Send Me No Flowers (8 page)

“I’m impressed,” Rachel said honestly, then noticed a framed photograph of the house at sunset, hanging on the far wall. “Wow, great picture. Did she take that one, too?”

Drew followed her gaze. “Carmen took that one. She’s a free-lance photographer.”

Rachel looked back at Drew. “Carmen?”

He cleared his throat. “Another old girlfriend.”

“Before, during, or after Sheila?” she asked, feeling a totally inappropriate prick of jealousy.

“After,” he said firmly. Then he picked up a red, heart-shaped box of candy off the coffee table. “Chocolate?”

Rachel smiled sweetly. “Thanks, but I gave it up for Valentine’s Day.”

He put down the box, shaking his head. “Rachel, this boycott is just plain nuts. You have to know that. I mean, you’re a therapist. Doesn’t boycotting an international holiday seem a little extreme?”

“Not when you live in Love, Michigan, where the citizens are almost mandated to participate in the celebration.”

“Mandated? That’s ridiculous. No one is forcing you to fall in love. If you’ll just listen to reason...”

She held up one hand to ward him off. “I’ve heard all your arguments, Drew, and you’ve heard mine. I really don’t want to debate the boycott again tonight.”

“But that’s the reason for our date.”

There. He’d said it. Rachel tried to ignore the rush of disappointment inside of her. She’d known from the beginning he just wanted to finesse his way into her life so he could dissuade her from the boycott.

“Then I guess our date is over,” she said, her voice tight as she rose and headed for the door. “Good night, Drew.”

He grasped her arm. “Wait a minute, Rachel. That’s not what I meant. I just thought we might talk about the boycott, among other things.” His mouth turned up in a boyish smile. “I happen to enjoy debating with you.” He reached up to rub the back of his head. “Despite the danger.”

Remorse mingled with her irritation. “Drew, I am so sorry about...everything. The snowball...the trip to the hospital...the concussion.”

“It isn’t your fault I can’t stand the sight of blood.,” he replied, looking slightly abashed. “Especially my own.”

“I still feel responsible. I know there was only a tiny bit of blood. But when your eyes rolled back and you keeled over...”

“I get the picture,” he said wryly. “So did the newspaper. That’s why you have to go out with me tonight. Otherwise everyone will think I’m afraid of you.”

She smiled in spite of herself. Drew Lavery had a laid-back charm that appealed to her. Maybe a little too much. “All right. Are you ready?”

“Sure thing. Just let me hide the chocolates,” he said, picking up the box of candy. “If Missy sees them, she’ll devour every piece.”

He placed the chocolate box in a drawer. “Last time I saw her she was curled up in my bed, sound asleep. I can go get her...”

“No,” Rachel interjected, her cheeks warm as she envisioned another woman in Drew’s bed. “That’s not necessary. I don’t want to disturb her.”

He shrugged. “She sleeps all the time. I guess that’s what happens when you get fat and lazy.”

Rachel’s mouth dropped open in disbelief.
Fat and lazy?
How could he talk that way about his girlfriend? About any woman? She didn’t even want to imagine the words he used to describe her.

Drew smiled, unaware of her thoughts. “I should probably make her go on a diet again, but she’s pretty sneaky. If I don’t watch her, she digs food out of the garbage can.”

This was too much. She had to save Missy from an obviously abusive relationship. She’d never imagined Drew could be capable of such callous treatment. Which didn’t say much for her intuitive skills as a therapist. She’d actually been fantasizing about kissing him again.

“By the way, you look very nice in red.”

She looked down at her ratty sweatshirt. Flattery would get him nowhere. No wonder he went through girlfriends like paper towels. She had no intention of being the next disposable woman in his life.

She stood up. “I’ve changed my mind. I would like to meet Missy. Unless it will upset her.”

He looked puzzled for a moment, then shrugged. “I’ve had women here before and it doesn’t seem to bother her. She usually just ignores them.”

Women? Plural? Now his honesty sounded distinctly like bragging. He probably had notches in his bedpost. She took a deep breath. “Avoidance is one of the classic signs of a problem. Missy is probably in a depression.”

Drew looked perplexed. “I don’t think so. She always seems perfectly happy as long as I keep her warm and fed.”

“Happy? I seriously doubt it.” Rachel felt flushed from the combination of hot cider and indignation. Or maybe it was embarrassment that she’d been so wrong about this man. And so attracted to him.

He stood up, his expression wary. “Are you upset about something?”

How could he be so clueless? More importantly, how could a man this dense and uncaring be in charge of her city? “Yes, Drew. I’m upset about the way you’re treating Missy: She deserves respect and kindness. I’d like to talk to her and, hopefully, convince her to seek therapy.”

His grin surprised her. “I don’t think you understand...”

“Oh, I understand,” she snapped. “I’ve seen plenty of men like you in my practice. Handsome, charming, with an alluring sexual magnetism, who think they can treat women like their own personal toys.”

He looked surprised. “You think I’m sexy?”

She rolled her eyes. “Please. Spare me the innocent act. You need help, too, Drew, to curb this destructive behavior. Now I can suggest several therapists who specialize in—”

“Rachel.”

She paused, not surprised he’d interrupted her. Most people resisted any suggestion of therapy. “What?”

“Missy is my cat.”

“Your cat?” she echoed, her face matching the color of her sweatshirt.

He nodded. “An old tabby I found in the cellar when I moved in. She sort of adopted me. But I can still bring her in for some therapy,” he said with a broad grin. “She’s always been a little neurotic.”

“But the garter belt,” she sputtered, pointing to the scrap of silk and lace in the corner.

“Her favorite toy,” he replied. “I was the lucky guy who caught it at my cousin’s wedding last month.”

“I seem to be making a habit of misunderstanding you,” she said. “First I thought you were impotent, then a playboy.”

“Well, if I had to choose between the two...” he began.

“I think I know which one you’d choose,” she replied. Even if Missy didn’t qualify as girlfriend material, Drew still fit the playboy mold. Her heart beat faster as he moved nearer to her, proving his undeniable appeal.

“Don’t you think it’s possible you’re misunderstanding me about this boycott issue, too?” he asked huskily. “I realize romance isn’t for everyone, but Valentine’s Day does have a real economic impact on this city. And there are people in Love who actually look forward to the celebration.”

She breathed in the scent of his spicy, seductive aftershave as she looked up into his intense blue eyes. A weaker woman might be swayed by his persuasive argument. Not to mention his broad shoulders and sexy smile. A weaker woman would forget she had people depending on her. That this boycott had some very sound reasons behind it.

She tipped up her chin, determined to resist his charms. “I thought we’d already agreed to disagree?”

He grinned. “You’ll soon learn that I don’t give up that easily.”

“Talk is cheap, Lavery. It’s time to take a stand. Are you ready?”

He looked suspicious. “Ready for what?”

Now it was her turn to smile. “For our mystery date.”

DREW HAD SPENT MORE TIME than he liked to admit fantasizing about his date with Rachel. His concussion had given him ample opportunity to lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling as he pictured them at a popular comedy club, or sharing popcorn at the movies, or dancing cheek-to-cheek at a local nightclub.

Maybe she planned on taking him to The Fireside, Love’s most lavish restaurant. Except she wouldn’t meet the dress code in that outfit. After she’d gone out of her way to emphasize how casual this date was going to be, he’d half expected her to show up wearing a burlap bag. But he liked her snug, form-fitting jeans. A lot. She looked incredibly cuddly in that old sweatshirt, too. And certainly not as unapproachable as she’d seemed in her office, dressed in an ultraprofessional gray silk suit.

Drew reached up to rub the back of his head as they rode toward downtown Love. He obviously hadn’t thought her unapproachable in the television station parking lot. According to the news report, he’d kissed her. Now if only he could remember it. Unfortunately the events surrounding the incident in the parking lot were still fuzzy.

He gave Rachel a sideways glance, desperately wishing he could remember kissing those lush, pink lips. Did he kiss her like a friend or a lover? Did he hold her in his arms? Did he dare ask her to remind him?

Light jazz music drifted from the car’s stereo speakers. “So,” he said, “ready to give me a hint about our date?”

“No hints,” she replied, pulling up to a stoplight. “You agreed that I could pick the place. I’m afraid you’ll try to change my mind once you realize where we’re headed.”

As if he’d had any success changing her mind so far. She still seemed stubbornly adamant about the Valentine’s Day boycott. He wanted to wine and dine her. Make her realize a little romance never hurt anybody.

“Then I think, to be fair, you should let me surprise you on our next date.” He’d surprise her all right. Give her the full Lavery treatment. Dinner, flowers, some soft, sweet kisses. He needed time to break down all Rachel’s defenses, then persuade her to gracefully bow out of this boycott.

“I only agreed to one date, Drew,” she said firmly. “Or should I say I was
trapped
into agreeing to one date.”

“It was the only way I could get you to talk to me,” he explained, knowing he was running out of time. And no closer to bringing this boycott to an end. But his competitive streak wouldn’t let him give up yet.

Rachel pulled into a parking space. “Here we are.”

He peered out the windshield. He didn’t see a four-star restaurant. Or a jazz club. Or even an ice-skating rink.

He saw a picket line.

“Is this some kind of joke,” he asked, staring at the picketers in disbelief. Approximately ten people bundled up in coats, hats and mittens moved in a slow circle around the front of Bert’s All-Nite Bakery and Cappuccino Bar. They all held signs with the same logo, a red heart in a circle with a slash through it. And they were all chanting:
“Down with Valentine’s Day.
”

“Believe me, it’s no joke,” Rachel said, letting the engine idle. “Bert’s is offering a Valentine’s Day special for couples only—two honeybuns for the price of one. I call that discrimination.”

“Honeybuns cost how much?” Drew asked wryly, unable to believe people would brave frigid temperatures over pastry. “Fifty cents each?”

“It’s not always about money, Drew, it’s the principle.” She shifted the car into Park. “You can stay in here and keep the heater running. We’ll be done picketing in about an hour. Hopefully the photographer will show up by then.”

“What photographer?” he asked, none toe pleased at the prospect of spending his evening alone in the passenger seat of her Ford Taurus.

“From the newspaper,” she said, tucking her hair under a blue knit cap. “We’re hoping to make the front page.” Then she grabbed a picket sign out of the back seat and was gone.

Drew leaned back against the headrest and closed his eyes.
Some first date.
He could see the newspaper headline now: Mayor Hides In Car, Fearing Honeybun Riot. A dull throbbing began in the back of his head, in the same place he’d hit the ice when he’d passed out. Another shining moment for Mayor Drew Lavery.

Why did Rachel always seem to get the best of him? He saw men and women as equals, but she had him at a definite disadvantage. Because he kept thinking of her as the opposite sex instead of the opposition. The trouble was, he liked everything about her except her stand on Valentine’s Day. He liked her eyes. Her body. Her wit. And he had a sneaking suspicion he’d really liked her kiss. If only he could remember it.

Drew rubbed a hand across his jaw, frustrated with his lack of progress. While he’d been fantasizing about her lips, she’d been planning to picket. She’d made her statement loud and clear. Maybe it was time for him to do the same.

He got out of the car, not bothering to zip up his jacket. The brisk night air cut through his clothes, but he barely noticed the cold. He walked up to the curb as the protesters circled the walk in front of him.