Making Mr. Right

“If anyone believes he’s Bachelor Of The Month material, it’s you.” Flo’s look in Cindy’s direction said Parker was probably the only person alive who didn’t know how she felt about him. “I personally think you’re fine the way you are,” she added, placing her hands on her hips as she glared at him. “And I don’t know why you’d want to bother about anyone who thinks you aren’t.” She blatantly didn’t approve of Parker’s plan. Or of Mallory, Cindy realized. But then Mallory had never been especially close to anyone in the old neighborhood. She hadn’t been unfriendly; she’d just never taken the time to pay much attention to them.

“You still doing all that remodeling?” Flo changed the subject

Cindy nodded proudly. “I’m totally on my own now, but yeah, I’m still remodeling.”

“What do you mean, on your own?”

“I buy a house, remodel it start to finish, like I want. Then I sell it and buy another one and start the whole process over again. I rarely do odd jobs for other people now.”

“You can do a house start to finish all by yourself?”

“There are a few things I have to hire help with,” Cindy admitted. “I have a part-time helper—a kid in high school recommended by the same shop teacher who got me started.”

“Mr. Havens?”

Cindy nodded. “I wait to do the heavier stuff until he’s around, afternoons and Saturdays. It works really well.”

“You’re doing okay, then?”

“I’m doing okay,” Cindy said semiproudly.

“I knew you would.” Flo had been one of the few who hadn’t thought Cindy was crazy when she started taking on small repair jobs for people around the old neighborhood. She’d taken woodworking her sophomore year in high school. Even though she and Parker had both been in the gifted program, “shop” had quickly become her most loved and best subject. She’d taken it every year after that. Gradually she’d acquired the reputation for being able to fix someone’s door if it didn’t close right or repair trim around a window. Small projects had evolved into bigger ones, like replacing a bathroom floor because someone had let the water leak under the sink go on too long.

Flo had been the first paying customer because she’d insisted and Cindy had been “on the job” ever since. She’d been the most affordable Ms. Fix It around. She’d purchased and learned to use various tools for each project as she went along.

“I’d probably still be doing the same old small odd jobs for everyone if the old neighborhood was still there,” she admitted.

“You were never fond of change, were you,” Flo sympathized.

“I guess not.”

“You must be making a good living now,” Parker commented from his vast store of knowledge on the subject. He forked the last bite of the cinnamon roll Flo had put on his plate into his mouth.

“I wish.” She punctuated the comment with a sigh. “This last house is going to be a tough sell, I’m afraid. I may be back to doing odd jobs.”

“It looked great.” Parker frowned. He’d seen the “before” when she bought it six months ago; she’d shown him the “after” the other day when he’d gotten the oil spot out of the garage floor. “Why do you think I’m so confident you can transform me,” he added.

“Fortunately,” Cindy said wryly, “no one is going to put a halfway house right down the street from you.”

Flo and Parker both frowned.

“You know, one of those places where they put kids after they’ve been in juvenile hall but before they let them go back to whatever home they originally had? It kind of annihilates property values for a little while until people see how it’s going to affect the area.”

“It’ll be okay.” Flo patted her hand.

“I know it will eventually.” In the meantime, Cindy would have to wait for a buyer as confident in the area’s potential as she was.

“You think people will expect crime in the area to rise?” Parker asked.

She told him what her usual real estate saleswoman had told her. “People will just be nervous of moving to or investing in the neighborhood for a while. Till they see what happens.”

“So selling may take a while,” Flo said, understanding.

“Or I’ll have to cut my profit to nothing and settle for a price to cover what I have invested,” Cindy agreed. “But enough of my problems. That’s not—”

“I don’t understand,” Flo broke in.

“She uses her profits from one house to buy another and fix it up.”

“And I live in the house while I’m working on it. That’s the only way I’ve kept my head above water so far. It keeps my living expenses to a minimum,” Cindy explained patiently.

“So you won’t have anywhere to live when you sell this one.” Flo asked, frowning.

“I won’t have any profits. No profits, no house to buy to work on or to live in,” Cindy told her. “It’s like when Parker was first starting—well, kinda. He made money hand over fist from the very beginning, but don’t you remember when he was sweating his monthly expenses and putting every cent of profit back into the business?”

Flo’s blank look suddenly cleared. “Oh. I see.”

Cindy exchanged a glance with Parker. “This was the house I hoped would get me ahead. I had a profit margin figured in that would allow me to start paying myself a monthly salary,” she admitted, adding with exasperation. “And I planned to buy my next house in the same neighborhood. It is...was,” she corrected, “becoming really nice. Stable. The people there have made great strides, cleaning it up, running out some of the bad elements. And with all the nice big old houses and it sort of overlooks downtown...” She let the rest of the comment remain unsaid.

“The potential is good,” Parker offered.

Cindy nodded. “Was,” she felt obligated to tack on.

“So the halfway house complicates things for you,” Flo analyzed.

“Temporarily. It’s just going to slow me down.”

“Maybe you should put your name in to remodel the halfway house.”

Cindy had always loved Flo. They thought the same way. “I did.” She grimaced. “They’d already hired a big name contractor.”

“You can come to work for me,” Parker offered for the hundredth time. He’d been trying to get her to work for him at PC, Inc., since he’d started it. Said she’d be the best personal assistant he could find.

“You know I would hate working in an office,” she gave him her standard reply, though her reasons for turning him down had just gotten stronger. I couldn’t stand seeing you every day and knowing there was never a hope of you loving me, she added to herself. And I’d never get over you.

“You know the offer’s good if you need something temporary to get you through.”

“He just wants you at his beck and call while you’re trying to perform this miracle,” Flo warned, laughing. “He tried the same thing with me. Tried to get me to move into the staff apartment.”

It was Cindy’s turn to look blank.

“Oh. You haven’t seen the whole house?”

Cindy shook her head.

“Just wait,” Flo cautioned. “You ought to see me trying to figure out when and where to serve his meals.”

“Maybe moving in would be easier,” Cindy suggested.

“I’m close enough,” Flo laughed. “I have the caretaker’s cottage out back,” Flo bragged. “I can see when his lights come on in here. I come up and serve his dinner—usually in here—then go back to my own little place, though cottage doesn’t do it justice. It’s the nicest house I’ve ever had,” she said, her eyes alight with pride. “Big enough to enjoy my kids and grandkids without sending out search parties to look for them.”

“That’s a shot at this house,” Parker explained to Cindy in case she hadn’t caught it.

“I noticed.” Cindy was enjoying the old I-cangive-as-good-as-I-get atmosphere of the old neighborhood.

“This is a warehouse,” Flo said. “Don’t let him kid you. You just don’t notice because you don’t leave this little suite of rooms.” She aimed the statement at him. She indicated his rooms with an expansive gesture. “Or he doesn’t leave the office,” she added to Cindy. “He’s becoming a workaholic.”

Workaholic, Cindy noted at the top of her pad. She was enjoying the warmth and companionship of this free-for-all way too much. It was time to get it back on track. “I’m making a list of things we need to tackle if we’re going to do this magical transformation,” she explained when Parker asked what she was doing. “Mallory’s the type who needs intensive care and attention,” she added dryly. “You can’t stay a workaholic if you expect to hold her interest. What do you think did in her first marriage?”

Parker straightened in his chair. “That’s exactly the kind of stuff I need to learn, isn’t it?”

“You’re going to have to turn yourself into Mallory’s lapdog,” Flo muttered under her breath. “Cindy’s only agreed to turn you into Prince Charming.”

Cindy laughed at Flo’s succinct summary of the whole situation and instantly felt traitorous. “Prince Charming’s enough of a challenge, don’t you think,” she managed to say brightly.

“More than enough.” Flo returned, rising to her feet and excusing herself to get back to work.

“That’s enough,” Parker echoed with a contented sigh. “Prince Charming—” he preened “—I think I can handle that.”

CHAPTER TWO

CINDY’S first step on any project was making a list. This one she titled: Parker Project.

With little input from him, Cindy’s list grew. Every item she added, she expected him to defend himself, as she would if someone decided to take her apart, piece by piece. He sat instead, looking fascinated while she squirmed. At last, the column of items she’d written seemed complete.

“Can you think of anything else?” she asked him, turning the pad so he could look her list over.

It wasn’t as long as Cindy had anticipated and some of the items would be simple.

“If I knew what I needed to change, I wouldn’t need help from you, would I,” he teased, then scowled as he looked at it.

“What?”

He pointed to the first item on the list.

Workaholic? He hadn’t gotten past the first item?

“What can I do about that?” he asked as if the problem was something he couldn’t possibly help or change.

“Quit working around the clock,” she said. “Don’t worry,” she added at his blank look. “I’ll remind you several times between now and the reunion.”

“And who, do you suggest, will do my work?”

“You. It would help, PC, if when you aren’t working, you could actually pay attention to other things. Like the person you’re with,” she added as an example. “You could occasionally think of your friends. You just can’t ignore people for months on end.” She grinned to salvage her pride for bringing it up.

His scowl deepened.

“Like me,” she tried again. “We’re supposed to be friends, but I often don’t hear from you for months. I didn’t even know your new address.” She gestured at their surroundings.

“My phone number didn’t change. You can call me any time.”

She ignored him. “Friends—and especially someone you might want to marry,” she clarified so he wouldn’t realize it was personal, “tend to want to know they’re important to you, that you think of them from time to time. They want to know what’s going on in your life.”

“You never seem to mind,” he pointed out.

Cindy bit back the words she wanted to say. Instead she took a deep breath. “I know you’ve been busy. But I don’t count in this discussion,” she said calmly. “You didn’t say you wanted to marry me. Someone you expect to marry will want your attention.” Her lips twisted on the words as if she was eating a sour pickle.

But he was still on the last subject. “I consider you my closest friend,” he said.

“But I never know on a regular basis what’s going on with you.” She let him draw her in. “Why didn’t you tell me Flo was working for you?” she asked. “Or invite me over to see your house after you moved?”

“She just started since I last saw...” He let the words trail off.

“And that’s been?”

“Maybe two months,” he said sheepishly after mulling it over.

“Six weeks,” she told him.

“You can call me anytime,” he told her again.

“I know,” she agreed. “But until you decide to call me, your head is so far in the clouds it’s a waste of time trying to find out what’s going on with you. You’re working whether you’re at work or not.”

“I’ve been there when you needed me,” he said half defensively.

“Yes,” she admitted. Since junior high, he’d listened to every problem, helped her study for tests, been there in hundreds of ways. The only thing she hadn’t been able to talk to him about was boys, probably because he’d always been the only one on her mind. Three years ago, when she’d been trying to get up the nerve to buy her first house, he’d listened for hours on end. He’d made a mathematical chart only a genius could figure out to prove she could afford to do what she wanted. He’d given advice when needed and when asked. But day to day, if she didn’t have a problem or he didn’t have something specific he wanted to talk to her about, he was zoned out. “You’ve always been there when I needed you, PC.”

“That’s another thing,” he said, raising one finger. “Do you think I should insist my old classmates call me Parker? Doesn’t that sound more...more...”

“Like someone Mallory would marry,” she finished for him.

“More adult.” He frowned at her as if he wanted to argue with the way she’d said it. “Does PC sound too much like a childish nickname?”

Too much like who you were? Not like who you want to be. “It’s you, PC.” She smiled. “Parker Chaney. Politically Correct. Personal Computer expert. It’s even your company name,” she added.

“It seemed right at the time.” He shrugged.

“You could encourage everyone at the reunion to call you Chaney, like they did throughout the Times article.”

“They called me PC,” he reminded her.

“Just in the first paragraph,” she said, quoting, “‘Even the name Parker Chaney’s friends and close associates call him is synonymous with the industry his company dominates. Personal Computers. No one who owns or touches one has been untouched by PC, Inc. The company’s faster, smarter and better innovations barrage the technological market on an almost daily basis.’”

“You memorized it?” His sky-blue eyes lit.

“I read it enough times to remember it,” she said, lifting one shoulder.

His crooked grin matched the way hers felt. “I’m not an especially thoughtful friend, am I?” He reached across the table to cover her hand with his. Bracing herself for the normal electrical charge she got at his touch, she was pleasantly surprised when it didn’t happen. She’d managed to numb herself, she thought triumphantly. Or maybe the message that there was no longer any hope had gotten through to her brain and her body was shutting down her reactions to him in acceptance.

He looked dazed, as startled as she’d ever seen him. She squirmed self-consciously. Maybe her body hadn’t reacted, but had her expression given something away?

He lifted his hand, gingerly rubbing his palm, then laced his fingers together and rested his hands carefully on his side of the table.

“Whatever is happening with you, whatever you’re doing, you’ve always been a three-in-the-morning friend,” she told him. “That means a lot to me.”

He was scowling again. “And what, exactly, is a three-in-the-morning friend?”

“Don’t you remember my dad talking about that when we were young?” Since his own father had taken off when Parker was small, he’d hung around with her and her dad a lot.

Parker shook his head.

“It isn’t necessarily the people you see every day, or the person you think you’d call,” she explained. “It’s someone you wouldn’t hesitate to contact anytime—day or night—if you needed help. Even at three in the morning. For any kind of help. You’ve always been that kind of friend for me, PC. I want you to know how much I appreciate it.”

“You make it sound...past tense.” He looked downright uneasy with the thought. “That isn’t going to—”

“I was thinking about it the other day...after you asked me to help you,” she interrupted. “With Mallory?”

His eyes were the color of a cloudy day now.

“If... when,” she corrected, “you marry Mallory, it will change.” She stopped him with a raised hand as he opened his mouth to protest. “We’ll still be friends. I know I’ll be able to come to you with almost anything.”

“We’d be family then.” His voice emphasized the words determinedly.

“You’ll be my brother-in-law. Wouldn’t it seem strange to call you for help instead of my sister?”

“You’d be calling both of us.”

“I love Mallory but I could never call her with my problems at three o’clock in the morning,” she said quietly.

“But you guys are close.” He looked guilty.

That wasn’t Cindy’s intent. “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “I love Mallory dearly, but she’s not a callme-with-your-problems-at-three-in-the-morning type person. But it will be fun having someone I feel so close to as a brother-in-law. What a change of pace!” She managed a short laugh. “A brother-in-law I will actually know.”

“Nothing will change,” he assured her. Or maybe he was reassuring himself. Then he sat up straighter, thumping the list that was still in front of him. “Well, I guess some things better change or all this is a pipe dream.”

She grinned at him, her very best friend as long as she could remember. “I’m not losing a friend, I’m gaining family.” She’d missed having ‘family’ since her parents’ death in a freak weather accident when she was fifteen years old. “Who would have guessed,” she forced a lighthearted tone into her voice, “that I would ever know someone as important as you, let alone be related. I guess it’s kind of unrealistic of me to expect to hear from you more. I do keep track, though,” she added. “I saw the interview on CNN last month.”

“You did?”

She nodded. “You were great.”

“I sounded like a total egghead.” He was still studying her with that bemused and confused look.

“You sounded very impressive, PC,” she said. “You managed to make the interviewer laugh a couple of times. I was proud of you.”

“I was proud of me, too,” he admitted, quieter than he’d been. “I am getting better at that sort of thing.”

“Do you have any choice with all the practice you’re getting?”

“Nah, I guess not.”

Cindy got irritated with herself. She was sounding as if she were the charter member of his Admiration Society again. She stiffened her spine and returned to their original subject. “You’ll never be my brother-in-law if you don’t marry Mallory.” She somehow managed to keep the bittersweet pain out of her voice as she pointed to the list. “We’d better get busy with the stuff you aren’t so good at.”

His smile faded and he turned his attention to the second item. “Clothes?”

“We’ll go through your closet in a little while,” Cindy suggested.

Parker pointed to the next item and scowled. “What’s wrong with my hair?”

Cindy pulled the list over and added Habit of Scowling to the bottom of it. “You need a decent haircut, PC. You need something with a little style. We’ll get you an appointment with someone really good. I know a stylist downtown who’d be perfect... has great taste and a good eye,” she raved enthusiastically.

Parker looked skeptical. “The guy does your hair?”

Cindy knew him too well to think he was insulting her; he must be trying to figure out how she knew him. “He bought my last house,” she explained.

“A definite sign of great taste.” Parker grinned and moved on, showing exactly how unimportant he thought his hairstyle was, despite his initial response.

“We should check into getting you contacts,” she said as his finger tapped at the next word: Glasses. It had a question mark beside it. “Or if you don’t want contacts, surely your eye doctor has more fashionable frames than those.”

“What’s wrong with these?”

“Nothing if you don’t mind looking like you bought cheap magnifying eyeglasses at the discount store.”

Parker looked up at her, flushing, then down at the nail he’d been flicking against the list.

“You don’t, PC,” Cindy protested. “Tell me you didn’t buy those glasses off a display rack in some drugstore.”

“They work.” He met her gaze. “My eyes aren’t that bad. I broke my prescription glasses a couple of years ago when I was out of town and bought some like this to get me through the emergency. I discovered I didn’t really need much, just something when I sit staring at a computer screen all day.”

“You’ve worn glasses all your life, Parker Chaney.”

“Mom used to make me go to the eye doctor at least once a year,” he said. “But when mine broke and I didn’t have time...”

“In how many years?”

“Five, maybe six,” he muttered.

Cindy pointed to the pad in front of him. “Put that on the list, PC. Top of the list. First thing Monday morning. You have to get an appointment with an optometrist.” She rolled her eyes. “And I wondered why you were getting such geeky glasses the past few years. I couldn’t imagine that your doctor didn’t have more fashionable ones.”

“But you think I should get contacts,” he pointed out.

“If you can wear them,” she said. “You have beautiful blue eyes, PC. You should let—”

“You think so?” he interrupted. The beautiful blue eyes narrowed. His voice lowered. “You think I have beautiful eyes?”

If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was flirting. She willed herself not to flush but wasn’t certain she was successful. “I’m guessing,” she said sarcastically. “It’s hard to tell behind those things.”

“Should I get colored lenses?”

“Why mess up such an interesting shade?”

He laughed and she realized she’d fallen into his trap. Okay, she’d admitted she thought his eyes were beautiful. They were a very normal blue, except they were flecked with gray. It made them seem the color of the sky on a beautiful day. Studying his gorgeous eyes was exactly the kind of habit she had to break. She looked away.

He finished perusing the list as Flo stuck her head in the door to check on them. “How’s it coming?”

“What do you think?” Cindy invited her in to look over the items they’d come up with.

Flo read over his shoulder, looking as skeptical about some of it as Cindy felt. “You’d better do something about his manners, too.”

Parker looked indignant.

“I don’t mean manner manners,” she said before he could protest. “I mean...you know.” She waved toward Cindy. “The way he moves.”

“You mean mannerisms,” Cindy said, frowning herself.

“Mannerisms,” Flo agreed. “It won’t be as hard as it sounds,” she added a promise for Parker. “He’s very graceful when he’s relaxed or not being self-conscious. You’ve seen him dance,” she added as Cindy nodded. “Like a stick figure. Stick legs.”

“You think we can do something about that,” Cindy wondered aloud, adding Mannerisms to the list.

“He isn’t that bad. Just self-conscious—like he’ll be if all this comes off—he’ll get stiff and awkward. You’ll just have to figure out some way to make him relax. Take him dancing. Practice until he’s comfortable.” Flo danced around the table, holding an imaginary partner. “But not just dancing,” she warned. “You’ll have to take on all those things that make people think he’s a computer geek. Like walking across a room with his shoulders scrunched when he’s concentrating. Or squinting continually,” she pointed out as he did it again.

Cindy tapped the end of her pen at Scowling on the list. “It might help if he got the proper glasses,” she stated.

“You need to practice all of this on Cindy.” Flo snapped her fingers as if the idea had just struck her. But her expression was too smug.

Cindy felt a knot grow in the pit of her stomach. That’s all she needed, someone playing matchmaker while she was trying to fix him up for Mallory.

“Practice on Cindy,” Flo reiterated. “Call her. Take her out. Wine and dine her. Go dancing.”

“Lousy idea,” Cindy protested.