Blind Date Disasters & Eat Your Heart Out (3 page)

Redecorating Dimi's kitchen studio for her cooking show would be nothing short of huge. “Really?”

“Really.” She grunted when Cami threw her self at her and hugged her hard. “Jeez, wait till you get the job.”

“Thank you!”

“Yeah.” Dimi disentangled herself and headed toward the door.

“Wait. You've got my lipstick.”

“You owe me. Hey, want to double date with me this weekend? The guy I met at the doughnut shop has a brother who needs a date.”

“I already agreed to go out with Great-Aunt Lulu's cousin's brother-in-law.”

“Mom caught you, huh?” Dimi looked superior, and not just because she was wearing a great-
looking suit while Cami had managed stained slacks and a wrinkled blouse.

“How many times do I have to tell you, screen your calls.”

“He doesn't sound that awful,” Cami said in her defense. “He's got all his hair.”

Dimi slanted her a look of sheer pity. “Have we forgotten who's setting you up? Mom has a terrible track record. You know this.”

“It's not that bad.”

“No? Remember Ed? He had all his hair, too.”

Unfortunately most of that hair hadn't been on his head. The guy had been a virtual gorilla. Remembering that, and all her other recent pathetic dates, Cami sunk to her bed, mystified. “What do you think is wrong with us?”

“Nothing's wrong with me. But you? You're a case.”

“Thanks.”

Dimi pointed to the living room. “What about pretty boy? Why don't you go out with him?”

Humiliating as it was, Cami always told Dimi the truth, even when her sister didn't want to hear it. Like that time Dimi had gone out with a resident doctor and had come home dancing on air, baffled because her “perfect” date hadn't kissed her at the door.

Cami had been the one to break the news—the large piece of spinach stuck between Dimi's two front teeth, the result of the lovely Italian dish they'd had two hours earlier.

Dimi, queen of hygiene, had nearly died.

“What happened?” Dimi asked, already sensing something good. “Don't even say nothing.
Something
is all over your face.”

“All right, fine. You want the horrifying scoop. I answered the door naked and pretty boy, as you call him didn't even notice.”

“Didn't notice, or was being polite?”

“Dimi, I was
naked.
There's no polite when you're naked.”

Dimi considered. “Define naked.”

“I had a blanket, but it kept slipping.”

Her twin shook her head. “Why are all the cute ones gay?”

“I don't know,” Cami answered, miserable at the thought of all that magnificent maleness going to waste. “So I have to take the blind date. I have no other prospects in sight. None.”

“Don't do it, Cam. Refuse. All you ever do these days is go on blind dates. You're just sabotaging yourself. Setting yourself up for failure.”

“Am not.”

“Are, too. You have this fear of commitment.”

“Funny, last time I looked, you were a food-show host on cable television, not a damn psychiatrist.”

“Your fear is fueled by Dad's seven marriages and Mom's inability to find a man for herself,” Dimi continued. “Everyone knows this but you. Just give up on the blind dates, okay?”

“You're the one who just asked me to go on another one with your friend's brother!”

“That was for me, not you. Now face these stupid fears and find your own man.”

“Spoken by the goddess of love, who herself hasn't had a decent boyfriend in two years.”

“One,”
Dimi said, miffed. “And I don't have your fears. I just haven't found Mr. Right yet.”

“I don't have any damn fears!”

“Really? Then why are you always agreeing to go out with these guys, none of whom ever work out because they're from some other planet entirely?”

Because she really was pathetic. But she couldn't maintain any sort of self-righteous anger because she did have fears. Big time. “This is the last one.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Really.”

“Just call Mom and cancel.”

“Hell, no. I value my life, thank you very much.”

“Fine,” Dimi said, disgusted. “Suit yourself. But if he has buck teeth and a bad toupee, not to mention breath from the sewer plant, don't blame me.”

“Fine.”

“Fine! And stop stealing my lipstick.”

“It's my lipstick,” she called, but it was too late, Dimi had slammed the bedroom door.

“Love is the pits,” she muttered, and slipped her foot into her shoe, too late remembering Annabel's “present” until it squished between her toes.

T
HEY SIGNED
the contract, and because Tanner had reservations about his new client's mental capacity, he got a good chunk of his fee up front. He agreed to remodel in three shifts. First, the back half of the town house, consisting of the master bedroom and bathroom and the small spare bedroom.

Next, they'd do the living room, kitchen and second small bathroom. And finally, the back deck, which overlooked the lake. Old, rotting and rickety, the entire wooden structure needed to be redone before his client could get any serious sunbathing in without being terrified.

He figured she loved sunbathing. With her sexy body and come-hither looks, he imagined her in a red bikini. A skimpy, red bikini, one that was going to be the dominant feature in his sexual fantasies for the rest of the day.

Renovating the entire town house was slated to take approximately one and a half months, the
first phase two weeks of that time. This meant, of course, that Tanner's new client was going to be sleeping on the couch for the foreseeable future.

She'd claimed not to mind that, or living in a construction zone, but he was sure she didn't have the slightest clue as to what she was getting herself into.

He'd found most people didn't, even the ones in the profession, as Cami now was. They simply wanted the work done. Yesterday. Which is why he often encouraged his clients to vacate for the duration, but Cami refused to go anywhere. She wanted to be involved, she'd said, each step of the way.

Oh, joy.

So at six o'clock on Thursday morning he let himself in with some trepidation, followed by a demo crew of four laborers. After all, he knew firsthand she wasn't exactly a morning person. “Let me make sure the back half is clear,” he told his guys, leaving the mostly Spanish-speaking workers in the kitchen while he made his way down the hall.

As promised, Cami had boxed up the things in her bedroom and master bath and moved them out, except for the heaviest pieces of furniture, which he'd told her he would tarp and work
around. He had no idea where she was. Maybe she'd heeded his advice and left, though he didn't really care. He wanted to start. Calling his workers, he did just that.

The noise was extensive as they stripped the walls down to the studs. But Cami had supposedly forewarned her neighbors, and since no one came to complain or arrest him, Tanner and his crew kept at it.

Working again, with the weight of his tools in his hands, the plans in his head, felt incredibly good. He'd been out of it for too long. Not that Tanner regretted taking the time off—nearly a year—to care for his father after his stroke. He didn't regret a moment of it. But he'd missed this.

That his father had improved enough to allow Tanner to resume his life was a huge relief. His checkbook was grateful, too, as were his mind and body. As much as he loved his father, he needed this.

Two hours into the demo, he headed into the kitchen for some desperately needed water. Leaning against the counter, he tipped back his water jug and spotted the client's cat sitting near his box of tools.

“Hello, kitty,” he said, squatting to hold out a hand. Cami had told him Annabel hated everyone
equally, except for her, of course, but the cat didn't look as if she hated him. Sniffing his fingers, she preened a bit and then started to purr.

That was when he caught sight of the mess at her feet. The mess that looked suspiciously like a chewed pouch.
His
chewed pouch.

“Hey.” Tanner glared at Annabel, who sat on her haunches and appeared to smile at him. There was a piece of leather hung up on her front tooth.
Expensive
leather.

She'd eaten one of his pouches from his tool belt. “Foul play, cat.”

Before he could do anything about it, the back door opened and Cami raced in. She wore a harassed, harried look. Not even glancing his way, she pushed past him and down the hallway toward the bedroom.

Her nearly demolished bedroom.

“Wait—”

But she was gone, her heels clicking on the wood, her voice chanting softly, “I'm late, I'm late, I'm late for a very important date. Need a rose lipstick, dammit.”

Definitely, she was a little off, but he followed her anyway. “We've done the demo—”

“Ack!” She came to a skidding halt and smacked her forehead. “I forgot!” With that, she
reversed her steps, rushed past him and out the kitchen door.

Without a word to him.

He shut the door behind her. “Nice owner you've got there,” he told Annabel, who'd stretched out lazily by his lunch box. “Real friendly.”

“Mew.”

“Oh, stop nuzzling my lunch box. I don't feed cats who eat expensive pouches.”

Insulted, she lifted her chin and ignored him.

Amused at himself for talking to a damn cat, and also for agreeing to work for a crazy lady, he strode out of the kitchen, intending to get back to work.

Annabel followed him, winding her way between his legs as he walked, tripping him in the hallway. “Go back,” he told her. “No cats in the work zone.”

Obviously not caring about the sacred work zone, the cat licked her chops and sat in the doorway of the destroyed bedroom.

“You can't stay,” he told her. “You'll get dusty.”

Annabel yawned, turned in a circle and lay down.

Sighing, a complete sucker for animals—even
ones who destroyed perfectly good leather pouches—Tanner went into the one good bathroom, grabbed a towel and set it on the floor. “There.”

As if it were her due, Annabel settled on it and proceeded to bathe herself.

Tanner went back to work.

Fifteen minutes later came a very loud, very outraged, very female screech.

Tanner ran out of the bedroom and tripped over Annabel.
Again.
“Dammit,” he said to her irritated growl. “I told you that was a bad spot.” He raced into the living room. Empty.

Kitchen was empty, too.

The screech came again, and just as he turned toward the bathroom door, it slammed closed in his face.

“I'm naked!” came Cami's annoyed voice.

Okaaaay.
He took a firm step away from the bathroom door and waved his curious workers to the bedroom. He'd seen a naked client once. Or clients, rather, as they'd been married and had been knocking it out in their linen closet when he'd inadvertently interrupted them. They'd been sixty-five, wrinkled and whiter than white, and he still had nightmares about it.

That Cami was alone—he hoped—and was
twenty-something, heart-stoppingly beautiful and had no obvious wrinkles didn't make him feel any better.

He didn't like naked clients.

“Where's my towel!”

Tanner looked at Annabel, who apparently lay on the towel in question. She yawned so widely he was certain her head was going to turn inside out.

“I said, I'm naked and I don't have a towel and I just got out of the shower!”

Tanner's vivid imagination went to town. He had no trouble picturing Cami on the other side of the closed door, wet and shiny and maybe a little chilly…hmm, maybe he could revise that no-naked-clients policy thing.

“Who stole my towel?”

Oh. Oh, yeah, the towel.
Guiltily, Tanner kneeled by Annabel. The towel she lay on had been a lovely deep forest green, before he'd set it on the dusty floor and before she'd added myriad red, white and black cat hairs to it.

“Uh, Cami?” he said, eyeing the sleepy cat. “I appear to have your towel.”

“You— Why?”

“It's a bit complicated. Is there another somewhere?”

“Sure. Shoved into boxes!”

“How do you feel about air drying?”

There came a thunk, the distinct sound of her head hitting the door. “Can't we renegotiate this whole morning thing?” came the muffled plea. “Like noon. Let's start work at noon.”

“We'd never finish. And anyway, you were already up and dressed, moaning about your rose lipstick and being late. Why would you take a shower now?”

“Dammit, it's
my
lipstick!” she muttered. “Oh, never mind, just shove the towel in when I open the door. And keep your eyes closed!”

The door creaked open, and Tanner stuffed a corner of the towel in. “Really,” he said to the crack in the door. ‘Trust me, you're not going to want to use that—”

“Your eyes are open!”

“Well, yeah. I'm just trying to—” But he stopped, because one, he'd just gotten a peek of what it was she didn't want him to see, and oh man, she was better than his most wild fantasy.

And two, she'd slammed the door again, missing his nose by a millimeter.

“Go away,” she demanded.

Gladly. Because while she had a bod that could make a grown man drool, she was still a loon.

 

C
AMI HAD DONE
some interior-design jobs in college and also part-time work for other designers in the area. Being so close to Tahoe and the pocket of incredibly wealthy people who lived there, she'd had plenty of experience. It was fascinating, satisfying, glorious work.

Unless one was trying to drum up that work solo.

The day after the towel incident, which also happened to be blind date night, thanks to Mom, Cami gathered her briefcase and files and sat at the kitchen table, intending to call her two prospective clients.

The table was covered with plans for her own town house remodel, though, and was a cluttered mess. Not too picky, she glanced at the floor, but it had tools scattered from here to there.

The living room wasn't in much better shape, as she was sleeping in it. “Note to self,” she muttered. “Clean house before blind date.”

The only usable area in the entire place was the hallway outside the one good bathroom. Dragging her phone—with a thankfully long cord—her laptop and her paperwork, she made herself at home right there on the floor.

She was counting on work to help keep her mind off her troubles, such as why she couldn't
get her checkbook to balance or why she'd spent so much money at Amazon last month.

Or why she'd agreed to go out tonight.

And lastly, as a bonus, she could now obsess over the fact that her master carpenter had seen her naked as a jaybird.

Definitely not gay,
she thought with a twist of her mouth. She'd have to tell Dimi. Tanner's eyes had nearly popped out, and that hadn't been the only thing.

But if he wasn't gay, and the sight of her naked body had created some…tension, which it definitely had, then why didn't he seem interested?

Not that
she
was interested. Nope. He was too know-it-all, too tell-it-like-it-is. Too calm, cool and collected.

Too…well, perfect.

Besides, other than the towel thing, he still hadn't noticed her as a woman. The unexpected blow to her ego reinforced her pathetic need for this date tonight. Sad as it was, she needed the affirmation that someone, anyone, as long as he was male, could be attracted to her.

Needing the distraction, she picked up the receiver, prepared to make her first business call, then caught sight of her contractor at the other end of the hall. He had his portable CD player
tuned into some very loud rock music, but that wasn't what caught her attention.

He was on his hands and knees, facing away from her. His work boots were scuffed and broken in. So were his jeans and T-shirt. He had a great set of legs, long and powerful, flexing and straining against the denim. He had a great spine, too, and arms that made her want to sigh. Still, it was his butt that really caught her attention.

Her fingers actually itched to grab it.

Pathetic, staring at her contractor's behind, as if she were a sex-starved woman.

She
was
a sex-starved woman.

Damn, he was distracting. Just as he caught a glimpse of her, she dropped her gaze and concentrated on her phone. Wouldn't do to be caught gawking.

“That's not a great spot to be working,” he said, coming up on his knees. The front of his blue T-shirt strained across his broad chest and flat belly. She wondered if he ever got too hot and took off his shirt.

“I don't have a choice,” she said coolly. “I have a lot to get done before tonight.”

“Tonight?”

She hadn't meant to say anything about her upcoming date, but if he worked late, as he had last
night, then he'd find out soon enough, anyway. “I have a date.”

“Ah.”

The way his light brown eyes lit up with humor had her frowning. “What's so funny about a blind date?”

“A
blind
date.” Now his smirk of amusement turned into a full-blown grin. “What's the matter with you that you have to go out on a blind date?”

“Well…” Why did he always put her on the defensive? “Nothing's the matter with me.”

“It's probably your lack of a sense of humor,” he decided.

“I have a great sense of humor!”

“Uh-huh.”

“I was the class clown in high school,” she informed him loftily, and his grin widened.

“Who set you up?”

“My mother,” she admitted, and when he laughed out loud, she said through her teeth, “It's a favor.”

“So you don't really want to go?”

“Not really.”

“Then cancel,” he said with a shrug.

Spoken like a man. A confident man who didn't give a rat's pattoodie about what his mother
thought. “You don't know my mother,” she said. Then, unable to help her own curiosity, she asked, “Are you telling me you've never been on a blind date?”

“I'm telling you I've never done anything I don't want to do.”

Oh. Well, fine. He was strong-willed and strong-minded. Admirable traits, she supposed. Just not when compared to herself. “Not even for your mother?”

Only his eyes gave away a flicker of sadness. “My mother died when I was ten.”