A Match Made by Cupid

He followed her in and glanced at his surroundings. The ranch-style house was small, so the front door led directly into the rectangular-shaped living room. Straight ahead, he guessed, was the kitchen, with the bedrooms and bathroom down the hall to the right. A simple home, but one that looked lived-in and comfortable.

The room they stood in held a long, country-blue-patterned sofa against the back wall, with a matching love seat on one side and two overstuffed chairs on the other. By the variety of plants scattered throughout, he’d say Melanie’s mother had a green thumb. Framed photos were clustered on the sill of the bay window, on the end tables, and a few hung on the walls.

“Did you grow up here?” he asked Melanie, giving in to his need to know more about her. “Or are you a Portland transplant?”

“Not a transplant. I’ve lived here all my life. Well, I have my own place now, but you know what I mean.” Walking into the kitchen, she deposited the laptop and the bakery box on the counter. “So,” she said from the kitchen doorway, a tiny frown marring her expression. “I’d say let’s eat, but I’m not sure where my mom went. I’m warning you, the pasta has been done for a while. It might not be all that appetizing by the time we get to it.”

“With enough sauce, anything is edible.”

“True enough. I should go check on her, see if she’s okay. Do you mind?”

“Of course not,” Jace assured her. Striding toward the sofa, he picked up a magazine from the coffee table. “I’ll look through this while I wait. Take your time.”

The worry lines in her forehead melted into tickled amusement. “Okay, Jace. You enjoy that copy of Cosmo while I track down my mother.”

He started to reply but stopped when a woman with the most dazzling smile he’d ever seen floated into the room. Even if he wasn’t in her house, he’d recognize her as Melanie’s mother. They had the same shape to their eyes, their mouths. Even the way they held their bodies was reminiscent of each other, though Loretta had a solid two inches of height on her daughter—even taking her high heels into consideration—and her hair was a full shade darker.

“Mom, what’s going on?” Melanie asked in a worry-laden tone. “You’re wearing a dress. We never…um…dress for dinner.” She shot Jace an apologetic look.

Loretta, ignoring her daughter, rushed over to Jace. Without an ounce of self-consciousness, she studied his face with complete and utter thoroughness. Strangely, he didn’t find it disconcerting in the least.

“I knew you were a handsome devil, but your photo in the paper doesn’t do you justice.” Reaching into her purse, she pulled out a business card and pressed it into his hand. “One of my customers is a photographer. Call her and get a new publicity photo taken. But first—”

“Ah…okay. Thanks.” Jace tucked the card into his pocket.

Squinting her eyes in continued appraisal, she gripped his jaw lightly. “Turn to the side, so I can see your haircut better.”

Not about to argue, he turned to the side. While Loretta fluffed and fluttered with his hair, he winked at Melanie. She held up her hands in the universally known gesture of “What can I do?” while mouthing the word “Sorry.”

Loretta clicked her tongue against her teeth, making a tsk-tsk sound. “Who styles your hair?” she asked in a disgusted huff. “And do they use scissors or a dull knife?”

“Scissors,” he replied cautiously. “As to who… Different people, I guess. I just hit a QuickCuts every so often.”

Melanie snickered from across the room. “Ooh, wrong answer. That’s about to change,” she said. “But Mom, as much as I hate interfering here, we did invite Jace to dinner.”

“That’s right, we did.” Backing off from Jace, Loretta placed her hands on her hips. “I’ll be doing your hair from here on out.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied instantly, knowing better than to argue with the mother of a woman he was interested in. “Whatever you say.”

“However, you two will have to get through dinner without me.” Loretta slung her purse over her shoulder and faced Melanie. “I got a phone call while you were talking with Jace, dear. It seems I have an unexpected date for the evening. Lock up when you leave, but keep the living room lights on. And don’t worry.”

Melanie darted a glance toward Jace before focusing on her mother. “You’re going out? Already? Don’t you think you need a little more time to recover?”

Jace couldn’t see Loretta’s face, but when she spoke, he heard the anticipation sparkling in her voice. “You’ve always been such a worrywart. But this is going to be a good night, so you can stop fretting. I promise I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow.”

Every part of Melanie’s face crumpled. In concern or anxiety or a mix of both, he couldn’t say. “Be careful, Mom. I’ll… Call me when you get home if you need an ear.”

Mother and daughter hugged. Loretta whispered something that Jace couldn’t hear, but a scarlet flush appeared and spread like wildfire across Melanie’s cheeks. “You two have fun!” Loretta said before letting herself out.

Visibly rattled, Melanie sort of wobbled, sort of fell into a chair. “I can’t believe she’s putting herself through this already.”

“Putting herself through what? She seemed happy and excited.” Jace closed the distance between them and took a seat in the other chair.

“Love,” Melanie said with an extra-large helping of venom. “Not only is it the theme of our article, but it’s the theme of my mother’s entire life. A life that she’s spent searching—” Then, as if realizing she’d said more than she intended, she clamped her jaw shut. Hard.

Jace stared at her while warring with himself. Push Melanie into sharing whatever was going on in her head, or keep his mouth closed? If he could get her to open up anywhere, it would be here, in a place where she felt comfortable. And she was obviously distressed. He’d like to think he could be of help. On the other side of that, it should be up to Melanie to decide where—if anywhere—this conversation should go.

Every one of his muscles thrummed with the potent need to do something. But he didn’t know what something was the right something. What was his goal? Getting information or helping Melanie feel better? Both if possible, but if he were forced to choose? The answer hit him like an arrow to the chest.