The Perfect Couple
Autore
Maura Seger
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Chapter 1
Her pillow was wet. Half waking, Brenna O’Hare turned over. Her cheek brushed the damp percale. She made a soft sound of distress that stripped away the last fog of sleep.
Fully awake now, she lay for a few moments on her side, staring at the empty stretch of bed beside her. The bedspread was still tucked up, the pillows still in place. She’d opened only one side of the bed and crept into it as though trying to cocoon herself.
It hadn’t worked. She felt more tired than ever. Her whole body ached, the muscles cramped and tense. But her mind was painfully alert. Fragments of her dreams darted through it. So many dreams, so endless and all the same.
With a sigh, she pushed back the covers and stood up. The floor was cold. In the gray light before dawn, she could see ice along the edges of the windowpanes. That was unusual in late April. Even in Alaska, it was spring. Frosts were certainly possible but this looked like more than that.
Brenna drew aside the curtain and peered out. Her sapphire blue eyes widened. Night had transformed the landscape beyond her small house and everything—absolutely everything—was sheathed in ice. Sunlight danced diamond bright off every tree branch, every blade of grass, her neighbor’s truck parked in his driveway across the street, the low stone wall at the far edge of her lawn, everything. The ordinary world had become a wonderland.
Letting the curtain drop, she went into the bathroom and flicked the light switch. When nothing happened, she wasn’t surprised. Ice storms like this one commonly brought down power lines. Shivering, she reached for her robe. The furnace would also be out. Time to stoke up the woodstove.
Getting the house warm again and getting a hot cup of tea into herself distracted Brenna for a while. But she couldn’t keep her thoughts at bay indefinitely. Work would have helped but she had no classes on Saturday and besides, the roads would be a mess. Maybe later, she could go into the lab, get ahead on some of the research paperwork, but for the moment she was stuck.
She went back upstairs, pulled on jeans, a turtleneck and a sweater, and ran a brush through her shoulder-length brown hair. She couldn’t remember the last time her hair had been this long—high school, maybe. She would have had it cut weeks ago but Shane liked it long.
Brenna flinched. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, saw the pain in her eyes, and put the brush down quickly. Asleep, she had no control over her dreams. But she was awake now and she damn well wasn’t going to think about him.
There was plenty else she wasn’t going to do, either. With the power out, she couldn’t use her computer, watch a video or run the vacuum. But she could cook, thanks to the gas stove.
Fine, good that was what she would do. She didn’t cook often but when she did she enjoyed it. Besides, there was stuff in the fridge she should use on the chance the power stayed out for a while.
She had the meat browning and was just adding a hefty dose of chili powder when she realized she’d goofed. Chili. They’d had chili that first night at Carol and Bob Anderson’s. That night two months before when she’d given in to Carol’s entreaties and agreed to meet the Mr. Perfect her friend was determined to fix her up with. Shane Dutton. Bob’s friend and boss. The guy she absolutely, positively had to meet.
And so she had...
“I’m telling you,” Carol Anderson said as she stacked petri dishes in the supply cabinet. “If you don’t meet this guy, you are going to regret it for the rest of your life.”
“I don’t see how,” Brenna replied. She switched the light off on the microscope she’d been using and slipped the plastic cover back over it. “If I never meet him, I’ll never know what I missed, so how could I regret it?” She grinned.
“Because I’ll tell you. When he gets married and makes his wife ecstatically happy, I’ll make sure you hear about it. When they have their 2.4 beautiful children, you’ll know. When they buy that great house in the suburbs, I’ll—”
“What do you mean 2.4 kids?” Brenna interrupted. “Does anyone actually think about that? Some poor woman walks around pregnant with .4 kid for the rest of her life?”
“It’s an average, for crying out loud, and don’t try to change the subject. I am so sure about Shane Dutton being the man for you, I’m willing to break my lifetime rule about never fixing up friends.”
Brenna turned all the way around on her stool and looked straight at the other woman. “You? Never fix up? You?”
Carol colored slightly. “Well, okay, there were those one or two times but they didn’t actually count—”
“Because they flopped so spectacularly? Let’s see, there was Kathy and what’s-his-name, Dan? Don? That was, what, three years ago? She swore off men forever.”
“She’s married now.”
“But not to Dan-Don. Then there was Sheila and that guy from Maine. Didn’t she say something about entering a nunnery?”
“But she didn’t actually.”
“What about Barb and that Russian you thought was so terrific?”
“It was a cultural misunderstanding.”
“So now it’s my turn?” Brenna shook her head. “No, thanks. I’m very happy with just me and my plankton. They don’t want to be mothered, they have no gender identification issues and they’re not afraid to commit.”
“They’re fish food,” Carol said. “You’re having a relationship with fish food. Can I tell you how pathetic that is?”
Brenna sighed. She and Carol had been friends for over ten years, ever since high school. That they’d both ended up in Alaska was one of those weird coincidences life dished out.
Four years before, Carol married Bob Anderson. They were very happy together. Brenna, who had been maid of honor at their wedding, was very happy for them. She just didn’t understand why Carol had developed this horrible need to fix up all her friends.
“Have you thought about having a kid?” Brenna asked.
Carol’s eyes widened. “A kid? What makes you ask that?”
“I don’t know, I just thought maybe if I could refocus your attention away from me and all your single friends, I’d have done humanity a great service. Besides,” she added, “you’d make a great mom.”
“As opposed to a lousy fixer-upper?”
“You said it, not me.”
“Well, I am going to prove you wrong. You and Shane Dutton are absolutely perfect for each other and—”
Brenna sighed. “Why do I get the feeling you’re not giving up on this?”
“Because I’m not. Not for nothing is my middle name Relentless.”
“Your middle name is Patricia. My middle name is Relentless. At least that was the joke in high school,” Brenna reminded Carol.
“Because you were the only one of us who actually knew what you wanted to do with your life and didn’t let anything distract you. To tell you the truth, I wish I’d been that way.”
“You’ve got a good job, a loving husband and friends who think so highly of you they’re willing to let you fix them up. What more can you ask?”
“I’ve got a decent job,” Carol corrected. “And don’t get me wrong, I’m glad to have it. But you’ve got a career, something you really care about.”
“I gave up a lot to get it,” Brenna reminded her gently. In high school and college, and all the way through grad school, she’d barely dated. Except for a brief engagement several years before, her life had been given over to her fascination with marine biology. She didn’t regret it for a moment but—
“He’s really that great?” she asked.
Carol nodded. “The best, except for Bob, of course, and to tell you the truth—”
“Carol!”
“I’m kidding, honest. I’m crazy about Bob. He’s exactly what I wanted but...” She hesitated. “Let’s just say Shane Dutton’s in a different category.”
Brenna’s eyes narrowed. “What does that mean?”
“Just what I said. He’s different.”
“A minute ago he was great.”
“Different can be great. You’ve never been afraid to be different, have you? And that’s one of the reasons I think you’ll be so good for each other. You’re both intelligent, strong-willed risk takers, people who see what they want and go out and get it, and—”
“I wouldn’t describe myself as a risk taker.”
“You go swimming with sharks for fun. What would you call that, Miss Shrinking Violet?”
“Sharks are very misunderstood. There’s actually no danger. Well, minimal danger but—”
Carol held up a hand. “You can tell us all about it at dinner tonight. I’m sure Shane will be fascinated.”
“Tonight? Wait a minute, this isn’t much notice. I had plans for tonight. I was going to—”
“Wash your hair? Clean out the refrigerator? Clip your cat’s nails?”
“You know I don’t have a cat, but I do have to—”
“If I’d given you more notice, you’d just have come up with some excuse. Be there are 8:00 p.m.” At the lab door, Carol turned back and grinned. “Oh, and wear something sexy. If you don’t, you’ll hate yourself.”
“I will not,” Brenna called after her. “Besides, I don’t own anything sexy. I—”
Carol was gone and Brenna was left alone to contemplate the gaps in her wardrobe and the craziness of what she’d just done.
Brenna was still thinking about the craziness when she pulled up in front of Carol and Bob’s house. There was a pickup in the driveway. It looked to be a couple of years old and had a few dents in it.
At least that was a good sign. Getting out, she smoothed the skirt of her dress self-consciously, wondered for the hundredth time why she’d worn it, and walked up the path to the front door.
Carol opened the door before she could ring. “He’s here. Quick, give me your coat. You look great. Oh, my God, you really do. I thought you said you didn’t have—”
“It’s nothing. It was in the back of my closet. I don’t think I’ve ever worn it before.”
Carol ran her eyes down the very plain, very simple, very unadorned, but absolutely devastating blue silk dress Brenna was more or less wearing. Less would probably have been more accurate. Taking advantage of the fact that Alaska was having a relatively warm and snow free January—as opposed to the lower forty-eight where one blizzard seemed to follow another—Brenna had opted for a dress that otherwise wouldn’t have seen the outside of the closet until May. If then. If ever.
Catching a glimpse of herself in the hall mirror, Brenna took a quick step back. What had she been thinking? That leggy brunette poured into a skimpy little dress that left virtually nothing to the imagination wasn’t her.
She was jeans and cotton shirts, plaid nightshirts and extra thick socks. She was sane, sensible Brenna O’Hare, marine biologist, shark swimmer, friend to plankton. The woman in the mirror was—false advertising.
“I’ve got a change of clothes in the Jeep,” she said and made a quick pivot on her heel.
“You don’t need them.”
Funny how she’d never noticed that Carol had quite a grip. It was applied now to Brenna’s arm. Short of knocking the woman cold, she wasn’t getting loose.
“Bob, Brenna’s here.”
And that was that. First, Bob poked his head out of the living room, saw her, blinked real hard and grinned. “Uh, hi, Brenna. Nice dress.”
He said something else, too. At least his mouth kept moving. Brenna didn’t hear him. Because right behind good old Bob came...
Mr. Perfect.
All six feet plus, thick blond hair, shoulders out to here, chiseled features of him. Shane drop-deadgorgeous Dutton, in the flesh.
“How do you do?” Brenna said.
“Nice to meet you,” he said.
Bob and Carol exchanged a meaningful glance and beamed at them both.
They had chili. At least, Brenna remembered that much. She even ate some of it. Bob made very good chili. They talked about work. Bob was a pilot for the airline Shane owned.
“Just a small fleet” Shane said. The man was nothing if not modest. “Freight stuff, mostly, although we do some passenger runs.”
“What did you do before this?” Brenna asked.
“I was in the navy,” Mr. Perfect said.
“Shane was a chopper pilot,” Bob corrected. “He flew in the Gulf War.”
Shane looked uncomfortable. “Lots of guys did that.”
“He won—”
“Never mind,” Shane interrupted. “It was actually pretty boring. A lot of waiting around. Carol tells me you’re a marine biologist.”
A man who wanted to talk about her work instead of his own? It was true then—if you lived long enough, you could run into anything.
“I study plankton,” she said. That ought to stop him dead.
“Zoo or phylo?”
Oh, great. Looks and a brain. Who said life was fair?
“Zoo.”
“And she loves sharks,” Carol chimed in.
Shane Dutton’s perfectly sculpted eyebrows rose slightly. His perfectly shaped mouth lifted at the corners. His perfectly fascinating hazel eyes gleamed with what looked like just the perfectly measured degree of amusement. “Ever swim with them?”
“Have you?” Carol asked him.
“Just once off Barbados. It was a great experience. I—”
“I just knew it,” Carol announced and got up to get dessert.
“Knew what?” Shane asked when Bob had muttered something about helping her and disappeared.
“Knew that you’d like the chili. Look, Mr. Dutton, I—”
“Mr. Dutton’s my father. He’s a nice guy but he isn’t here tonight.”
Brenna took a breath. This was going to be tougher than she’d thought. “All right, Shane. Look, the fact is Bob and Carol are really good friends of mine. I think the world of them but for some crazy reason, they thought we ought to meet. And I’ve enjoyed meeting you, don’t get me wrong. It’s just that now that we’ve done that, we can go our separate ways and—”
“We could do that.”
That absolutely was not disappointment curling through her stomach. “Good. I wouldn’t want you to feel as though you had—”
“Or we could get to know each other better.” He smiled. “I know I can’t compete with zooplankton. but I’m not a bad guy.”
She was in trouble. Real, serious trouble. “It’s just that I’m rather absorbed in my work.”
“So am I,” he said, “but I still like to take a break from time to time. Don’t you?”
“Oh, sure, sometimes—”
“Good,” he said. And that was apparently that.
She’d freeze the chili. If the power didn’t come back on, there was a wooden storage box on the porch she could use.
Her throat was so tight that it hurt. She brushed a hand across her face and wasn’t at all surprised when it came away wet.
