Bachelorette Blues

Max took the long route home, hoping to coax Shayna out of her funk before he had to drop her off. He’d been making progress until she saw his Pathfinder. When he offered her a ride, it had never occurred to him that she might recognize his truck. He’d only been thinking of the wistful look he’d caught her sending him from across the room.

When he’d approached her, her honey-colored eyes had gone soft and fluttery. He’d waited six months for Shayna to look at him like that. Now that she had, he wasn’t going to blow it over his poor driving manners.

“Are you still awake over there?” he asked. She’d leaned her head against the headrest and her eyes were closed. “I need directions through your complex.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

She’d given that same response to all his attempts at conversation. He was fighting a losing battle, but he wasn’t about to give up. He had about a minute and a half to turn the evening around. By the time he drove up to her town house, he had an idea.

“I’ll walk you to your door,” he said, starting to turn off the ignition.

She held up her hand. “That isn’t necessary. Here.” She handed him three crisp twenty-dollar bills.

“What’s this?”

“The money I owe you for the shoes.”

He tried to hand it back. “Don’t worry about it. Besides, I need to ask you for a favor.”

“Take the money.”

The look in her eyes said she meant business, so he tucked the bills into his shirt pocket.

“Now what can I do for you?” she asked, folding her hands in her lap.

The old Shayna was back—all about schedules and routines. The vulnerable young woman he’d met tonight was well hidden behind a professional veneer.

“Ruth Warner twisted my arm about this bake sale thing, and I ended up promising to bring a chocolate mousse cake.”

She raised her brows. “I’m impressed. That’s a challenging recipe.”

“I know.”

“Don’t feel bad. Ruth can be persuasive.”

“Well, there’s only one problem—I can’t cook worth a damn.”

“Why didn’t you tell her that?”

“I told her I might be able to manage a few of those slice-and-bake chocolate-chip cookies, but in two minutes she had me convinced I was underestimating my abilities. A few choice words about public service and a mention in the Gazette, and I went from frozen cookie dough to homemade chocolate mousse cake.”

Shayna sighed, nodding in sympathy. “I understand. So you want help breaking the news to Ruth, is that it?”

“Actually, I was hoping you’d save my…uh, britches and help me figure out how to cook a cake.”

Shayna winced. “You don’t ‘cook’ a cake. You bake it. That’s why it’s called a bake sale.”

“So will you take pity on me?”

She looked up reluctantly, and Max was afraid she would turn him down. “I realize this is short notice. You probably have to bake something yourself.”

“Actually, I made my strawberry shortcake yesterday.” She gave him a long look, before a small smile bloomed on her lips. “I suppose I can help you out.”

“Great.” They made arrangements for Shayna to come over the next afternoon, and Max wrote the directions to his house on the back of the bake sale flyer. “I appreciate you helping me out like this.”

Her lips curved sweetly. “You were a good friend to me tonight. Helping you with this cake is the least I can do.” Her sweet smile turned wicked as she reached for the door handle. “Even if tonight’s disaster was partially your fault.”

Max turned to look at her, worried she was still upset. She looked over her shoulder, and he saw her eyes dancing with humor.

“Night, Max.”

“Night, Shayna.” As he watched her walk to her door, Max smiled, satisfied that the evening was ending on a positive note.

Just as Shayna’s foot hit her front step, she went down.

Max was out of the truck and halfway up the walk before she got to her feet. “Shayna! Are you all right?”

“Yes, yes,” she said, clutching one of her new shoes to her chest. She brushed away his helpful hands. “I’m fine, really. Thank you.” She waved him off as she scrambled on one foot to the door.

After dropping her keys a few times, she finally managed to hobble into the house. Just before the door closed behind her, he heard her swear.

“Damn! That’s the second pair of shoes I’ve ruined tonight.”

Chuckling, Max walked back to his truck. He never would have guessed Shayna was such a klutz.

The earsplitting shrill of her telephone jolted Shayna into consciousness. She reached across her clock radio for the phone, but her fingers only grazed the receiver as she struggled to make sense of the numbers on the digital display—1:38. In the afternoon! She nearly fell out of bed.

As she pulled herself into an upright position, the phone continued to shriek. She grabbed the receiver. “Hello!”

“Shayna? It’s Max. Is everything okay?”

“Yes, of course.” Never mind that the day was half over and she hadn’t gone to aerobics, started her laundry or reviewed the week’s client files.

“Good. Then we’re still on for this afternoon?”

This afternoon? The cake! “Yes, yes definitely.”

“Didn’t we say one o’clock?”

Her clock now read forty minutes past the hour. “Really? I thought we said two o’clock.” Her pride wouldn’t allow her to admit that, for the first time in ten years, she’d missed an appointment.

“Oh, okay. I should have known. You know how I am about these things. So I’ll see you in twenty minutes.”

“I was just on my way out the door.”

“Good. See you soon.”

Twenty minutes! Shayna stared at her closet in panic. Since she hadn’t done her laundry that morning, most of her jeans and casual clothes were still in the hamper. She studied the array of skirts and suits. It was either a suit or…