A Match Made by Cupid. Tracy Madison

       Melanie gurgled a non-reply and continued setting the table. She was not, under any circumstances, going to answer that question.

       “That’s a no,” Mom said, adding a drinking glass to each of the place settings. “Oh, sweetie, I’m so sorry. Every woman deserves a few nights filled with great sex.”

       “It is not a no or a yes,” Melanie countered. “More like an ‘I don’t want to talk about this, so I’m not going to.’”

       “How did I raise a daughter so afraid of intimacy?”

       And that was another question that Melanie was not going to answer. Ever. “I’m not afraid of intimacy, Mom.” She didn’t consider herself afraid, anyway. Careful, maybe. And intelligent. There was nothing wrong with either of those traits. “I like my life the way it is. Whether or not I’ve had great sex has nothing to do with my life. It is a nonissue for me.”

       “Hmm,” Mom murmured. “That, my darling daughter, is how I know you’ve never had great sex. Because if you had, you wouldn’t be so quick to call not having it a nonissue.”

       It was at times like this that Melanie wished desperately for a sibling. She wasn’t picky. Either a brother or a sister would do. All she needed was someone to divert Mom’s attention every now and then.

       “You know what we should do?” she asked in an effort to change the subject. “We should visit a few animal shelters this weekend and find a lovable dog or cat for you. It must get lonely here sometimes.”

       “Don’t be silly, Melanie. I’m not home enough to properly care for a pet.” Leaning over, she plopped a kiss on Melanie’s cheek. “And I have you.”

       “Just think about it, okay?”

       “Sure. If you think about getting yourself some great sex.” The doorbell rang, announcing Jace’s arrival. Mom nodded in the general direction of the front door. “And perhaps you should consider having that great sex with him. He seems like the type of man who knows—”

       Melanie grasped her mother’s shoulders lightly, interrupting her. “Mom, I need you to stop talking about sex right now. Especially sex with Jace. Okay? Please? I’m begging.”

       “I knew it! You like him.” Her mother smiled and patted her cheek. “Stop worrying, Melanie. I’ll behave. We wouldn’t want to scare him off, now would we?”

       “There is nothing to scare him off from.” Melanie turned on her heel and went to let Jace in. Never again, she promised herself, would she ignore a bad-day vibe. The next time a day began with something as foretelling as burning her own hair, she’d jump back into bed and hide until the sun rose again.

       Her ill-fated decision not to do so that morning had led her from one fiasco to another, and she had a feeling that the ramifications were going to keep on coming until she put Valentine’s Day—and working with Jace—behind her.

       But first, she had to get through dinner. And, thanks to her mother, try to have a normal conversation with Jace without thinking about sex. Great sex, at that.

       Melanie opened the door, and the earth shook beneath Jace’s feet. Metaphorically speaking, of course. He hadn’t yet decided if the sensation appealed or scared him witless. Maybe a bit of both, depending on the day.

       She wore the same jeans and T-shirt from earlier, but the muddied orange-red stain blobbed beneath her collar was new. Judging by the scents emanating from the house, he put his money on spaghetti sauce. Her shoulders were tense, her mouth firm. Signs that clearly said the lady was not happy to see him.

       Oh, well. What else had he expected?

       “Your laptop,” he said as he handed it over. “You left it on, so I saved your file before shutting it down.” Lifting the bakery box he held in his other hand, he offered that to her, as well. “You mentioned no dessert, so I stopped on the way and picked up a pie. Apple.”

       “Why, Jace Foster, my hero as I live and breathe,” she drawled in an excellent Southern belle imitation. “I think I’m in love.”

       “Gee, Mel, that was the easiest bet I ever won.” He stuck his thumbs in his pockets and leaned against the doorjamb. “And all it took was an apple pie. Good thing I already have our date planned. Free this weekend?”

       Her tongue darted out to lick her lips. “You’re a funny man.” Tilting her head to the side, she said, “You might as well come in. My mother is beyond excited to meet you. Apparently, you’re the main topic of conversation at the salon she owns.”

       “I got that impression.” He almost mentioned that his mother was just as excited to meet the “mystery woman from work that her son was interested in,” but chose not to. That information probably wouldn’t go over well. He started to walk forward, but stopped midstride. “Tell your mother I said thank you for her gracious invitation, but I’m going to take off. You don’t want me here, and despite what you seem to think, my goal is not to make you uncomfortable. I’d be happy to show Loretta around the paper, though, if she were to happen to come by.”

       Melanie gave him a long, searching look and sighed. “Okay, that’s sweet of you, and I haven’t exactly been welcoming. I apologize. It’s been a long day, and I’m… Well, let’s leave it there.” Hefting her laptop under her arm, she continued. “But thank you for bringing this over. I’d have been worried once I remembered. It was a nice gesture.”

       “I’m a nice guy.” Not that she believed that. But he was bound to prove it to her. “So, you have a good night, and we’ll get together tomorrow. I’d like to start interviews next week.”

       “Oh, to hell with it.” She glanced over her shoulder, as if to make sure they were alone. “If you want to stay for dinner, I suppose that would be okay. And,” she said with a hesitant grin, “you’ll save me from endless questioning if you’re here.”

       “Mothers love asking questions. Mine does, anyway. But she’s sneaky about it. Half the time, you don’t realize you’re being grilled until she’s sated her curiosity.”

       Melanie laughed, and his heart sort of popped in his chest. “Mine doesn’t bother being sneaky. She puts whatever she wants out there and expects to be answered. I love her for that, though. I tend to be more restrained.”

       He blinked. “Um, Melanie, I hate to point this out, but you’re the least restrained woman I have ever met.”

       Shock and uneasiness washed out her complexion. “I…guess it depends on the topic. And maybe the medium.” She shrugged, as if doing so would dismiss the subject as meaningless. Jace wasn’t fooled. Melanie saw herself in a far different way than he saw her. He wanted to know why. “You should come in before I change my mind.”

       Curiosity raged, but he set it aside. “You’re sure?”

       “No. But come in anyway.”

       He followed her in and glanced at his surroundings. The ranch-style house was small, so the front door led directly into the rectangular-shaped living room. Straight ahead, he guessed, was the kitchen, with the bedrooms and bathroom down the hall to the right. A simple home, but one that looked lived-in and comfortable.

       The room they stood in held a long, country-blue-patterned sofa against the back wall, with a matching love seat on one side and two overstuffed chairs on the other. By the variety of plants scattered throughout, he’d say Melanie’s mother had a green thumb. Framed photos were clustered on the sill of the bay window, on the end tables, and a few hung on the walls.

       “Did you grow up here?” he asked Melanie, giving in to his need to know more about her. “Or are you a Portland transplant?”

       “Not a transplant. I’ve lived here all my life. Well, I have my own place now, but you know what I mean.” Walking into the kitchen, she deposited the laptop and the bakery box on the counter. “So,” she said from the kitchen doorway, a tiny