Not Quite Perfect (Not Quite Series Book 5) (11 page)

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You know what it means.”

“I don’t know. You’re going to have to spell it out for me.”

“Sister Mary Frances!”

“She is not here, m’dear. Hasn’t been for nearly ten years.”

“Mary Frances!”

“That’s better.” To say she was shocked would be a vast understatement. “I didn’t think that was possible.”

“Believe me, I’m just as surprised as you.”

“That isn’t likely.”

“He’s very charming, Mary. You’d like him.”

“You’re dating.” It wasn’t a question.

“We’ve had coffee . . . and pie.”

“Coffee and pie?” She was not hearing this. The woman who all but raised her . . . the
nun
—who’d all but raised her—was dating.

“He’s a widower. His children are grown, has two adorable grandchildren—”

“Wait! You’re . . . you’re dating.”

“I know it’s a lot to take in.”

“You don’t date . . . you can’t.” Mary wanted to retract the words once she said them out loud.

“Technically, I can.” Sister Mary’s words started to clip.

“I’m sorry. I’m shocked. I’m not saying the right things.”

“Perhaps we should speak another time.”

“No. I’m sorry. Truly.” Mary remembered how hard it had been when Mary Frances left the order. Only one of her sisters kept in touch, the others refused since the Mother Superior had forbidden it. It took nearly five years for the church to recognize she was gone, and even then, Mary Frances mourned what she’d given her life to as if she were a scorned woman divorced from the love of her life. Mary pulled in a breath. “Tell me about your widower. What’s his name?”

Mary Frances paused. “Do you really want to hear this?”

“I do.”

“His name is Burke. He’s originally from South Wales.”

“Does he have an accent?”

Mary Frances sighed . . . like a girlie sigh, and Mary had to hold back her tongue.

“He does! He sounds so astute. And he’s funny. You’ll really enjoy him, Mary.”

Mary gritted her teeth and smiled as she spoke. “How long have you known him?”

“A couple of months now.”

Mary punched a fist in the air. “And you’re just now telling me?” She kept her voice slow and measured.

“I was afraid you wouldn’t approve.”

I don’t!

“That you’d be upset,” she continued.

Mary forced herself to calm down and speak the truth. “I am . . .”

“Is this because of the church?”

“No.” And it wasn’t. She was more self-aware than that. “You’re the closest thing to a mother as I’ve ever had.”

“Oh, Mary . . .”

“I’d imagine any child having some difficulty finding out their parent was dating after a long relationship.”

There was a pause on the line. “I suppose that’s true.”

“But it’s not because of the church. Please know that holds no weight in my feelings.”

“Oh, c’mon.” Mary Frances always cut the bull.

“All right. Perhaps a little.” Mary didn’t want to vocalize her concerns about Mary Frances having sex. Just thinking about it had Mary squeezing her eyes closed. “But only because I knew you for so many years as someone that didn’t date.”

“Coffee and pie is hardly dating.”

“Pie could be the night before, and coffee could be the morning after.”

“Mary Colette Kildare!”

Oh, the middle name came out.

“Sorry.”

“I should think so.”

Because Mary was who Mary was, she added. “But it could be.”

“It isn’t!” There was laughter in Mary Frances’s voice.

This was going to take some time to get used to.

“Tell me about Dakota’s son.”

They spent the next ten minutes talking about Leo . . . about Dakota’s “trip down the stairs” and Mary’s plumbing problems. When she hung up she realized she hadn’t mentioned Glen. She knew immediately why. Mary Frances’s excitement about her own personal life didn’t need any interference from hers.

Chapter Twelve

Ever since Mary’s bikini picture, Glen could think of nothing else. In fact, he saved the picture and referred back to it several times a day.

And it was only Thursday.

He had every intention of flying out Friday after work but knew he wouldn’t pick her up until the time he’d told her.

“You’re flying back to LA?” Jason asked while they had their weekly lunch meeting.

Glen ate three french fries at a time. “I’m taking Mary out.”

“The blonde.”

“Is there another Mary?”

“What is up with my brothers and blondes?” Jason teased.

Glen simply shoved more fries in his mouth and grinned.

“She doesn’t seem like your type,” Jason said.

“Oh?” And what did Jason think was his type?

“You know. Too reserved. I thought you liked ’em a little more . . . I don’t know . . .”

Glen removed his phone from his pocket and pulled up the bikini image of Mary and turned his phone around.

“Oh, wow.”

When Jason grabbed his wrist to get a closer look, Glen pulled it back, suddenly feeling like showing his brother the picture had been the wrong thing to do.

Since when did he hold a moral code for that?

“That was Mary?”

“Yeah, forget I showed you that.”

“Let me see that again.”

“No.” He put his phone away.

“Whoa . . . okay. Sorry. That didn’t look like the Mary I know.”

Glen shook off his unease. “She’s the same Mary . . . just more playful than you’d think.”

“Clearly.”

Glen glared.

“Sorry.”

“Anyway,” he said, changing the subject. “I’m leaving tomorrow. I’ll be back Sunday.”

“Whatever works, bro. Tell me how the broker scrub meeting worked out.”

Glen was happy to change the subject.

Mary stared over the counter, her mind completely lost in all things dating. Not her dating, but Sister Mary . . . she really needed to stop thinking of her as a nun. As soon as Mary had hung up the phone, questions started popping up in her head like mini balloons about the heads of cartoon characters.
Have they kissed? Has Mary Frances ever kissed a man . . . as in before she became a nun? Did she ever have desires when she was a nun?
Maybe Mary didn’t want to know the answer to that one. But still . . . just because someone is married doesn’t make them dead. The whole idea of her pseudomom sitting across from a guy eating pie and giggling produced equal parts ewh and aah.

Mary picked at her sandwich without tasting it.

“I was wondering if I’d see you in here again.”

Mary blinked out of her distraction and looked over her shoulder. “Oh, hi.”
Darn, what is his name again?
“Kent, right?”

He gave her a full-watt smile. “You remembered.”

“Of course. How is the new job?”

“Bumpy, but it’s good. Lots of personalities at a law office.”

“I bet.” She’d had clients who were lawyers before, they were a very literal fact-driven group overall. Emotions weren’t an option, so cracking through them, in Mary’s experience, wasn’t easy.

“Are you going to eat that, or do I need to get you a bigger box?” Carla asked.

“A bigger box, I think.”

“So, Mary . . .”

Kent was still standing behind her stool at the counter. The spaces on both sides of her were taken, not giving him room to sit.

Carla picked up Mary’s plate and slid the sandwich inside the Styrofoam box.

“Yes?”

“I was wondering if you’d like to go out this weekend.”

She saw the question coming from a mile away. “Uhm, the thing is . . . I have plans.”

A strangled smile stuck to his face. “Maybe another time then.”

What did she want to say to that? She didn’t have a boyfriend, not technically, she wasn’t married. Kent was an attractive man. A nice man. “Maybe,” she found herself saying. To avoid more conversation, she dropped the necessary money on the counter and released her seat to the next hungry customer.

“I’ll take you up on that,” Kent told her.

Take me up on a maybe?
“It was nice seeing you again.”

Kent moved, but only a few inches, to let her pass. “I look forward to it.”

The weight of his eyes followed her out.

Mary struggled with what to wear, what to bring with her, what to expect.

It was after ten thirty. Glen was due within a half hour and she hadn’t gotten dressed yet. She had clothes pulled out over her bed. Denim shorts? Cotton? Daisy Dukes or something to hike in? Flip-flops or sandals? Or should she wear sneakers?

She pulled out tops for all the shorts and stood back to look at the mess. She tossed the Daisy Dukes on the floor.
Too skimpy.

Denim? She glanced outside, felt the warm rays of the sun through her window. She considered the amount of food Glen had offered her on their first date. The denim met the Daisy Dukes.

Mary glanced at the time and compromised between hiking shorts and a simple cotton pair that hid a little more of her butt than the other choices. She shed her bathrobe and pulled on her clothes. In the bathroom, she pulled her unruly mess of hair back in a ponytail and applied a fresh coat of lip gloss. “Not bad.”

She heard the doorbell downstairs and ran back into her room. Her new bathing suit, along with a wrap, was already tucked in a small bag. She tossed in the flip-flops and hopped into her white tennis shoes as she jogged downstairs.

The bell rang again. “Coming!”

After pushing through the plastic, she opened the door.

Glen wore a dark T-shirt, cotton shorts, and a smile.

“Where’s the swimsuit?”

Her shoulders slid and she rolled her eyes. “In the bag!”

“Better be.” Glen stepped over the threshold and pulled her close. “Hi.”

He had a way of making her giddy. “Hi.”

He kissed her. It was brief. It was hello . . . and it was hot!

When he released her lips he pulled on the back of her hair with a tiny tug. “This could be fun.”

“Do you have a line for everything?”

He wiggled his eyebrows and then looked above their heads. “I thought this was suppose to be finished by now.”

She stepped through the plastic and into her living room in search of her purse. “There was a delay.” She walked into her kitchen and kept talking. “If you look down, you can see where they cut in, but they didn’t have the jackhammer to pull out the concrete.” She found her purse next to her phone. “Which turned out fine since the insurance company wanted to come and take pictures of the damage.”

“I’m glad your insurance is paying for all this.”

She hurried back in the living room. “Oh, no . . . my insurance is only paying for new floors. The five grand for the plumbing fix is on me.”

“Ouch.”

“Tell me about it. I just hope once the plumber gets in there he doesn’t find more issues. Or I’ll be back to eating Chinese noodle soup.” She was teasing, but . . .

She stopped in front of him and sighed.
Sweater!
“Hold this.” She shoved her beach bag and her purse into Glen’s arms and ran upstairs. “I need to grab a sweater.”

Glen laughed as she ran away.

She tossed a shirt lying on top of the sweater she wanted from her bed to the floor. The mess wasn’t really her style, but she’d get to it later. Her eyes landed on Glen’s dress coat from last weekend. Much as she hated giving it up . . . she removed it from the back of her door and brought it with her. “I believe this belongs to you. I probably should have had it washed.” She
should
have had it washed. How unthoughtful of her.

Glen handed her back her bags and took his jacket from her fingertips and folded it over his arm. “But then it wouldn’t have smelled like me.”

She stopped in her tracks. “Who said anything about me smelling your jacket?”

“Are you telling me you didn’t?”

She blinked a half a dozen times. “We’re not talking about this.”

He chuckled as he walked her out to the car.

Glen loved watching her laugh. He’d purposely rented a Jeep that didn’t have a top to make sure Mary got over any
my hair has to be perfect
issues from the moment she got in.

As it stood, she held on to her ponytail and enjoyed the wind as he drove them to the pier.

“Aren’t you going to ask where we’re going?”

She shook her head. “I’ll figure it out eventually.”

A parking attendant took the Jeep and Glen walked Mary to their next form of transportation.

“A boat?”

It was a charter with a dozen other passengers. “To get to Catalina.”

Mary’s brows squeezed together. “Did I tell you I get seasick?”

Oh, no!
“You get seasick?”

She held his stare and started to slowly smile.

“Oh, I’ll get you for that.”

She laughed with a shake of her head. “You’re too easy.”

It took less than an hour to get to Catalina. Mary might have smiled when they were in the air, but she was beaming now. The sea agreed with her. They sat toward the back of the vessel, where the sides were protected by shields to ward off the wind.

Two of the other passengers struck up conversations with them, from the weather to their occupations. Or, in the case of the other couple, what they’d done before retirement. They lived on Catalina full time and came to the mainland twice a month to shop.

Mary told them she was a therapist, and Glen said he was a pilot.

Mary watched him for a moment after he’d given half the truth to the couple but didn’t elaborate about what he did for a living.

They parted ways once they stepped onto the small island. “How about some lunch?” he suggested.

“Let the feedings begin.”

Glen took the liberty of placing his hand on her back as he led her through the dense crowd.

Catalina was only eight miles across at its widest point with one main city populating it. The city of Avalon, for the convenience of tourists, was one hundred percent walkable. Which worked out well since the main transportation on the island was limited to golf carts and bikes.

“We have an hour and a half before our next adventure,” Glen told Mary as they walked the small city filled with shops, restaurants, and tourist traps.