Match Me If You Can (Chicago Stars #6)(64)

Football.



After lunch, the book club took a walk around the campground and continued their discussion of the biographies of the famous women they’d read. Annabelle had dug into both Katharine Graham’s and Mary Kay Ash’s books. Phoebe had concentrated on Eleanor Roosevelt, Charmaine on Josephine Baker, Krystal on Coco Chanel. Janine had read several biographies of cancer survivors, and Sharon had explored the life of Frida Kahlo. Molly, predictably, had chosen Beatrix Potter. As they talked, they related the women’s lives to their own, looked for common themes, and examined each woman’s survival skills.

After their walk, they returned to Kevin and Molly’s private gazebo. Janine began setting out an assortment of old magazines, catalogs, and art supplies. “We did this in my cancer support group,” she said. “It was pretty revealing. We’re going to cut out words and pictures that appeal to us and assemble them into individual collages. When we’re done, we’ll talk about them.”

Annabelle knew a land mine when she saw one, and she was very careful what she chose. Unfortunately, not careful enough.

“That man looks a lot like Heath.” Molly pointed to a hunky model in a Van Heusen shirt Annabelle had pasted in the upper left corner of her poster.

“He does not,” Annabelle protested. “He represents the kind of male clients I want Perfect for You to attract.”

“What about that bedroom furniture?” Charmaine pointed out a Crate & Barrel sleigh bed. “And the little girl and the dog?”

“They’re on the other side of the paper. Professional life. Personal life. Totally separate.”

Luckily, the dessert tray arrived just then, so they stopped interrogating her, but even a slab of lemon cake didn’t stop her from lambasting herself for last night. Had she been born stupid or was this a skill she’d worked to acquire? And one more night stretching in front of her…

Twinz!”

Heath winced as he spotted the pint-size demon from the blue lagoon clomping toward him through the sand in a polka-dot bathing suit, her red rubber boots, and a baseball cap that came down so far over her ears only the curly ends of her blond hair peeked out from beneath. He grabbed the newspaper from under his beach chair and pretended not to see her.

The guys had played a couple of games of pickup basketball after lunch, then Heath had gone back to the cottage to make some phone calls. Afterward, he’d pulled on his trunks and headed for the beach, where they were supposed to meet the women later for a swim before they all headed to town for dinner. Despite the time he’d spent on the phone, he’d started to feel as though this really was a vacation.

“Twinz?”

He pulled the newspaper closer to his face, hoping Pippi would go away if he ignored her. She was unpredictable, and that made him uncomfortable. Who knew what she’d come up with next? Off to his left, Webster and Kevin tossed a Frisbee with some of the kids who were staying at the campground. Darnell lay on a Mickey Mouse beach towel, engrossed in a book. Small, sandy fingers tapped Heath’s arm. He turned a page.

“Twinz?”

He kept his eyes on the headlines. “No twins here.”

She tugged on the leg of his swim trunks and said it for the fourth time, except this time it sounded like pwinz, and that’s when he got it. Prince. She was calling him Prince. And wasn’t that just cuter than crap?

He peered at her around the side of the paper. “I didn’t bring my phone.”

She beamed at him and patted her little round stomach. “I got a baby.”

He dropped the paper and looked frantically around for her father, but Kevin was showing a skinny kid with a bad haircut how to get more mileage from the Frisbee.

“Hey, Pip.”

He whipped around to the sound of a familiar female voice and saw the cavalry walking toward him in the form of his sexy little matchmaker, delectably dressed in a modestly cut white bikini. A rainbow-colored plastic heart gathered the material between her breasts into pleats, and a second heart, this one larger and printed directly on the fabric, nested next to her hip. He couldn’t see a hard edge or sharp angle anywhere. She was all pliant curves and soft contours: narrow shoulders, nipped waist, round hips, and thighs that she, being a woman, undoubtedly thought were too fat, but he, being a man, judged extremely nuzzle-able.

“Belle!” Pippi squealed.

He swallowed. “I’ve never been happier to see a person in my life.”

“Why’s that?” Annabelle stopped next to his chair but refused to look directly at him. She hadn’t forgotten about last night, which was fine with him. He didn’t want her to forget, proving her point that he was a snake, but not an unredeemable one. As much as he’d enjoyed himself—and he’d definitely enjoyed himself—there’d be no repeat performance. He was bad, but not that bad.

“Guess what?” Pippi went through the stomach-rubbing routine again. “I got a baby in my tummy.”

Annabelle looked interested. “No kidding? What’s its name?”

“Daddy.”

Heath winced. “That’s why.”

Annabelle laughed. Pippi sprawled in the sand and picked at a dab of blue polish on her big toe. “Pwinz don’t have his phone.”

Annabelle sat in the sand next to her, looking puzzled. “I don’t understand.”