She smiled and turned him inside out. “Thank you.”
He raised his glass. “To a brilliant matchmaker and a fabulous cook.”
Michaela laughed, the sound as delicious as the food. “It’s just enchiladas,” she drawled.
There was nothing just about it—not about her beauty, her exquisite body, her brilliant mind, or her scrumptious food. She could never be just anything. She’d prepared enchiladas with a green salad and the garlic bread, serving it with the Cakebread chardonnay, even though they probably should have been drinking red. But he’d wanted to bring her favorite.
The vase of flowers was too big for the center of the table—he wouldn’t have been able to see her over them—so she’d set it to one side, the roses scenting the air. But even more seductive was the scent of her, something sweet, laced with pheromones.
“Tell me what’s got you in a tizzy about Flo.” He hadn’t forgotten that remark she’d made when he arrived.
His question brought another grimace to her kissable mouth. Then she leaned in to whisper, as if someone might overhear them, “She’s on a date.”
He wanted to laugh. Michaela sounded like it was the worst thing ever. “That’s nice.”
“An overnight date.” Each word succinct, with a hard T at the end.
Even better. Flo would be out all night. How could he be so lucky? “And that’s a bad thing?”
She shook her head, her gorgeous wavy hair cascading over her shoulders. “Not necessarily. She’s out to dinner and a show with Walter Braedon.” This time, she stressed Walter’s name as if that were a horrible thing. “And he’s a billionaire.”
Oh. The billionaire thing. It wasn’t just about Michaela; it was also about her mother.
“But Walter’s a great guy.”
She sipped her wine, then asked almost nonchalantly, as if his answer didn’t matter, “Do you know him well?”
“He’s had a lot more dealings with Dane than me, since Dane’s in the resort business. But I know him well enough. And I’m considering that new deal with him, too, involving Matt Tremont. Walter is very interested in the new exercise machine. I talked to him about it the Monday after Gareth’s show.” Walter had said how much he’d enjoyed meeting Flo and Michaela.
“But that’s business,” Michaela said. “This is personal. It’s my mother.”
He cocked his head, considering her. “Are you afraid she’s going to get hurt?”
She sighed and sipped her chardonnay, staring at her plate, worry lines creasing her pretty brow. Until finally she admitted, “Quite frankly, yes. Not that Walter would do anything intentionally, I’m sure. But my mother hasn’t been in the dating game since I was born.”
Troy felt his eyes widen. “Never?”
She shook her head, her beautiful eyes locked on his. “Never.”
“But she’s one of the loveliest ladies I’ve ever seen.” Michaela had inherited her beauty. “How could she not have guys hitting on her?”
“She’s very good at the cold shoulder.”
“But she didn’t give Walter the cold shoulder. In fact, they seemed very interested in each other at the gallery.”
Without a word, she shoved her plate aside and laid her head on the table.
Good God, was she crying? “I can have a talk with Walter. Ask him his intentions.” But they had an overnight date. “Are they staying in the same hotel room?”
Her hair muffled her voice. “It’s the penthouse suite in his San Francisco hotel. I think that means she’ll have her own room.”
At least there was that.
She sat up then, the imprint of the placemat on her cheek. “I can’t believe I’m getting worked up because my mother has a date. Do you know—” She pointed a finger at him as if he didn’t know. “—I’ve been trying to match her for years. I want her to be happy. And I’m letting my own fears get me worked up.” When she paused, he felt a confession coming on. “I might be a matchmaker, but I’ve kissed a lot of frogs. That’s the matchmaker’s curse—they can match anyone else, but not themselves.”
Thank God none of those frogs had turned into princes she could have fallen for. And that he wasn’t a frog. At least he hoped not.
“I’m sorry.” He wasn’t. Because they’d met each other at just the right time.
