Mr. Right Next Door. Arlene James

ritual behind her, she lifted her hand and knocked on the door.

      A male voice called faintly from a distance through the door that he was coming. Denise folded her arms and stepped back, looking around the wide porch with its gingerbread trimming and fresh white paint contrasting with the pale sky blue of the house itself. It was really a lovely old home, not at all what she’d have picked out for herself but very much Morgan Holt. Somehow she sensed the love and pride that had gone into every brush stroke and swing of the hammer. He must have worked for years to refurbish the place. The elegant mahogany door with its large oval of beveled glass swung inward, and Denise jerked around, pasting a smile on her face.

      “Hey! Good to see you. Come on in!” Morgan backed away from the door and allowed her to step past. “Man, it’s beautiful out there, isn’t it?” He inhaled deeply as he pushed the door closed. “I love this time of year. The leaves will start turning soon. Meanwhile the days are perfect and the nights are cool enough for a fire. What more could you want?”

      “Nothing!” She tossed up her hands in a frivolous gesture so unlike her that she immediately regretted it. Morgan composed his squarely chiseled face and lifted a hand to indicate the first room immediately off the hall.

      “Let’s sit down, and you can tell me what’s wrong.”

      Denise closed her eyes briefly, then opened them again and nodded at the same time as she looked around her. The hall was all polished wood and brass and sweeping stairs with marble treads and banisters. A large mirror, framed in heavy, ornately carved wood, hung on one wall, an old-fashioned hall tree stood opposite it. Between them a small, graceful chandelier hung from the ceiling, its brass inlaid with delicate cameos.

      She followed Morgan into the living room. He put her on the couch and sat down opposite her on a wing chair, pulling it close and leaning forward with forearms braced against his knees. She crossed her ankles demurely and folded her hands in her lap, her heart beating a heavy rhythm.

      “Okay,” he said, “now what’s wrong?”

      She put on a smile, her voice falsely bright. “Nothing’s wrong. I just thought you might like to join me and some, uh, other people for dinner...Friday night.”

      “Friday night,” he echoed thoughtfully.

      “At the Ozark Springs Inn,” she added hurriedly. “I know it’s late notice, but I promised I’d bring an, er, a friend. Honestly, Morgan, I’d be so appreciative if you could manage—”

      “Okay,” he said. “Now what’s the rest of it?”

      She was still hung on the okay. Breathless with relief, she sank back against the pillows and closed her eyes. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate—”

      “Just tell me what’s going on.”

      She sat upright again, suddenly believing that it was going to be all right, after all. “Actually,” she said, almost laughing in her relief, “I don’t need a date so much as I need a boyfriend. Oh, not that I want one, you understand! It’s just that, well, my boss is a throwback to a less enlightened age, to put it politely. In fact, if I was willing to give up my career, I could nail him on sexual harassment charges. But I figure the best justice would be to get promoted despite him, maybe over him, and then don’t think I wouldn’t can his—Well, you get my meaning, I’m sure.”

      She chuckled, expecting him to join her. He didn’t. Instead he said, “I take it your boss will be joining us for dinner.”

      “Yes, and thank God that’s all! He had the brass to try to pull off an overnight stay at the inn, which is why I told him that I already had plans.”

      “Uh-huh, and whose idea was the boyfriend?”

      “His, actually. He just sort of jumped to that conclusion, and I let him think I had one in hopes it would make him think twice about planning any more overnight jaunts. Then he insisted that I bring you along for dinner. I mean, the boyfriend, not you necessarily. It’s just that I don’t know anyone else around here that I could ask to pretend with me. You do understand?”

      He smiled then, but rather perfunctorily. “Sure. No problem.”

      She sighed, a hand pressed to her chest. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

      “Hey, it’s no biggie. I like the Ozark Springs Inn.”

      “Oh, good. I’ve never been myself, but now I can look forward to it. Oh, I should tell you that it’s primarily a business dinner. We’ve brought on a new retailer, and the company rep will be there with us.”

      Morgan nodded thoughtfully. “That’s fine. Is it just the four of us then?”

      She pulled a face. “Chuck apparently doesn’t bring his wife along to these things. Uh, Chuck, that’s my boss.”

      Morgan nodded again. “Makes sense. No doubt having the little wife along would cramp his style.”

      “No doubt,” Denise agreed drily. “One more thing. I think Chuck’s planning something. When he insisted I bring along this fictitious boyfriend, he had a certain gleam in his eye, like he’s got an ace up his sleeve. Don’t be surprised if he does or says something outrageous.”

      “Something that would make a real boyfriend walk out maybe?” Morgan asked thoughtfully.

      Denise nodded with satisfaction. “That would be my best guess.”

      Morgan shrugged. “No problem.”

      “You’re sure?”

      “I understand sharks like Chuck. Trust me.”

      Oddly, she did. “I can’t thank you enough for this. I’ll be eternally grateful.”

      “Hey, what are friends for?” Straightening, he rubbed his hands together in that exuberant way of his. “Now, can I get you a drink?”

      “Oh, no, thank you. I don’t drink much beyond a glass of wine with my dinner. It just seems to go straight to my head.”

      “Ah, you’re wise to avoid it then.”

      “Yes, well, I’d better go,” she said, growing uncomfortable again. “Smithson will be wanting his dinner.”

      “Speaking of dinner,” he said, coming to his feet at the same instant she did, “what time Friday should I be ready?”

      “I don’t really know. The reservations are for seventhirty, but as I’ve never been to the inn, I can’t say how long it will take us to get there.”

      “It’s quite a drive,” he said, “about forty minutes. How about if I pick you up around a quarter to seven?”

      “Oh, you don’t have to pick me up.”

      “Nonsense. I’m your date, remember. How would it look if your boyfriend just met you there?”

      “Yes, I guess that wouldn’t make quite the right impression. We can take my car, if you like.”

      “Nah, I’ll just back the old Mercedes out of the garage. It doesn’t get much use anymore. The drive will do it good.”

      “All right, if you’re sure.”

      “My pleasure.”

      She turned and walked into the entry hall, saying, “You’ve been out to the Inn. What should I wear? Would a cocktail dress be too much?”

      “No, I don’t think so. I assume half the purpose of this dinner is to impress the new client, so to speak.”

      “Right. Well, then, I’ll see you Friday.”

      “Friday,” he said, opening the door for her.

      She strolled out onto the porch. Dusk was already deepening into night. The smell of wood smoke permeated the chill. “Your home is lovely,” she told him in parting.

      “Thanks.”