Fatty Patty (A James Bay Novel) (14 page)

“In fact, I’ll bet you would have been a troop leader,” he says, his voice low and husky. “Or risen to the top of the organization.”

I close my eyes, breathing hard. Every part of me urges me to push him away before things go further. This is all wrong. I’m supposed to be playing matchmaker. What about Priscilla?

“Patty Perreault, President of the Girl Scouts of America.” His breath is soft and warm against my ear.

“I would have made a terrible Girl Scout,” I whisper. “Afraid of the dark, afraid of the basement, afraid of the furnace, afraid of mice…”

“You need to get your mind off that mouse.” His face nuzzles my own. “And I know just the thing to do it.”

What makes Sam think he knows what I need? “I don’t—”

“You need to be kissed.”

The hard press of his mouth on my own pushes away any further thought. My body goes limp as I surrender to the sweet taste of his lips on mine, the softness of his tongue touching my own. I lean in closer, every instinct urging me on, relishing the headiness of being in his arms.

And suddenly I have the answer to the question that’s been plaguing me for weeks.

Moustaches do tickle!

My giggles erupt right through his kiss.

“Sorry.” He stiffens and drops his hold. “I didn’t mean to get carried away.”

I stagger backwards, knock into the furnace. I can barely breathe.

“Patty?” Priscilla’s voice wavers from the top of the basement steps. “Sam? Is everything all right?”

Yes! No! How do I know? The world’s tipped crazily out of control. One minute he’s kissing me and the next he’s not. Sam Curtis kissed me, and I kissed him right back. Even worse, I enjoyed every second! Where did he learn to kiss like that?

More important, why did he stop?

“Patty? Do you want me to come down there?”

“Everything’s fine. We’ll be right up.” I hesitate, throw him a glance. He’s crouched low before the furnace, on his hands and knees, his back to me. “Sam?”

No answer. What did I do? Why is he mad? Why did he pull away?

“Sam? Is something wrong?”

“Afraid so.” He clears his throat and labors to a stand, still with his back to me. “The furnace definitely needs to be replaced. You’ll want to get that done before winter.”

I feel like I’ve just been doused with a bucket of cold water. Who gives a rip about a stupid old furnace? What about that kiss? Doesn’t he want to talk about that?

Doesn’t he want to kiss me again?

Sam stoops to retrieve the flashlight from the cold basement floor, then turns to face me. His face is flushed and his forehead dotted with beads of sweat. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he looks exactly like one of my fifth-grade boys deep in the throes of a first crush. All the signs are there. But I must be crazy. Sam’s not a kid. He is a man. A man who definitely knows how to kiss. For one wild moment, I dissolve into the memory of his mouth hard against mine. How could I think that kiss was a mistake?

Sam’s a man with a big heart.

And an even bigger stomach.

How could I think that kiss
wasn’t
a mistake?

He labors to catch his breath. “Look, Patty, about what just happened. I won’t lie to you. I’ve been wanting to tell you—”

I turn away before he can say it. I hate myself for feeling so heartless and cruel. I know what he’s going to say and I don’t want to hear it. I know how it feels being judged on how you look. I’m overweight. I know what he’s going through. And Sam is so sweet. He doesn’t deserve this. But I can’t put myself through it… I just can’t…

“I think I hear Priscilla again.”

He reaches out, his hand grazes my own. “Patty, I—”

I skitter away from his touch. “We’re finished here, right? You saw everything you needed to see?”

“Yes, I think I got the picture. Loud and clear.” His voice hangs low with disappointment.

I scoot up the narrow steps. Who cares if I break my neck? Better than breaking his heart. I always knew the basement was dangerous and now I have proof. My lips still tingle from the sweet taste of his mouth on mine and the soft prickle of his moustache nuzzling my neck. Sam might be interested in me, but I need to get that idea out of his head. Our relationship needs to remain purely professional. No matter how he feels.

No matter how I feel.

Priscilla waits at the top of the stairs. Sam hands her the flashlight.

“Thank you, Sam. You were so sweet to help. I know how much Patty hates the basement.”

I swipe the dust from my clothes and hair, keep my gaze from straying near Sam. I can’t stand to see the hurt on his face. Especially since I’m the one who put it there.

He clears his throat. “It’s getting late. I should go.”

“You will come back, won’t you?” Priscilla hands him his coat. “Come for dinner. Next time, no tuna, I promise. What’s your favorite dish?”

For God’s sake, why doesn’t she shut up? I’m sure Sam wants to get out of this house as much as I want him gone. How could I have embarrassed him like that?

“My favorite food? I guess that would be lasagna.”

Priscilla beams. “How does next Friday sound?”

“Like an invitation I can’t resist.”

I glare at my twin. She has no business issuing invitations without asking me. This is my house, too. I clear my throat but Priscilla doesn’t seem to notice. She’s too busy hanging on Sam’s every word.

I trail after Sam as he heads to the door. Priscilla says her good-byes and slips into the kitchen. Thinking to play matchmaker, no doubt. Eager to leave us alone. Some fine sister she turned out to be. Just wait till I get my hands on her. I’ll wring that pretty little neck.

I lean against the door as he shrugs into his coat. “Looks like you impressed Priscilla.”

He stares at me a long moment. “But not you, right?”

“What do you mean?” I eye him warily.

“I know her invitation for next Friday put you on the spot.” He never looks away. “Just say the word and I’ll make up some excuse and un-invite myself. There’s no need for her to know the truth.”

I feel the color shoot up my cheeks. Are my feelings that obvious? “No, of course you have to come. Priscilla invited you. She’s probably in the kitchen right now, hunting up Mama’s recipe for lasagna. If you don’t show up, she’ll be very disappointed.”

“But what about you? I know when I’m not wanted.” He shifts on his feet, stares up at the ceiling, then finally back at me. “Look, Patty, I thought we were friends. In fact, I hoped we were more than friends. Maybe I got my signals mixed up. Maybe I was wrong.” His mouth twists in a grim line. “The last thing I want to do is make you uncomfortable. So, unless you tell me different, next Friday is out.”

How can I not like this guy? He hasn’t done anything wrong… he’s done everything right. Including—especially including— the way he kisses.

But that kiss needs to stay in the past. Sam and I can never be more than friends.

Then again, what would it hurt, having him over for dinner again? Everyone needs to eat.

“You’d better show up next Friday,” I threaten. “Do you want me to be stuck eating leftover lasagna for a week?”

His eyes narrow. “You sure?”

I nod before the quick glimmer of hope leaping in his eyes makes me change my mind. Sam’s much too trusting. God help me, what am I going to do?

He steps out the door onto the porch, then turns. “Just one more thing.”

I grip the door, clench my teeth. I’m doing my best to forget that kiss. Why can’t he?

“About that guy—that new teacher you introduced me to... Nick?”

I feel the nerves bunch between my shoulder blades. “What about him?”

“You said this was his first year teaching?”

“That’s right. Why?”

He shrugs. “Just seems odd. I mean, it’s not like the guy’s right out of college.”

“Lots of people start different careers midstream.” Not that it’s any of Sam’s business how old Nick is, or what he’s done in the past.

“I don’t know. There’s just something about him…” He shakes his head. “I think I’ve seen him before.”

“I doubt that.” I feel a stony look settling on my face. “Nick just moved to town.”

“It’ll come to me eventually.”

“Fine. Be sure and let me know when it does. Good night.” I shut the door on him without another word. Who does he think he is, interrogating me about Nick, making insinuations? What gives him the right?

Jealousy, that’s what. Well, too bad for Sam. He’ll just have to deal with it.

I throw the lock and deadbolt and turn, only to find Priscilla waiting.

“Sam seems very nice.” She stifles a yawn from her seat on the staircase and stands with a tired smile. “I’m so glad you invited him tonight.”

“And I can’t believe you invited him over again. Why didn’t you ask me first?”

“But I thought you liked him. The two of you are perfect for each other.”

“You can get that thought right out of your head, Priscilla Perreault. I have absolutely no romantic interest in Sam. Period. Do you hear me? Don’t encourage him. If you keep inviting him to dinner, he’ll get the wrong idea. And as for making lasagna? Do you realize how fattening Italian food is? The last thing he needs to be eating is lasagna. In case you haven’t noticed, Sam has a weight problem.”

Priscilla’s face quiets. “Yes, I noticed, but that doesn’t mean I can’t help. And for your information, I’ve been researching fat-free recipes. I found one for lasagna just the other day and I hope he likes it. But even if he doesn’t, I bet we’ll never know. Sam doesn’t strike me as the type to complain. In case you haven’t noticed, Sam has beautiful manners.”

She’s right, I grudgingly admit to myself, remembering my conversation with him at the door moments earlier. He was only thinking of me when he volunteered to back out of Priscilla’s offer. Maybe I should take him up on it. Call him in a day or two, tell him not to bother. No lasagna, no Sam Curtis.

The less I see of that man and his moustache, the better off we’ll all be.

“I’m going to bed.” Priscilla’s yawn finally breaks through. “Will you turn off the lights?”

“Don’t I always?”

“Sweet dreams, Patty.”

“Sweet dreams to you, too.” I watch as she disappears up the stairs. Priscilla doesn’t fool me one bit. If she thinks she’s going to play matchmaker, she’s got another think coming. Sam Curtis means nothing to me. I’ve got enough problems. I can’t afford a fat boyfriend. No matter how I feel, Sam can never be anything more than our accountant.
Never
.

I move through the house, switching off lights, checking doors. Eventually I end up in the kitchen. One dim light remains, over the stove. I reach for it, then hesitate.

All alone. No lights. No camera. No audience.

And ice cream in the freezer.

I snap off the stove light and seal myself off in the darkness. I yank open the freezer door and scan the shelves, bypass the frozen vegetables and carefully labeled meats. Priscilla offered Sam ice cream for dessert. It’s in here somewhere and I’m going to find it. I haven’t had ice cream in ages. Finally I spot a colorful cardboard container hidden behind the Brussels sprouts and say a silent prayer that it’s butter pecan, one of my favorites. Or better yet, chocolate fudge ripple.

I haul out the frozen container. Vanilla? Priscilla bought vanilla? Not even a rich fancy French vanilla, but some cheap store-brand substitute. My stomach growls with disappointment, but it’s not enough to wipe away the craving.

Or my determination to indulge in one final treat.

I juggle the carton in my hand. Should I? Shouldn’t I? I haven’t lost a pound in days but I haven’t gained weight, either. Plus it’s only ice cream. No big deal. Ice cream is just ice cream. Just like men. All alike, all the same.

But that’s not true. Some men are plain vanilla, while others tempt your taste buds like chocolate fudge ripple. Rich, delectable, desirable…

I rip off the lid, grab a spoon, and dig in.

CHAPTER NINE

“I hear Amy’s chocolate cheesecake is to die for.” Ruth sinks into the chair across from me, samples a tiny bite, closes her eyes and smiles. “Delicious. Have you tried it?”

“No thanks.” I keep my head down, keep my mouth shut, try to focus on the stack of math tests I’m grading. Bad enough I’ve been forced out of my classroom and into the teacher’s lounge instead of being at my desk while the music teacher and her traveling piano take over my room to teach my kids. It doesn’t seem fair I have to suffer through tempting desserts, too.

Maybe I should just forget all about that stupid contest and trying to win votes. The contest hasn’t even opened for nominations yet. And what makes me think I’m a shoo-in to be nominated again this year? Maybe I’m not.

And if not, the first thing I’m going to do is tell Amy exactly what I think… that she should keep her fattening leftovers at her own house where they belong.

Ruth scrapes her fork against the plate. “What’s wrong, Patty? Bad day?”

“More like
bad teacher
.” Even if by some miracle I do get nominated for the contest, I don’t deserve the award. The Teacher of the Year would never mess up like this. I throw down my red pen, shake my head. “I don’t get it, Ruth. I must have missed something when I was teaching the lesson. Not one of these kids earned a passing grade on this math test.” I thought the class understood while I took them through the material. How could I have done such a poor job? Maybe I should just give up right now… quit teaching, get myself a job at a fast food restaurant. No more responsibilities, no more being polite to Amy. No more answering to the school board, running defense against the parents, running offense for the kids. Just me and the deep fryer. Plus all the French fries I can eat.

“Everyone has bad days. Don’t get discouraged.” Ruth pushes her plate aside. “Tell me what I can do to help.”

Stuff the ballot box?

“I’ll get through it.”

Her eyes soften. “Everything okay at home?”

“Sure. Never better.” Ruth’s a great friend, but my money problems aren’t her concern.

“How’s Priscilla?”