Finding Mr. Right. Gwynne Forster

if I took Andy fishing with me this weekend. Do you mind if he stays over with me Saturday night?”

      “That much is fine, Dad, but I have something to do Sunday evening, and I have to check with Aunt Jonie to see what her plans are.”

      “If he’s home by five Sunday, that should do it,” Lewis Whitley told his son. “I know you’ll have a fit if a day passes and you don’t see him. But he could spend Sunday night with me, and he’d love it.”

      “Don’t tell him until Friday, otherwise, he’ll pester me about it the entire week. I’ll be in touch.”

      Andy was his life, just as he and his sister had been the center of his father’s life. He tried to be both mother and father to the boy. Andy had never known his mother since she’d died a few days after his birth. He looked at the picture of the child that he kept on his desk and smiled. The boy looked as much like him as Byron looked like his father. What would his life have been like if Lois had survived.

      He flexed his left shoulder in a quick shrug, his way of reminding himself that he couldn’t undo the past and that he had to get on with life. He had already realized that he wouldn’t be over Lois completely until another woman claimed his heart. But four years was a long time to wait.

      He always played it straight, and he couldn’t commit to a woman unless he thought she would be a good mother for his son. So far, he hadn’t come close to finding a woman like that. A rueful smile flashed across his face. Wonder how long I’ll be able to say that.

      The following Friday night, Tyra sat on the deck in back of her house, waiting for the hamburgers and hotdogs to grill. She almost always cooked dinner on the grill in the summer when Maggie took the night off. The housekeeper didn’t have regular days off. She took a day off whenever she needed to, provided her absence didn’t conflict with Tyra’s plans. She never worked on Sundays. Tyra hadn’t expected Clark, and when he arrived, she put more hotdogs and hamburgers on the grill along with two more ears of corn.

      “This is a surprise,” she told him. “Darlene and I thought we’d be eating without you.”

      “I wanted to talk to you and saying anything important to you over the phone is never a good idea.” He straddled a chair and rolled up the sleeves of his hoodie. “Byron Whitley is an exceptional man, and I don’t want you to treat him as if he’s an also-ran, an ordinary Joe. He’s not. There are seven lawyers in his firm, and he hasn’t lost a case in the fourteen years he’s been practicing.”

      “Okay. He’s a great guy. But I won’t have my brother choosing a man for me. I can do that myself.”

      “Yeah?” Darlene said. “Not according to Maggie. She said you wouldn’t have the slightest idea what to look for in a man.”

      Tyra rolled her eyes skyward. “I know Maggie’s smart, but her words are not gospel. From now on, leave it to me to get my own man. So lay off, please. I know you mean well, but it is humiliating.”

      “Are you keeping your date with Byron?” Clark asked.

      “I told you I was, but if you ask me one more time, I’m going to phone him and cancel it. I know you both love me, but I want you to let me take care of this part of my life myself.”

      “Okay. Okay. I’ll lay off, but if you need me…” Unwilling to risk aggravating her more, he let it hang.

      Ordinarily, Tyra would have asked Darlene’s opinion about which of two dresses she should wear to dinner with Byron. But since she had asked her siblings to back off, that meant not consulting them about anything to do with Byron or any other man. She chose a pale yellow sleeveless silk-chiffon dress that flared below the hips, black patent-leather shoes with three inch heels and a small black purse. She selected a black wrap in case the air conditioning in the restaurant was too much.

      The doorbell rang precisely at six-thirty, and Darlene rushed to open it. Tyra took her time walking down the stairs and, at about halfway, she heard Byron say to Darlene, “What happened to your pony tail? I hardly recognize you.”

      “That was then. This is now,” Darlene said. “Next time you see me, I may have a completely different look.”

      “I doubt it,” he said.

      “Hi, Byron. I meant to answer the door, but Darlene beat me to it.” She took the bouquet of pink, red and white peonies that he handed her and smiled. “How did you know that I love peonies.”

      “Just luck, I guess. I’m fond of them, and those were so beautiful. I was wavering between the peonies and roses.”

      Tyra looked over her shoulder at Darlene. “I’m thirty, Darlene, so I think I can go on a date without a chaperone.”

      “Oh, sorry. I just thought you might want coffee or something.”

      “Thanks, but we have to leave now,” Byron said. “Maybe next time. Goodbye.”

      He helped Tyra into the front passenger’s seat of his Cadillac. Once she had fastened her seat belt, he closed the door, walked around the car and got in. Not bad, Tyra thought.

      “I like the way you look. You’re…well…very special. You’re beautiful and elegant.”

      A grin formed around her lips, and for some inexplicable reason, she felt like teasing him. “I wouldn’t call you beautiful, Byron. There are other words that describe you. But you’re elegant, and thank God, you’re tall. Oh, and I like the way you look.”

      Laughter rolled out of him. “I noticed that you Cunninghams like to pull a guy’s leg. Clark’s good at it, and Darlene’s a prankster. I hope you’re more sober-minded.”

      “You don’t like jokesters?”

      “I didn’t say that. And I warn you I can give as good as I get.”

      She settled back in the comfort of the Cadillac’s soft leather seat and crossed her legs. “I’m no slouch, either.”

      They arrived at the restaurant, a rustic setting that she thought would probably be cozy and even more romantic in the winter when the stone fireplace sparkled with a roaring fire. White lace curtains with red tiebacks graced the windows, and offered relief to the red-brick walls. White linen tablecloths and napkins, white candles and long-stem goblets adorned the round tables that were designed to seat two or four. A bowl of white and pink lisianthus sat in the center of each table.

      “Byron, this is so…beautiful. Thank you for choosing this restaurant. I imagine it’s even more idyllic in winter when it’s cold.”

      He sat across from her and smiled as if trying to put her at ease. But, his smile had the opposite effect. It rattled her composure. He spoke softly. “What a lovely picture you painted. You wouldn’t happen to be an artist, would you?”

      Her gaze drifted from his remarkable eyes to his wrist and hands. His fingers were long and appeared strong. How would they feel on her body?

      “Do you paint?” he asked again.

      Get a hold of yourself, girl. “Yes, I suppose I do. I make stained-glass art. I would love to make stained-glass windows for a modern-design church. I have all kinds of ideas, but I’m not good enough yet to carry them out.”

      “I paint with watercolors. I’ve used oils, but I prefer water colors, because I think they’re best for the landscapes and seascapes that I do. I also play the piano. I’m pretty good at that.”

      She sat forward. “You are? Gosh, I envy you. I’d give anything to play the piano. I’d settle for any instrument. I just want to play music. I love music. You’re…why are you looking at me that way?”

      “I’m sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable. I’d never want to do that. So many things were flying around in my mind just then. It’s amazing that we have so many interests in common.”

      “Would you care for drinks, sir?” the waiter said, interrupting the