The Marriage Portrait. Pamela Bauer

it is, and I know you can’t help but be your usual charming self, but this time three of the four men from Saturday night requested another meeting with you.”

      “Three?” That was unusual. Maybe one or, sometimes on the rare occasion, two would request another date with her, but three? “You did tell them I don’t share their interest, right?”

      “Of course I did and two of them understood, but there was one who refused to take no for an answer. He says you told him you wanted to see him again.”

      “Now that I know I didn’t do,” she answered honestly. “And you know I didn’t, either. The only reason I attend the dinners is because I enjoy dining out and being with people who are interesting.”

      Claudia sighed. “I don’t know how you do it, Cassie.”

      “Do what?”

      “Meet so many good-looking men and not get the least bit interested in any of them.”

      “It’s just a job, Claudia.”

      “But aren’t you even the least bit curious to hear who it is that wants to get to know you better?”

      She was. The memory of Dr. Mac, the veterinarian, smiling into her face and telling her he liked a challenge popped into her head. Part of her wanted it to be him, the other part didn’t.

      “I’m not interested in dating anyone. You know that.”

      “I do, but I keep thinking that one of these times you’ll forget that you’re doing a job and simply enjoy yourself.”

      “I do enjoy myself,” she insisted.

      “So do you want to know which client won’t stop asking about you?”

      Cassie groaned. “All right. Tell me.”

      “It’s Michael the veterinarian.”

      At the mention of his name, she felt a tiny shiver travel up and down her spine. “Oh, it was Dr. Mac,” she said more to herself than to her friend.

      “You don’t sound surprised.”

      “Maybe I did go a bit overboard with the flirting, but not once did I say I wanted to see him again. I told him what I tell all the men I meet—that if he’s interested he should contact you.”

      “He took that as a yes.”

      Her heart fluttered at the thought. “Then you’re going to have to convince him that it’s a no.”

      “I tried to, but I didn’t have much luck. What did you do to the guy?”

      “Do? I didn’t do anything,” she answered. It would have been more accurate to say that he had done something to her. Ever since Saturday night he’d been occupying her thoughts far too much of the time, which was one of the reasons for her lack of concentration this morning. In the two years she’d worked for the dating service she hadn’t met anyone who’d had that effect on her.

      “What part of no doesn’t he understand?” she asked a bit impatiently.

      “It’s nothing to get upset about,” Claudia said in a soothing tone. “I said he was persistent, not obsessive.”

      She relaxed a bit. “You’re right. We only used our first names so it’s not like he can track me down, is it? And you’ve done background checks on all your clients.”

      “That’s right. I just wanted to check with you before I throw a bucket of water on his ardor. He was rather cute, wasn’t he?”

      “I’m not sure ‘cute’ is the right word,” she said evasively. “‘Charming’ would have been a better adjective. He’s a player.”

      “You think so?”

      “Yes. I wonder why he was at the dinner. Players usually don’t need to use a dating service to find a companion.”

      Claudia didn’t comment but asked, “Are you available for next Saturday?”

      “Did he ask to attend another dinner with me?”

      “Of course he asked, but you know I’d never do that. I wouldn’t do it to a client and I certainly wouldn’t do it to a friend.” There was indignation in her friend’s voice.

      “I’m sorry, Claudia. I know you wouldn’t. Sure, I’m available next Saturday.”

      They talked for another few minutes about matters totally unrelated to Dinner Date. By the time Cassie hung up the phone, she’d forgotten all about Dr. Mac.

      Which was a good thing. The only reason she’d been able to accept the job with the dating service was because she truly could attend the dinners with a sense of detachment. She had no interest in meeting a suitable companion. No interest in dating. No interest in men.

      A man like Dr. Mac had the potential of being able to change all of that. As she returned to her painting she was grateful that she’d never see him again.

      “MOM! WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?” Michael asked when he stepped into examining room number four and saw Tessie sitting there.

      “Cleo’s not well,” she answered, nodding toward the Abyssinian that sat curled up on her lap.

      “She looks okay,” he observed, lifting the purring cat from her lap.

      “Oh, but she’s not. She wouldn’t eat this morning,” she answered.

      “Maybe she wasn’t hungry,” he said, placing Cleo on the examining table. “We all like to skip a meal now and then.”

      “Speaking of meals…” Tessie took her place next to him and watched as he did a routine exam. “You didn’t call and let me know how the dinner went on Saturday.”

      So that was the true reason for the visit to the clinic. “It was fine. Just as Cleo is fine now.”

      “You’re sure?”

      “About the dinner or Cleo?” he quipped.

      She clicked her tongue. “I know you’re a good vet. If you say Cleo is fine, she’s fine. Did you enjoy yourself at the dinner?”

      “As a matter of fact I did,” he answered, reaching for a cat treat.

      He watched his mother’s eyes light up at the thought. She smiled smugly and said, “I knew you would.”

      “They served the most wonderful coq au vin. You would have loved it. The mushroom sauce was exquisite, prepared just the way you like it. And they had those little baby carrots in a wine sauce and escargots…you know how much I like escargots.”

      She fluttered her fingers nervously in midair. “I don’t care about the food. Tell me about the people. Did you meet anyone interesting?”

      “There was a very nice engineer who’d worked on that new overpass on the interstate right outside of downtown, you know, the one that opened in April. He had some very interesting observations.”

      Again her fingers flailed about in midair. “I don’t care about the men at the dinner, Michael. Tell me about the women.”

      He shrugged. “There’s not much to tell. They were nice.”

      She frowned. “Is that all you can find to say about them? They were nice?”

      “Actually, there was one who was very nice.” His mouth automatically split into a grin at the memory of Cassie the artist.

      “Nice enough that you might have dinner with her again?”

      He’d been debating whether or not he should tell her about Cassie the artist. Now that the opportunity had arrived, he decided the less said the better. “No. It was a very nice evening and I thank you.”

      “But what about the four women? They didn’t share your interests?”

      Again