The Love Lottery. Shirley Jump

Florida the minute he heard, and once he saw the condition of the station’s finances, he’d moved into the rental house and set to work. He’d realized pretty quickly that his brother had been spinning the truth into butter when it was really melted margarine.

      Trouble was, the celebrities who had loved being on the popular Dallas station Harlan used to work for were shying away from some unknown little ten thousand–watt place in Florida. He was going to have to do some serious fast-talking to get any top music names onto his morning show.

      Good thing fast-talking was the one thing Harlan excelled at.

      As he took a seat in the back of the room, Lulu crossed to him. She moved fast for such a large woman, and had a ready smile and a cup of tea with her when she deposited herself into the seat opposite him. “Well, well, Mr. Jones. You’ve returned.”

      “Yes, ma’am.” He thanked her for the tea, then took a sip. Harlan had never been one for coffee shops—he wasn’t much for paying three times more than a man should for a simple cup of joe—but there was something about coming in to a place that knew your order before you could place it that was well, nice. And, he could look at it as building an audience for WFFM. Whenever he was here, people stopped by to talk to him, offer suggestions for the show, or voice an opinion. It was good business, nothing more. It certainly wasn’t about seeing Sophie Watson.

      If that was so, then why had his gaze strayed to her the minute he entered the room? Why had he taken a moment to admire her lithe figure before he sat down?

      “Did you sign up?” Lulu asked, thumbing toward the stage.

      His gaze followed Lulu’s gesture. Sophie Watson stood under the small spotlight, her golden hair glowing like a halo. She wore another yellow sweater today—this one a V-neck with white flowers curving around one side—with a pair of cropped black pants. She looked like a human sunflower. Radiant and pretty enough to put on display on his verandah. The problem was that sunflower came with a lot of thorns. When he had time for dating again, he’d be looking for someone nice, sweet. Agreeable.

      “So, did you?” Lulu asked.

      “Do what?”

      “Sign up for a match.”

      He jerked his attention back to the barista. Match? His brain, overloaded with work concerns, took a while to make the connection. “Are you talking about that questionnaire Mildred Meyers strong-armed me into filling out?”

      Lulu laughed. “That’d be the one.”

      “Then yes, I guess I did.”

      Lulu sat back and crossed her arms over her ample chest. “Well then, this should be interesting.”

      “What should?”

      “Seeing who you got matched with.”

      He shrugged, and his mind went back to working on the guest list again. He didn’t even know why he’d let Mildred talk him into that thing. She’d stood by his chair out in front of the coffee shop, blocking the sun and going on and on about how this was part of building a good community relationship. Before he knew it, he was handing her a few dollars and answering questions like what his favorite movie was and where he’d take his dream vacation. Then he’d promptly forgotten about the encounter.

      “I’m sure the computer they used has me paired up with some nice lady,” Harlan said. One date, nothing more. It surely wouldn’t lead anywhere. He’d sit here, share the agreed-upon drink with his match, then find a way to beg off from anything more. The chances of Miss Right dropping into his life right now were slimmer than none. Maybe he’d get a funny story or two out of the whole experience, something he could share on the show tomorrow.

      A whisper sounded in the back of his head, one that said he’d been alone a long time and he was overdue for someone to shake up his life. Harlan shrugged off the thought.

      Lulu laughed again. “They didn’t use no computer to make these matches, Mr. Jones, and as for someone nice—”

      “We have one last match to announce,” Sophie said, holding up a large manila envelope. Lulu stopped talking and turned to face the stage. Harlan sipped at his tea, then fished a notepad out of his pocket and began going over his list of potential guests. He’d come here so he could concentrate—he loved his dogs, but there were times when their barking and squirrel-chasing plumb drove him nuts—and now there was this thing going on. It looked about over, though, and either way, he’d probably missed whoever had been his match. No matter. He’d only signed up because Mildred had been so insistent. If there was one thing Harlan didn’t have time for, it was dating.