She stripped out of her leggings and left them in a wet pile on the bathroom floor. A glimpse of her boyish figure reinforced her misunderstanding. No way could this body entice that man.
She threw on shorts and a T-shirt and wandered into the living room. If Gene and Judy’s home was regurgitated Florida, her home was granny style. The sturdy furniture was made to last more than a lifetime. Granny had had it since her early days of marriage. The colonial style would never be outdated. Brown sculptured carpet hid the stains and wear. Beiges and browns were neutral. For some reason Stacy had never quite understood, Granny liked mushrooms for a decor accent. The kitchen clock was shaped like a mushroom, and if that weren’t bad enough, there were tiny mushrooms at the ends of the minute and hour hands. A mushroom statue sat on the coffee table. Though she wasn’t enamored of the fungus, she couldn’t bear to part with anything Granny loved.
When the doorbell rang, she found Nita standing on the front step.
“Hey, Nita. Nice shirt.”
Nita wore one of Granny’s classics: Coffee, Chocolate, Men—Some Things Are Just Better Rich. “I want a word with you, young lady.”
“Uh-oh. Maybe you’d better come in.”
Nita made herself comfortable on the afghan-covered couch while Stacy searched her mind for whatever favor or task she’d forgotten to do. Nothing came to mind as she sank into the brown chair Granny thought looked like an upside-down mushroom. “Okay, what’s up?”
“I know you’re lying. Out with it.”
“Lying? About what?” At first she wondered if Ricky had spilled about the donor insemination. But technically she hadn’t lied about that, just omitted information. Then it must be about—
“You know exactly what I’m talking about—your so-called romance with Barrett. I think you’re pretending to be in love with him to throw us off his trail.”
Well, that had been the idea. Unfortunately, it was becoming truer every time she saw him. And as hard as it was to lie to someone who was like family to her, she had to think about the mess she’d made of Barrett’s notes. She owed him. “We’re not pretending.”
“Then how come he was jogging all by himself this morning? If you were really keeping company with that man, you’d be jogging with him. I know you. You wouldn’t let him go out there alone with all these women just waiting to send their daughters and granddaughters out jogging with him, if you know what I mean. That’s how I know you’re lying.”
Stacy swallowed hard. She hated jogging. It made her breasts feel like overused tennis balls.
“I was going to jog with him this morning, as a matter of fact. But he went earlier than we’d planned, and he was nice enough not to wake me up. Who’s planning on ambushing him?”
Nita just lifted her shoulder. “Couldn’t say for sure. But I’ve heard talk. Plans,” she added in a low voice. “I’d be keeping a close eye on him, that’s all I’m saying.”
Oh, boy.
7
STACY STOOD at Barrett’s door early that evening looking very serious in blue jeans and a pink short-sleeved sweater. “Barrett, we have a problem.”
“Does it have something to do with the can of dog food you’re holding?”
She lifted the can. “This is dinner.”
At his horrified expression, she followed his gaze to the hand she held up. “This is for Elmo!” She lifted the bag in her other hand. “This is our dinner. Subs from the deli. Not a hint of processed ham or cream of mushroom soup anywhere.”
She smelled fruity again, and he forgot about her declaration of impending doom. He followed her into the kitchen where she found a bowl and scooped something foul-smelling into it. It reminded him of the Tater Tot casserole.
“How’s it going between you two?” she asked, nodding toward the dog.
“We have an understanding. I let him sit on my lap, and he doesn’t whine.”
She set the bowl on the floor and gestured to Elmo.
He didn’t budge.
“Come on, it’s your favorite. Savory salmon.”
Elmo looked at Barrett.
“Go on,” he said, and Elmo dashed forward and consumed it.
Stacy placed a plastic lid on the can. “How does it feel to be adored like that?”
“I’m growing to like it.”
She looked at him, and he felt that strange tickle in his stomach.
“I’ll bet you are.” Her gaze shifted downward to his shirt. “You’re misbuttoned.”
She was right. “After my shower, I was deep in thought…about the tree snails,” he lied. “Sometimes I don’t pay attention to what I’m doing when I’m immersed in thought.”
She started unbuttoning his shirt. “We have a problem that might affect your uninterrupted time. You see, they don’t believe we’re attracted to one another.” She stopped when she finished undoing the buttons and was staring at his chest. She made a funny sound deep in her throat and quickly started buttoning the shirt. “Jogging. We have to go jogging together. That’ll be easy. And we should probably hold hands a couple more times, just to show them. Why am I buttoning your shirt for you? I don’t know.” She took a step back.
“Because you’re nice?” he offered, though he hoped it was more than that.
“Yes, that’s it. I wasn’t even thinking…” She glanced toward his chest again and then shook her head. “What I was thinking was we could go for a stroll together and eat dinner in the park. You, Weasel Boy and me. Holding hands. Think you can handle that?”
“Sure.”
She studied him for a moment. “You don’t seem very bothered by it. I thought, because it’s going to cut into your work schedule, you’d be annoyed.”
He shrugged. “I can work all night if I need to.” Besides, he’d become immersed in a side project, and that was what he’d been thinking about when he’d put on his shirt. He’d pulled up his study on romance and found it dry and lacking in actual fieldwork. He’d gone over his notes on his subjects, the feelings they’d talked about having—tickle in the stomach, distracted, fantasizing—all things he’d been experiencing since meeting Stacy. He’d decided that even with all his interviews, he hadn’t come away understanding romance at all. To be accurate, he needed to do hands-on research. Posing as a couple was perfect fieldwork.
Her expression lightened. “Well, okay then. I’ll try not to let this interfere too much with your work.” Her face crinkled with worry again. “Were you able to decipher those notes I ruined?”
“I just reprinted them. Really, it’s not a problem,” he assured her when the worried look didn’t go away.
“All right. Good. Let’s go then.”
She snapped the leash onto Elmo’s collar and they walked to the front door. She took a deep breath and shored up her shoulders. “Okay, here’s the game plan,” she said, using that sporting term again. “I’ll hold Weasel Boy’s leash, and you’ll hold my hand. Like this.”
She slid her hand against his, and their fingers entwined automatically. Which was strange since his reaction shouldn’t be automatic at all. Before he could analyze that, though, he was overcome by that elating sense of connection. And an odd sense of anticipation.
“Ready?” she asked.
“Very.”
They