Mr. Wonderful Read online

  What a Crazy Way to Start a Romance!

  MR. WONDERFUL

  In spite of the fire beginning to hiss and flicker in the stone fireplace, I shivered and hugged my parka to my body. The musty smell of a cabin that’s been shut up between ski weekends filled my nose, and I thought for the tenth time since dinner in Truckee that I’d been a fool to come. Why had I come?

  The answer to that question came rushing through the front door at that very minute, and the wind slammed the door behind her. My sister Phyllis, her face hidden behind the stack of blankets and pillows in her arms, staggered across the hardwood floor. Dropping her load on the couch, she looked up at me and beamed.

  “Don’t you just love it?” she asked enthusiastically.

  It was a hard question to answer The older sister in me wanted to reassure her that I did ‘love it.’ My other self wanted to scream out that I hated being 7,000 feet high in a strange cabin where I felt cold, miserable, and trapped. My better side won out, and I returned her smile.

  “I just love it,” I answered sweetly.

  “You do? I knew you would,” she said happily. She rubbed her hands together. The fire had stopped flickering and was only hissing now. Phyllis called to the kitchen, “Roger, come and fix this fire, and bring the hot chocolate with you.”

  Ever at my sister’s beck and call since their marriage six months ago, Roger shouted back that it was almost ready.

  “No cocoa for me, thanks,” I said quickly. “I’ve got a terrible headache. I think I’ll go straight to bed.” I pressed my index fingers to my temples the way I’d seen it done in a TV program about acupressure. As if I pressed hard enough I might make my blatant lie come true.

  Phyllis looked sharply at me. “Oh, no you don’t.” She reached for my arm, but with her gloves on she couldn’t get a grip on my slippery sleeve. “Have I ever let you down?”

  I didn’t answer, just stared at her in amazement. Had she ever let me down? Oh, just every now and then when “things” didn’t quite work out the way she planned. I was starting to get a real headache now thinking of all the men she’d set me up with who were total losers.

  “Okay, Alison, okay. Maybe it hasn’t always worked out the way I planned,” she admitted, “But this is different.” She glanced at the kitchen and lowered her voice. “Brandon is adorable! At the office all the girls are calling him Mr. Wonderful.”

  “Is this Mr. Wonderful as adorable as your downstairs neighbor, or the guy from your hiking club, or the captain of Roger’s bowling team?” At least she had the decency to look embarrassed. “This Mr. Wonderful is your last chance,” I threatened, “because your credibility is zilch with me! Nor more strange men, and I do mean strange.”

  “You have to meet him sometime, and he should be here any minute,” she reasoned, ignoring my pointed references to certain men she thought were just my type.

  I knew the disappointment of not having Brandon ride up to the mountains with us had hit Phyllis hard, and now she realized that I was trying to sneak up to bed without meeting him.

  “I never said I didn’t want to meet him,” I pointed out. Although I’d sure thought it. She’d used up all her brownie points with me. She meant well, but sometimes that wasn’t enough to make up for all the hype. “You know me. I’m a morning person. I’m no fun at all at night. Just wait, I’ll be the first one up in the morning.” Knowing how Phyllis had been able to get her own way with those baby-blue eyes and chipmunk cheeks since she was two years old, I sent her a bright, confident smile, grabbed a pillow and my overnight bag and started up the stairs.

  By the time I reached the loft, her voice had softened. Maybe she wasn’t really mad at me for flaking out so early. “It’s the one on the right.”

  “Thanks,” I called over my shoulder, and pushed the door open with my hip. I knew she meant well. Maybe one of these days she would introduce me to “Mr. Right.” And we’d look into each other’s eyes, cymbals would clash, violins would play and somehow we’d know our love was meant to be. But not this time. Not with Roger’s boss who loved skiing and played bridge. I hated being out in the cold with a pair of sticks on my feet and I had no skill at cards of any kind.

  What a relief it was to get into a warm flannel nightgown and slide under the down comforter. Safe at last. Safe, but not sleepy. I sat up straight. It was only ten o’clock, but the house was quiet. Now I did feel like a wimp who had no night life.

  The sound of a car’s wheels spinning in the slush outside the cabin broke the silence. Then came a soft knocking on the front door. I held my breath trying to hear the muffled voices. Someone was clumping up the stairs. I sat up straight, my heart thumping with the sound of every step, wondering if Brandon knew which room was his. He didn’t.

  The door to my room opened slowly, and a tall, broad-shouldered form ducked under the eaves. Oh, no, not glasses! I never could resist men who look intelligent and vulnerable at the same time. Before I could slide back under the comforter, the eyes behind the glasses surveyed me in my granny gown. So this was Mr. Wonderful. And he was embarrassed.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” he said awkwardly. “I thought Phyllis said the door on the right.”

  “Knowing my sister, she probably did say that. Did she also get a chance to tell you I’ve skied every slope in the Sierras, I speak French, and play tournament bridge?” I asked.

  The smile that crossed his face confirmed my suspicions. I could have killed her!

  “You mean it isn’t true? I want my money back,” he said with a glint in his eyes I could see even in the dim light. “You are Alison, though, I hope.” He took a few steps into the room.

  I nodded. “And you’re Brandon?”

  “I’m not the cat burglar. Could I sit down? It’s been a long day,” he said wearily.

  This wasn’t the way I’d pictured Roger’s new boss at all. Maybe he was the cat burglar! The stranger sat in the rocking chair at the foot of my bed and stretched his long legs out in front of him looking casually at home and exceptionally attractive.

  “What did they say about me? May I ask?” His eyes crinkled at the corners. He seemed to be enjoying himself, and that gave me confidence.

  “You can ask, but Roger didn’t know much about you,” I told him. “You’re from Colorado, so we know you’re a skier, you play bridge and, uh, the whole office likes you.” I left out the Mr. Wonderful part.

  “Did Roger say that I hinted so much about wanting to meet you that I almost made it part of his job description?” he asked.

  “Only because Roger told you how wonderful I was!” I fumed. “I knew it! They do this to me all the time. I can’t ski, I can speak two words of French, and I’m just learning to play bridge. Now you’re disappointed. You’ve been set up. Even the wrong directions to your room. How could they?”

  I jumped out of bed, furious with my sister and her husband. I crossed the room and opened the window to get some air; my face was burning with embarrassment.

  Brandon sprang out of the rocker and was across the room in two strides. His warm hands held my arms.

  “Alison,” he said, “yes, Roger told me about you, but he didn’t do you justice. Besides, it was my idea. I’m the one who asked about you after I’d seen your picture.”

  “What picture?” I asked in disbelief.

  He released me slowly. “The wedding picture on Roger’s desk. I asked who the woman next to the bride was, and then I kept at him until he promised I’d get to meet you.” Creases formed between his eyebrows, and he pushed his glasses back up his nose. “Now I’ve screwed it all up somehow.”

  My face cooled, I shut the window. “Maybe we should start all over,” I suggested.

  “Why don’t I go out and come in again?” He backed toward the door. />
  “Wait.” I went to the door with him. “Can we make some coffee or something?”

  His eyes traveled down the length of my voluminous nightgown and back as if it were something black and slinky. Of course if I’d known what he looked like I would have worn something a little less granny and more Kim Kardashian.

  “Do they have any hot chocolate?” he, asked finally.

  “I think so.” I led the way down the stairs. We tiptoed around the kitchen finding the ingredients not wanting to wake anyone, especially you-know-who. Then he measured and I mixed, and we carried our steaming cups back to my room. Brandon tucked his large frame back into the rocker and sipped his cocoa. I sat cross-legged on top of the quilt, letting the hot drink warm and soothe my body. I lifted my eyes from the cup and met his gaze.

  He got up from the rocking chair and came toward the bed. His hand reached for my empty mug, and his fingers brushed mine leaving a tingly feeling.

  “Well,” he said, “I’m looking forward to the weekend. Will everyone be on the slopes early?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” I said. I’d almost forgotten we’d come here to ski. If only. “I guess, uh, after breakfast. The earlier the better.”

  “That’s what I always say.” He didn’t move from the edge of the bed.

  “Do you?” I asked. His quiet voice had me mesmerized. I felt light-headed too, probably because of the altitude. But I’d never felt that way in the mountains before. I hoped I wasn’t coming down with vertigo, although I was just desperate enough to use that as an excuse to stay by the fire all day instead of making a fool of myself on the slopes.

  I got up to see him out. At the door he bent down to prevent his head from hitting the eaves, bringing his face close to mine.

  “Could you do me a favor?” I asked.

  “Sure,” he said easily.

  “I’d rather Phyllis and Roger didn’t know we met tonight. If you could act as if you didn’t know me tomorrow, I’d appreciate it. When you know my sister better you’ll understand,” I explained, feeling foolish.

  “Let me see if I’ve got it straight,” he said with a smile. “When we meet, I pretend we’ve never met.”

  “Yes, right,” I said, shivering in my nightgown. “Just be neutral. Of course, when they’re not around, it doesn’t matter. Once we go skiing, we’ll probably split up anyway.”

  I knew I must sound weird, but I couldn’t have Phyllis misunderstanding any exchanged glances between Brandon and me. She’d blow them all of proportion, and say something that could ruin everything. Something over the top like, “My sister is not only beautiful she’s an excellent cook. Her steak au poivre is to die for.” She couldn’t be trusted. I’d known her all of her blundering, well-meaning life. And I knew what she was capable of, all in the interest of helping me find love and every lasting happiness as she’d done.

  “It’s a deal,” he said. “You can count on me.” He reached down with his free hand to shake mine. “Your hand is cold. Back to bed!” he ordered.

  He disappeared through the doorway, and I crawled back under the comforter and shivered, not from cold, but from anticipation of the day to come.

  As I lay in the darkness, I realized that only redwood boards separated Brandon and me. I heard the rustling of clothes, and I pictured the heavy sweater coming off, the well-pressed pants being hung over a chair. And then, what did he wear to bed? Long, tight ski pajamas? No, not right. Long underwear? Uh-uh. Regular boxer shorts or nothing at all? I blushed and buried my head in my pillow. Think about the ski slopes, I told myself. How will I escape humiliation? With visions of myself tumbling head over skis down the mountainside while other skiers jumped out of the way screaming in fear, I fell into a restless sleep.

  I don’t know what time I woke up the next morning, but I had the groggy feeling you get when you’ve overslept. I pulled on a dark green turtleneck T-shirt (chosen by Phyllis to bring out the green in my hazel eyes), a pair of dark stretch pants, and some heavy socks. Smelling coffee, I hurried down the stairs, pausing in the doorway at the sight of the three of them sitting around the kitchen table.

  “You must be Alison.” Brandon got to his feet.

  “Brandon, I want you to meet my—” Roger said.

  “Alison, we thought you’d never…” my sister began.

  “I guess I overslept,” I announced.

  During the awkward conversation that followed that jumbled introduction, my sister looked from Brandon to me and back again as if she were at a tennis match. But Brandon was as good as his word. I saw him look me over once and then he kept his eyes on his food.

  After breakfast we all piled into Roger’s car for the ride to the slopes. From the back seat where I sat wedged next to my sister, I announced that I’d be taking lessons. When we reached the ski area, I waved good-bye to the others at the equipment rental shed.

  Hans, the blond instructor, said the new shorter skis would make learning easier. Learning to ski made easy? I shook my head. I didn’t think so. To be fair and give him a chance, I stood in the front row, as close to him as I could. (Just like in French class where I sit next to Mademoiselle DuVille so I won’t miss a word she says.)

  When we turned to practice walking up the hill, our skis parallel to the slope, I almost dropped my poles. There in the back row was Brandon! Huge goggles covered his eyes, but I knew it was him. He gave me a sheepish grin, and slowly clomped his way over to me.

  “What are you doing here?” I blurted out. The clumsy way he moved his feet told me the answer. He couldn’t ski either. I covered my mouth with my mittened hand to hide my smile.

  “I never said I could ski,” he panted. We were close to the top when he stepped on one of my short skis with his.

  “Sorry.” He tried to steady himself by putting his hand on my shoulder. When Hans noticed us teetering back and forth, he took a few expert strokes over to help us. But before he got there, I jerked my skis out from under Brandon’s and the momentum sent me downward. I gasped. This was not the way to learn to ski. It was like throwing someone who couldn’t swim in the pool and hoping they’d swim to the surface.

  Fortunately, I remembered to keep my skis pointing inward, and crouching very low, I snowplowed unsteadily down the slope. Brandon wasn’t so lucky. He shot past me with his skis parallel, completely out of control.

  “Alison!” he shouted and then he was gone, narrowly missing crashing into another class at the bottom. He sailed along and finally coasted to a stop at the snow machine. When I reached him he gave me a proud smile. He should have been proud. He hadn’t crashed, he hadn’t hurt anyone and he was still in one piece.

  After we rejoined the class, Brandon didn’t seem to be able to concentrate anymore. He kept looking at me instead of Hans. Distracted, I moved closer to Hans so I wouldn’t miss the instructions. I was determined to learn to ski. It wouldn’t be easy, but nothing worthwhile ever is. Or that’s what the say anyway. The morning flew by.

  “What did you think?” Brandon asked as we were taking off our skis and boots at the lodge door.

  “About what?” I looked up at him with a boot still in one hand.

  “About the class,” he said. “You seemed very interested in Hans. I don’t think you could have gotten much closer to him.”

  I wished I could see his eyes behind the goggles. I decided he couldn’t be serious. “I have a weakness for that Nordic type,” I kidded. “It’s the tan and the electric blue eyes. Actually, I’m a great skier. I just come up here to take classes because of the instructors. I always ask for Hans.”

  Brandon pulled his goggles off and laughed. “You’d better be kidding,” he said. “I was coming down that hill to rescue you.”

  “Sure you were.” I looked up at him and my heavy boot slid out of my hand and fell on his stockinged foot. He doubled up in pain.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said retrieving my boot.

  Leaning on my shoulder, he hobbled up to the deck. “I’m fine,” he assured me.
As we waited for lunch, I massaged his foot and his ego, complimenting him on his form as he tore down the mountain.

  Then I told him about life in the slow lane at the college where I teach remedial English and I study beginning French.

  Big bowls of hearty chili arrived at our table smelling delicious.

  “Now it’s your turn to talk,” I said, digging into my food.

  “Thanks a lot,” he said, grinning. “I’m hungry too. But I get equal time after lunch. You’d better eat fast. I can feel all my muscles tightening up on me again.”

  “I’m just curious,” I said between bites, “how many other women have you wound around your finger and conned into giving you a foot massage?”

  “You’re the only one,” he said innocently.

  “How come?” I asked.

  “The others broke my heart, you’ve only broken my foot.”

  I shook my head and let him have the last word. We ate in comfortable silence. Afterwards we pushed our chairs back from the table, propped our feet up and took off our jackets to let the sun warm our aching bodies.

  Touching lightly, we shared an arm rest. His hand covered mine. I closed my eyes and felt sublimely happy, sore muscles and all.

  “It’s your turn,” I reminded him, “to tell me the story of your life.”

  “Not now.” His voice seemed to come from far away. “I can’t even remember where I was born.”

  “It’s probably the altitude. I’ve felt a little strange myself,” I confessed.

  “Weak in the knees and out of breath?” he asked.

  “You too?” I asked.

  He nodded. “Especially when I’m coming down a slope at fifty miles an hour.”

  I laughed. Suddenly, he let go of my hand. I sat up quickly and saw Phyllis and Roger coming toward us, giving each other I-told-you-so looks.

  “So here you are.” There was a note of triumph in my sister’s voice.

  “Just waiting for you,” Brandon said smoothly. “We thought you’d never get here.” He drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. Phyllis’s face fell. I was proud of Brandon for playing the game so well.