of indecision, but after an uncomfortable half hour of stewing, I’d let bygones be bygones. At least, for now.

I allowed him to take my hand and help me out of the car, proud of myself for ignoring the tingle it created. Well, mostly. I might have been mad, but I wasn’t immune to a fine, first class physique.

Amusement darted across his face.

If I wasn’t still peeved, I might have returned the smile.