The Marriage Portrait

“Maybe.” He gave her a promising smile, knowing perfectly well that he would be gone before she had time to rest her pretty little feet.

She looked down at the book in front of her. “You must be Michael.” She scribbled over his name with a pen, then looked up and gave him another smile. “Follow me and I’ll show you where everybody is.”

As he followed her swaying hips, he wished that she was going to be included in the dinner party, but then he realized that the hostess was not the kind of woman that needed anyone to find her an escort. Which only made him wonder again about the men and women who would be at this dinner.

Unsuitable was the first word that came to mind. Normally he didn’t prejudge people, but in this case, he honestly didn’t see what he would have in common with anyone who thought a dating service was necessary to find a date.

Tessie had said the men and women who used Dinner Date were professionals. Professional duds was probably a better description, he thought as each step took him closer to his destination.

“You have a very nice table in the back, very private,” the blonde told him as she escorted him through the dining area.

Michael didn’t comment, but continued to follow her until he caught a glimpse of his dinner companions. They were seated at a round table. He stopped when he saw that all of the chairs had occupants.

The hostess, however, continued toward the table, bending to say something to a woman with red hair, who immediately jumped up when she saw him.

With hand outstretched, she came toward him. “Hi. I’m Claudia Dixon. You must be Michael.”

He shook her outstretched hand, wishing he had never accepted Tessie’s gift. He should have simply told his mother that as much as he loved her, he didn’t want to have dinner with a bunch of strangers.

“Come. I’ll introduce you to the others,” Claudia said, pulling him by the arm over to the table.

The others were all thirty-something professionals who readily shook his hand and smiled warmly as he was introduced to each of them individually. Everyone was identified by first name and occupation. Michael heaved a sigh of relief when he didn’t recognize a single face.

Although all four of the women were attractive, Michael didn’t expect that he’d be asking for any phone numbers at the end of the evening. Not that he could have. As Claudia explained, if anyone wanted to pursue a friendship with any of the participants, protocol required that it be done through Dinner Date. Phone numbers would only be given out through the service and that would only happen if the other person agreed to another meeting.

Michael took his seat between two women and listened as Claudia explained that twice during the meal—after the appetizers had been served and just before dessert—the women would move over one chair in order that everyone had an opportunity to visit with everybody at the dinner. She encouraged them to get to know one another and have a pleasant evening.

“Since my work is done, I’ll leave you to get acquainted. I know you’re going to enjoy this evening and hope that you’ll recommend Dinner Date to other singles.”

Not likely, Michael thought, tempted to loosen the tie that felt as if it were choking him. He still couldn’t believe that he was here and, for the umpteenth time, wished that he hadn’t accepted Tessie’s gift. As he glanced around the table he expected that the others would look as uncomfortable as he felt.

To his surprise, however, very few looked uneasy. He wondered if it was because everyone in this room had done this type of thing before. Maybe they were used to being in a small group and having to break the ice. Or maybe they were extroverts. Or maybe they were all just really lonely and welcomed the opportunity to talk to strangers.

“Is this your first time?” Sharon, the nurse on his right, asked him.

“As a matter of fact it is,” he replied. He wanted to tell her—and the entire group—just why he was sitting at the dinner table with them. He mentally debated whether he should make an announcement, let them know his motives were not the same as theirs. What he didn’t need was for any of the women to think he was seriously looking for a mate.

Because he wasn’t.

Sharon, however, obviously was, judging by the way she was looking at him. “So you’re an animal doctor,” she said, studying him intently.

“Yes.”

“That’s probably why Claudia put us next to each other. We’re both in health care,” she said with a smile that implied they shared a secret. “What do you like to do in your free time?”

“I have very little free time,” he answered.

“Which is why it’s so hard to meet people.” She drew her own conclusion as to why he was there. “I know that feeling.”

To his relief, the appearance of a waitress preempted any further conversation. As she passed out menus and took beverage orders, Michael asked for a Scotch on the rocks.

Although the waitress didn’t bat an eyelash upon hearing his request, he could see that the others weren’t expecting him to order an alcoholic beverage. After hearing everyone else at the table order coffee, tea or a soft drink, he turned to Sharon and asked, “Are we not supposed to drink at these things?”

“Claudia puts nondrinkers together,” she answered. “Did you check the wrong box on the application form?”

He hadn’t checked any box. That was the problem. Here he was at a dinner with people who supposedly had similar interests as he did—or in this case, as Tessie thought he had. He sighed. What had she gotten him into?

Again the urge to announce to the table exactly why he was having dinner with them was great. Except what would he say? That he was only here because his mother made him come? Good grief. He was thirty-five, not thirteen. No, these people wouldn’t understand why he’d attend a dinner simply to please his mother. It was better to say nothing and stick it out until Tabitha called. Then he could beat feet out of the restaurant and never return.

If there was one thing the Scotch on the rocks had done it was to get Sharon the nurse to turn her attention to the man on her right. Michael took a sip of the amber liquid, needing the hot, burning sensation it created as he swallowed it. As he set his glass down, he noticed a pair of eyes on him.

They belonged to a woman Claudia had introduced as Cassie and held a sparkle of amusement in them. She smiled at him and said, “So tell me, what’s it like being an animal doctor, Dr. Michael?”

He liked the sound of her voice. It was low and sultry—more like something he’d find in a lounge singer. A direct contrast to the fair skin and mischievous sparkle in her blue eyes.

“Probably quite different from an artist’s life,” he answered. Before he could say another word, the man to her right interrupted, changing the subject and capturing the artist’s attention.

Michael continued to watch her, surprised by the ease with which she managed to converse with a table of strangers. His initial impression that she was rather shy had obviously been wrong. Of all the guests at the dinner, she looked as if talking with strangers was a joy, not an anxiety.

Although the man to her right tried to monopolize her attention, she managed to include several of the guests in their conversation. Michael thought both men on either side of her appeared to be a bit smitten. Not that Michael blamed them. She was like a painting. The first time you looked at her you saw a pleasant scene, but the longer you stared, the more beautiful she became.

She had a rather free-spirited look to her, with her long, straight blond hair and pale skin. Her eyes weren’t warm, yet there was something about them that begged for you to try to understand the woman behind them. She wore very little makeup compared to the woman he usually dated, but then she didn’t need any. Her skin was as smooth as the petals found on the flowers in Tessie’s garden.

Michael found himself staring at her and becoming more intrigued with each passing moment. Although there was steady conversation on his side of the table, he repeatedly found himself glancing across the table and meeting the blue eyes of Cassie, the artist. And every time he did, those eyes would regard him with a glint of amusement that made him think she knew exactly how uncomfortable he was sitting there.

Although there were moments when the conversation included all eight guests at the table, most of the talk was between people sitting next to each other. That, however, didn’t keep Michael from listening to what others said. He tuned in specifically to what Cassie was saying. She was a skillful conversationalist, saying very little about herself yet gleaning information from others. It only made him more curious about her.

Everything about her was graceful. From the way her head tilted ever so slightly on her beautiful, swanlike neck, to the manner with which she ate her escargots. He found himself wondering just what kind of art she did with those long, slender fingers. But more than that, he wondered why she was looking for love through a dating service.

As the appetizer plates were cleared away, he found himself wishing that it had been the main course they’d just finished, because the women would once more move over a chair and Cassie would be next to him. But during the main course, his pager buzzed. He realized it was eight o’clock. Tabitha was right on schedule.

Intrigued by the artist and wanting the opportunity to talk to her when she moved next to him, he didn’t call his assistant. When the last of the dinner plates had been taken away, Cassie announced that it was once again time to change places.

She took the chair next to Michael’s right and gave him the same furtive smile she’d cast his way when he’d ordered the Scotch. “So, Dr. Michael. You never did answer my question. What’s it like being an animal doctor?”

“It’s a challenge,” he answered honestly, noticing that she had a tiny dimple in one cheek that wasn’t noticeable until you were close to her. “And please, call me Mac.”

“And do you like challenges, Dr. Mac?” she asked provocatively.

“Yes. Aren’t they the spice of life?”

“No, that’s variety.”

“I like that, too,” he answered with an equally flirtatious grin. “And what about you? What’s it like being an artist?”

“It’s incredibly frustrating.”

“Really?”