True Love, Inc.. Jackie Braun

      “Relax, Mr. Foley. I won’t be suing you, if that’s what’s got you worried.”

      Cam winced. “I was only joking when I said that.”

      “Really? And here I was already picking out colors for my condominium.” She brushed the dust from her clothes, and, inclining her head in the direction of the house, she said, “Shall we?”

      Cam walked slowly this time, moderating his usually brisk stride to match her more halting one. It seemed to take forever to reach the house on their silent, slow walk back, giving him plenty of time to feel like a proper heel. They entered through a screened-in back porch, and the homey scents of apples and cinnamon greeted them.

      “Mmm. It smells wonderful in here,” Maddie said.

      “Mrs. Haversham promised Caroline apple pie for dessert. In the three years she’s worked for me, she’s never broken a promise to my daughter. I make sure her paycheck reflects my appreciation.” He motioned toward the table. “Why don’t we have a seat in here?”

      Gratefully, he noticed his housekeeper and daughter were nowhere to be found, and hopefully they would stay that way for the duration of his interview with Maddie. As it was, Mrs. H. was already too eager for him to start dating again, and who knew what embarrassing things Caroline would blurt out. She was six, after all. That made her old enough to express her thoughts clearly and too young to censor the more inappropriate ones.

      “I see the coffee is ready. Would you care for a cup?”

      “Please. I take it black. Before we get started, is there someplace I could freshen up?”

      “Just down that hallway on the left.” Despite her composed demeanor, Cam could almost feel her discomfort.

      While he waited for her to return, he poured them both a steaming mug of coffee, lacing his own with a spoonful of sugar. When she reentered the kitchen, the last physical traces of her ordeal in the orchard had been wiped away.

      “I’ll try to take up as little of your time as possible,” she said, slowly lowering herself onto the chair across from him. “I’ll need a photograph, just for my records, really. I brought my Polaroid.”

      She pulled it from the interior of her briefcase, and before he had a chance to protest, she snapped his picture. While she waited for the image to develop, she surprised him by slipping a pair of glasses onto the slim bridge of her nose. They should have made her look even more professional, but Cam had long considered glasses scholarly and...sexy. He chased the thought away with a gulp of coffee, scalding his tongue in the process. Maddie glanced up in question when he hissed out a breath.

      “Ready when you are,” he managed to say.

      “Why don’t we start with the basics? Age?”

      “Thirty-six. I’ll be thirty-seven in March.”

      She wrote his response on a yellow legal pad. Other notes had already been jotted down in her no-nonsense script. He couldn’t quite make out the words, which were upside-down from his vantage point, but he thought he caught something about “well built and attractive.” He felt his face heat.

      “Height?”

      “Just a hair over six feet.” For some reason, he straightened in his chair as he said it.

      “Weight?”

      Cam sipped his coffee, blowing on it beforehand this time, and thought about what the scale had said just that morning. “Um, one-eighty.”

      She glanced up. One eyebrow lifted over the top rim of her glasses, leaving that little mole hidden.

      “Give or take a few,” he amended. “Caroline has been on a pizza kick lately and it’s easier to cave in than to argue with her.” When Maddie just kept staring at him, he added, “She’s six, but she’s good.”

      One-eighty, give or take a few pounds, Maddie mused, and probably all muscle. As interesting as she found it that a man would hedge about his weight, she was more intrigued by the way this man looked. A faded Cherry Republic T-shirt stretched over his broad shoulders, and she recalled that softly molded denim had hugged a pair of well-formed thighs when he’d walked.

      She cleared her throat, perplexed by the inappropriate direction her thoughts kept taking. Her voice was an embarrassing squeak when she asked her next pitifully obvious question.

      “Occupation?”

      “I’m a cherry farmer, Miss Daniels.” He grinned, a flash of white teeth in an otherwise bronze face, and nodded toward the window and the start of the orchard visible through it. “Foleys have farmed this land for three generations. My dad met my mother here. She was a migrant worker, one of the thousands of Mexicans who came to Michigan each summer to harvest the cherries before modern technology made hand-picking obsolete.”

      Maddie studied his features. His hair was a light, sun-kissed brown, but the warm hue of his skin and the coffee-colored eyes that peered at her from below a slash of dark brows hinted at his heritage.

      She broke off her gaze and pretended to jot down more notes.

      “Do you smoke?”

      “No, filthy habit.”

      She stifled a relieved sigh. She couldn’t agree more. Of course, she told herself that the relief she felt was merely because finding Cameron Foley a match would be that much easier if he didn’t have a pack-a-day habit. The vast majority of her clients were nonsmokers.

      “Do you drink?”

      “I like a cold beer after a hard day.”

      That fit, she thought, working up the mental image. She could picture him hoisting a long-necked brown bottle in the evenings, sitting on the steps of that inviting front porch, maybe listening to Ernie Harwell call a Tigers game on the radio.

      Then he threw her a curve.

      “And I like wine. I sometimes have a glass with dinner. I’m not particularly a connoisseur,” he admitted with a shrug. “But I’m partial to anything French and expensive.”

      “French and expensive,” she repeated. This new data did not compute.

      “Sure. No one knows grapes like the French. But, I have to say, the local vineyards are coming along. In fact, a few of the Leelanau wines are passably good. Have you tried any?”

      “No, I’m afraid I don’t get out much,” she said as she wrote down social drinker.

      Cam frowned. “You don’t get out much? That seems kind of odd for the president of a dating service.”

      “My business is relatively young, so I spend most of my days, including weekends, at the office. It doesn’t leave a lot of time for anything else.”

      The explanation seemed perfectly logical. Cam knew all about the demands of being the boss, meeting a payroll while trying to turn a profit, but for some reason he didn’t buy it. A woman with her looks would attract plenty of male attention. So why would she choose to spend Saturday nights alone?

      Maddie settled the glasses more firmly on the bridge of her nose and said, “Let’s move on to your health. Is there anything, ah, contagious that I should know about? Anything you’re being treated for?”

      The tone was polite enough to make him smile, especially since she was essentially asking him if he had a social disease. Again, he caught the slight hint of the South in her speech.

      “You’re not from around here, are you? Originally, I mean?”

      “No.”

      “Your accent, I’m guessing South Carolina.”

      “Georgia, actually. I grew up just outside Atlanta. My parents and brothers still live there.”

      “Really? Kind of chilly up here for a Southern belle, especially come January. That’s one of the reasons