“I said you should wear a dress to brunch on Sunday,” her mother said, “because I’m inviting Stella Hargrove’s grandson. He’s single and—”
“Wouldn’t it be nicer just to visit with you and my sisters, Ma? That way, we can all catch up, which we never seem to get enough time to do. A guy would end up being a fifth wheel.” Marnie pressed a finger to her temple, but it did little to ward off the impending headache. A headache her sister Erica would say she brought on herself because she never confronted her mother and instead placated and deferred. Instead of saying Ma, don’t fix me up, she’d fallen back on making nice instead. Marnie was the middle sister, the peacemaker, even if sometimes that peace came with the price of a lot of aspirin. “Besides, if I want a date, I have a whole file of handsome men to go through.”
“Yet you haven’t done that at all. You keep working and working and…oh, I just worry about you, honey.”
Ever since their father had died, Helen had made her three children her top—and only—priority. No matter how many times Marnie and her sisters had encouraged their mother to take a class, pick up a hobby, go on a trip, she demurred, and refocused the conversation on her girls. What her mother needed was an outside life. Something else to focus on. Something like a…
Man.
Marnie smacked herself in the head. For goodness sake, she was a professional matchmaker. Why had she never thought to fix up her mother? Marnie had made great matches for both of her sisters. Oldest sister Kat got married to her match two years ago, and Erica was in a steady relationship with a man Marnie had introduced her to last month. Despite that, Marnie had never thought about doing the same for her widowed mother. First thing tomorrow morning, she would cull her files and find a selection of distinguished, older men. Who appreciated women with a penchant for meddling.
“I’ll be there for brunch on Sunday, Ma, I promise,” Marnie said, noting the cabbie again messing with the GPS. “Maybe next time we can invite Stella’s grandson. Okay?”
Her mother sighed. “Okay. But if you want me to give him your number or give you his…”
“I know who to call.” Marnie started to say something else when the cabbie swore, stomped on his brakes—
And rear-ended the car in front of him. Marnie jerked forward, the seatbelt cutting across her sternum but saving her from plowing into the plexiglass partition. She let out an oomph, winced at the sharp pain that erupted in her chest, while the cabbie let out a stream of curses.
“What was that sound?” Helen asked. “It sounded like a boom. Did something fall? Did you hit something?”
“It’s, uh, nothing. I gotta go, Ma,” Marnie said, and after a breath, then another, the pain in her chest eased. “See you tomorrow.” She hung up the phone, then unbuckled, and climbed out of the yellow cab. The hood had crumpled, and steam poured from the engine in angry gusts. The cabbie clambered out of the taxi. He let out another long stream of curses, a few in a language other than English, then started pacing back and forth between the driver’s side door and the impact site, holding his head and muttering.
The accordioned trunk of a silver sports car was latched onto the taxi’s hood. A tall, dark, handsome, and angry man stood beside the idling luxury car. He shouted at the cab driver, who threw up his hands and feigned non-understanding, as if he’d suddenly lost all knowledge of the English language.
Marnie grabbed her purse from the car, and walked over to the man. One of those attractive, business types, she thought, noting his dark pinstriped suit, loosened tie, white button-down with the top button undone. A five o’clock shadow dusted his strong jaw, and gave his dark hair and blue eyes a sexy air. The matchmaker in her recognized the kind of good-looking man always in demand with her clients. But the woman in her—
Well, she noticed him on an entirely different level, one that sent a shimmer of heat down her veins and sped up her pulse. Something she hadn’t felt in so long, she’d begun to wonder if she’d ever meet another man who interested her.
Either way, Mr. Suit and Tie looked like a lawyer or something. The last thing she needed was a rich, uptight man with control issues. She’d met enough of them that she could pick his type out of the thousands of people in the stands at Fenway on opening day.
“Is everyone okay?” she asked.
The cab driver nodded. Mr. Suit and Tie shot him a scowl, then turned to Marnie. His features softened. “Yeah. I’m fine,” he said. “You?”
“I’m okay. Just a little shaken up.”
“Good.” He held her gaze for a moment longer, then turned on the cabbie. “Didn’t you see that red light? Where’d you get your license? A vending machine?”
The cabbie just shook his head, as if he didn’t understand a word.
Mr. Suit and Tie let out a curse and shook his head, then pivoted back to Marnie. “What were you thinking, riding around this city with a maniacal cab driver?”
“It’s not like I get a resume and insurance record handed to me before I get in a taxi,” she said. “Now, I understand you’re frustrated, but—”
“I’m beyond frustrated. This has been a hell of a day. With one hell of a bad ending.” He shot the cab driver another glare, but The man had already skulked back to his car and climbed behind the wheel. “Wait! What are you doing?”
“I’m not doing any—” Then she heard the sound of metal groaning, and tires squealing, and realized Mr. Suit and Tie wasn’t talking to her—but to the cab driver who had just hit and run. The yellow car disappeared around the corner in a noisy, clanking cloud of smoke.
In the distance, she heard the rising sound of sirens, which meant one of the people living in the apartments lining the street must have already called 9-1-1. Not soon enough.
Mr. Suit and Tie cursed under his breath. “Great. That’s all I needed today.”
“I’m sorry about that.” Marnie stepped to the corner and put up her hand for a passing cab. “Well, good luck. Hope you get it straightened out and your night gets better.”
“Hey! You can’t leave. You’re my witness.”
“Listen, I’m exhausted and I just want to get home.” She raised her arm higher, waving her hand, hoping to see at least one available cab. Nothing. Her feet screamed in protest. Soon as she got home, she was burning these shoes. “I’ll give you my number. Call me for my statement.” She fished in her purse for a business card, and held it out.
He ignored the card. “I need you to stay.”
“And I need to get home.” She waved harder, but the lone cab that passed her didn’t stop. “This is Boston. Why aren’t there any cabs?”
“Celtics game is just getting over,” the man said. “They’re probably all over at the Garden.”
“Great.” She lowered her arm, then thought of the ten-block hike home. Not fun in high heels. Even less fun after an eighteen-hour day, the last four spent dancing and socializing. She should have drunk an entire pot of coffee.
“I’ll make you a deal,” the man said. “I’ll give you a lift if you can wait until I’ve finished making the accident report. Then you can give your statement and kill two birds with one stone.”
She hesitated. “I don’t know. I’m really tired.”
“Stay