Dating the Guy Next Door (2 page)

“Nope.”

“Well, how about tomorrow, then?”

“Sorry, but I'm booked solid. The only reason I can fit you in is because of a cancelation, so I can be there in half an hour”—there was a pause as she heard paper being rustled—“or in two weeks.”

“Two weeks!” Kate bit back her frustration. If she didn't get her paintings to the framer in the next hour there was no way they'd be done in time, and if she missed out on the biggest opportunity of her career, there would be no money to pay Bernie, or the electricians and carpenters she seemed to need on a regular basis. The irony was not lost on her.

Not that she resented all the maintenance, because from the moment the Realtor had shown her the small building that had once belonged to a bike mechanic, she'd known it was perfect for her art work, which had once been described as paint-by-numbers meets Martha Stewart. The fact that she could also live there had just made it even more ideal.

Since then the area had become increasingly urbanized with architects, cafés and furniture stores all springing up. However, Kate's small space was still in its original state, right down to the red brick interior walls, the old-fashioned sales counter and the faded Bob's Bikes sign that sat above the glass window out front. Unfortunately, the rustic charm wasn't the only thing her home had retained. It also had all of its old wiring and plumbing, not to mention an asbestos ceiling.

It was also the only place that she'd ever had where she felt like she belonged, and there was no way she was going to give it up without a fight. Which meant she'd figure something out.

“Fine. I'll see you in half an hour,” she said before hanging up. Perhaps if she flirted with the framer enough he'd still get them done in time?

“Problem?”

She spun around in surprise to see that Matt had somehow reappeared in front of the calico curtain, a hopeful gleam in his brown eyes.

“Not really,” she lied. “And what are you still doing here?”

“I just thought I'd come back and see if you'd changed your mind.”

“Why would I do that?” Kate wanted to know.

“I'm not sure,” Matt admitted. “But the crowd of women seems to have grown so I thought it was worth a try.”

Kate walked over to where he was standing and dipped her head to look through the slight gap in the curtains. He was right. The mass had definitely multiplied. She turned back to him, and his brown eyes pinned her down much like the stray puppy that had wandered into her studio last summer. Of course back then she'd just given the puppy some food and called the number on the collar. But Matt Hunter wasn't a stray puppy. The answer had to be no.

“I'm sorry.” She shook her head.

“I should probably mention that I heard you on the phone just then and it sounded like you might need to be in two places at once, so if you need to leave, I could stay here and hold down the fort, while Keith fixes up this mess. It's a total win/win,” he said as he clasped his hands together like a choirboy before peering at her from under his sooty eyelashes. “So? What do you say?”

She rubbed her brow. She'd long ago discovered that solving one problem often led to creating another. However, right now she didn't really have a choice and so, against her better judgment, she found herself nodding her head.

“Fine, you can stay while I'm gone,” she reluctantly agreed. “Bernie's coming to give a quote on my ceiling,” she said as she glanced up to the large hole that was currently swathed in plastic. She'd only discovered it when a pipe had burst and the plumber had let out a long whistle and told her that fixing the pipe was the least of her problems. Matt followed her gaze up and winced.

“Let me guess, asbestos.”

“How did you know?” Kate widened her eyes.

“My sister had the same problem, and if you're talking about Bernie Kessler, then I can confirm that despite how prickly he is, he's the best in the business.”

“Does that mean he's going to be the most expensive in the business?” Kate instinctively sucked in her breath. The only reason she'd been able to afford to buy the property in the first place was because Harry—who made lousy life choices but was particularly shrewd when it came to art investments—had insisted that she take a divorce payout. Foolishly she'd assumed that once she opened her gallery, the money would start flowing in. Instead, it was more like a trickle. A slow trickle.

“Unfortunately, there's no cheap way to get a job like this done,” Matt said.

“I had a feeling that was the case,” Kate sighed before catching herself. It was weird enough she was leaving a virtual stranger to take care of her gallery, but there was no need to go into her financial problems with him too. She coughed. “So,
are you sure that you're not going to rob me blind and steal my cat?”

“Scout's honor. All I'm going to do is let Bernie give you a quote, kill Keith and stay low until the drama dies down.” He gave her a mock smile that sent her heart rate pounding. “And thank you, neighbor. You won't regret this.”

But she already was.

Kate had sworn not to get in another relationship. She had no time for complications in her life. Especially good-looking complications who wanted to hide out in her back room and had smiles that made her heart pound faster than a triple espresso ever could. Then she caught sight of the time and realized she needed to leave soon if she didn't want to be late. All that mattered was that she got to the framer on time.

“Keith,” Matt said not long after Kate had left the gallery, clutching at three enormous canvases. Matt's instincts had been to help her with them, but of course he couldn't step outside the door without being mobbed and so he'd been forced to sit by and do nothing. His mood darkened. “Don't you dare hang up.”

“Hang up? Why would I hang up when you're the guy of the moment? So, tell me, how does it feel to be the most popular bachelor in Seattle?”

“Now, there's a question for you.” Matt gritted his teeth. “If you consider being chased from my home by a pack of women, armed to the teeth with the Macy's makeup counter as a good thing, then it's going great.”

“I take it you didn't like my little announcement,” Keith said in surprise.

“What do you think?” Matt started to pace into the back room of Kate's studio. Not liking it was a complete understatement. But then, when he'd admitted to his ex–best friend that he was getting old and really wanted to start settling down and having a family, he hadn't expected the news to be broadcast to the entire population at six in the morning.

He made a mental note to lock himself in a closet the next time he felt like revealing such personal details to Keith. Or at least refrain from having a couple of beers with the man on a sunny Sunday afternoon. Such a thing was designed to let him forget Keith could keep a secret almost as well as a gossip columnist. He should've known better.

Especially since Keith, with his crackpot theories of love and life, had become the self-styled Dr. Love of the airways from three to seven each morning and was always looking for fresh meat to put out to roast. And surprisingly enough, despite the unsocial hours, the show had become a hit and Keith now had a legion of fans who hung off his every word.

Thankfully Keith's militant producer, Miranda, usually kept his wayward friend in line, but all Matt could assume was that Miranda must've been out sick this morning for Keith to get away with such a brazen announcement. He believed that the exact words were, “Ladies, it's time to Stop the Clock! Are you sick of dating a guy who doesn't want to settle down and have a family? Well, let me introduce you to my friend, Matt Hunter. He's young, virile and ready to be a father and if you want to go on an all-expenses-paid two-night stay at the Talbot, turn up at his pad and hope that he picks you.”

“I think you should be thanking me,” Keith said. “You have no idea how many women have been calling the station to find out more about you.”

“Believe me,” Matt assured him grimly as he reached one end of the room and turned to do a second lap. “I have plenty of idea about how many women want to know more about me. How could you even think of giving them my name? Not to mention my address? And as for the luxury weekend away? That was like throwing lighter fluid onto the fire. I could've looked like the Hunchback of Notre Dame and they still would've turned up.”

As he spoke he felt a curious sensation underneath his foot and he looked down in dismay to the half-empty pizza carton he'd just stepped on. He inwardly groaned as a slice of deluxe pepperoni and cheese became embedded into his favorite
pair of suede brogues. He quickly lifted his shoe and shook it, but it was too late, and the greasy oil had already managed to create a small Italy-shaped stain right above his big toe.

He crammed the cell phone into his ear and balanced it with his shoulder while he went in search of a cloth, but his movement was impeded by the appearance of Kate's large cat.

“I know. Genius,” Keith said, not sounding remotely repentant.

“No, not genius. It's a disaster. I only moved into the neighborhood three days ago, and let me assure you that this was not the way I planned to introduce myself.”

“Why not? Now they'll all think that you're a stud. It's perfect,” Keith corrected before suddenly adding, “Anyway, where are you?”

“I'm camped out in the art gallery next door.” He picked his way through a pile of paint-smudged rags. They were all filthy, so he might as well forget about cleaning his shoe until this whole thing was sorted out and he was back at home. And as he stared at the mess on the bench, the words
out of the frying pan and into the fire
jumped unbidden into his mind.

Of course, Emma would say that it wasn't that Kate was messy, it was just that Matt was neat. Very, very neat. And perhaps she had a point, but in his defense, it was that neatness that made him so good at his job. After all, if he couldn't organize his own life how could he expect his clients to trust him to streamline their businesses and set up systems that were based on efficiency, critical thinking and logic?

Which reminded him. Today he was meant to be finalizing a customer service strategy for a local computer company and then follow up with a previous client about their production line. None of which he could do until he got back into his office and retrieved his laptop.

“What art gallery?”

“Kate Mitchell Gallery. It's an old bike store next to my place. You probably haven't heard of it,” Matt informed him, carefully trying to avoid falling over the cat.

“Nah,” Keith agreed. “It doesn't ring any bells. Is she good looking?”

“Oh yeah,” Matt sighed, all thoughts of his work commitments lost as he recalled the long legs that had been hidden underneath a crumpled pair of jeans. Then he remembered the rise of Kate's breasts that were buried somewhere in a large T-shirt and he found himself unconsciously tapping his fingers against the cell phone.

Actually, he wondered why he hadn't noticed her sooner. But then he recalled his last three girlfriends had all been lucky to hit five foot four, had swingy hair and wore lots of smart business suits with shiny buttons. And while Matt had only known the five foot eight Kate for half a day, the idea of her voluptuous body squeezed into a business suit seemed very far-fetched. Mind you, perhaps if she undid a couple of the buttons and let her wild hair cascade down over her shoulders, and—

“Man.” Keith sounded envious. “You lucky beast.”

“Yeah,” he agreed; the vision still firmly in his mind before he remembered why he'd stumbled into Kate's gallery in the first place. He quickly coughed. “But that's not the point. Thanks to your crazy announcement I've been forced to stay
here. What the hell were you thinking?”

“Ratings, my friend, and I tell you it worked great.
Dog bites man
is no news but
man bites dog
is another story all together. A male biological clock. With any luck we can string this bad boy out for months.”

“Absolutely not.” Matt shook his head firmly. “This bad boy stops right now. And thanks for comparing me to a dog bite.”

“Cheer up. You have women hunting you down from noon to night. It doesn't get any better than that, so what's your problem?”

“My problem is that all of these women seem to see me as some kind of sperm donor, or at the very least a weekend away from their regular life. It's not exactly what I had in mind.”

“Yes it is,” Keith reminded him. “It's exactly what you had in mind. You said you were sick of dating women who didn't want to settle down and have kids. Said you wanted to meet someone who was more interested in a family than in a balance sheet. Said that—”

Matt closed his eyes as his own words came back to haunt him. It had started last week when he'd taken his niece and nephew out to the park to play ball. He'd always known he wanted kids of his own, and up until now he had been content to wait until he found Ms. Right. But at thirty all he'd found was Ms. I'm-too-young-to-settle-down-and-have-children, which was fine because it wasn't like he didn't respect their decisions, but at the same time he was starting to wonder how much longer it was going to take.

The game of ball had been particularly energetic, and Matt, who liked to think he was in pretty good shape, found himself panting after only fifteen minutes. The kids had run circles around him and teased him about it mercilessly as only children could.

And that had gotten him thinking.

Jack and Sarah were four now, so even if he had a kid immediately, it would still be four years before he could take them to the park like he was doing with his niece and nephew. And if he was puffed and out of breath now, imagine how much worse it would be by thirty-four? Then there was the fact he wasn't going to have a kid today or tomorrow. These things took time. Nine months to be exact. Not to mention the whole dating ritual that needed to go before it.

And somehow, in between an exhausting game of soccer in the park and a bit of mental arithmetic, Matt Hunter had started to panic.

He needed to have a baby.

Soon.

But the reality of it was something else again.

“Well, I certainly never told you to announce it to the whole world,” he complained sulkily. “It's embarrassing.” Not to mention ridiculous. Which was probably why he hadn't told Kate the full content of Keith's announcement. After all, he wasn't in the habit of making himself look like a crazy fool in front of an attractive woman. Crazy was definitely third-date
material.

“But why?” Keith persisted. “Besides, the advertising department will tell you none of my audience are businesswomen. And judging by their response, they all want babies. Don't you see? I've accessed your target market. Plus, the slogan
Stop the Clock
is pure perfection. Wait until you see the logo we've made.”

Matt paused as the familiar image of a family all sitting around a dinner table, laughing, joking and teasing, came into his mind. He was seated at one end, his wife at the other, and in between the seats were filled with the smiling children. The face of his wife often underwent a change, as did the number of children, but the feeling was always the same.

It was one of completeness.

And that's what he wanted. What he needed.

He took another furtive peek out of Kate's window to the crowd thronging around his front door. So all those women wanted kids, eh? But then he caught himself. Even though he had wanted to speed up the process, this wasn't quite what he had in mind.

“Sorry, Keith, I know you were only trying to help. But don't. And you've got your ratings now, so you can call them off.”

“But—”

“No buts. This competition ends now. You hear me?”

“Fine. But you know you were a lot more fun before you moved to your new place. I wonder if the water's poisoned there? It could explain a lot.”

“Keith.” Matt growled. He was tempted to throw his cell phone across the room but only stopped himself because the thought of having to go outside and brave the man-seeking hordes to buy a new one was too daunting. Instead, he took a calming gulp of oxygen as he caught sight of a white van pulling up outside the gallery with the name
Bernie Kessler
splashed across the side. “Look, I have to go, but next time I hear from you, I want it to be because this thing is over. You understand?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Keith muttered as Matt finished the call and waited for Bernie to come inside. Next time he decided to share something personal, he'd make sure that his harebrained friend wasn't in the vicinity.