Twenty Wishes (Blossom Street #5)(81)

“Hi.” His voice was impatient. “I phoned like you asked me to. Now what is it you want to know?”

She hadn’t actually thought the call required a purpose. “What are you wearing?”

“I’m on to your game! You’re asking me that because you want me to ask you the same question.”

“I’m wearing an ivory silk gown.”

“Short?”

“No, full-length. What about you?”

“I’m not saying,” he muttered. “I don’t understand the point of this, and I’m not interested in silly games.”

“I want you to want me,” she said. “That’s all.”

“That’s all?” She heard him snort disbelievingly. “You don’t need to work nearly this hard.”

“That’s very sweet.”

“It wasn’t meant to be.”

“Mark,” she whispered, nearly purring his name. “Loosen up. We hardly know each other. I thought we could use this time to talk, to get acquainted.”

He didn’t say anything for maybe ten seconds, although it felt more like ten minutes. “What do you want to know?” he asked again.

“What do you do?” She already knew, but wanted him to tell her, anyway.

“I’m an architect.” He didn’t elaborate or describe any of the buildings he’d designed. Nor did he say where he worked or where he’d gone to school or anything else regarding his professional life. Barbie was beginning to understand him. The less he revealed about himself, the less likely she was to hurt him.

“I have twin sons,” she said, moving the conversation into more personal realms.

“Identical?”

“Yes. My husband was killed in a plane crash three years ago.”

“I know. You aren’t the only one who uses the Internet. Both your husband and your father worked for a huge perfume conglomerate. You never said anything about that.”

“Why should I? Mom and I don’t really have anything to do with the company.”

“You do smell good most of the time.”

“Most of the time?” she flared.

“Chlorine isn’t one of your better scents.”

“I’ll have you know you’re the only man in the world who could get me into a public swimming pool. I live in mortal fear that my hair’s going to turn green in that overchlorinated water and it’ll be entirely your fault.”

“Then don’t come.”

“Uh-huh. And miss getting splashed by you? It’s the highlight of my week!”

He laughed, and in her mind she saw the mercenary who stood guard over his feelings lay down one weapon in his arsenal.

They spoke for two hours. Before they said good-night, Mark admitted he’d been in bed a full thirty minutes before he phoned. He wouldn’t have called at all, he said, if not for the fact that he couldn’t sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, the thought of her waiting in bed taunted him until he couldn’t tolerate it anymore.

On Thursday afternoon, after her belly dancing class, Barbie met her mother for lunch. Lillie had already arrived at the upscale hotel restaurant and was reviewing the menu when Barbie joined her. Lillie did an immediate double take.

“My goodness, you look wonderful! I know it’s a cliché, but you’re positively glowing.”

“It’s just sweat. This belly dancing is hard work.”

“No, it’s more.” Lillie set the menu aside. “Is it that…man?”

“His name is Mark and yes, now that you mention it, he and I have been talking.”

“You really like him, don’t you?”

Barbie was crazy about him, but she wasn’t ready to let her mother know that. She didn’t want to ruin their lunch; so far, Lillie had been accepting of the situation and Barbie wanted it to stay that way.

“I didn’t come to talk about Mark. I want to know how things are developing between you and Mr. Silva.”

Lillie smiled, her eyes warm. “If I tell you something, you have to promise not to laugh.”

“Mom, I won’t laugh.”

“We’ve been bowling twice in the last week.”

“Bowling?”

“I’m good at it.”

“My mother’s a bowler. I’m calling Jerry Springer,” Barbie teased.

“Oh, stop it,” Lillie said and blushed.

“All you do is bowl?”

“Oh, heavens, no. We’ve gone for long walks and we attended a lecture at the Seattle Art Museum and signed up for a Chinese cooking class.”

“What I mean is, has he kissed you?”

Lillie lowered her eyes. “Yes. We might be over sixty, but we aren’t dead.”

“That’s for sure.” In fact, her mother looked more alive than she had in years. “I think this is great!”

“What about you and Mark?”

There wasn’t much to tell. “We’ve talked for the past three nights.” Mark had confessed he generally didn’t enjoy chatting on the phone. Still, they’d talked nearly two hours every time. Gradually, he was opening up to her and he became as engrossed in their conversations as she did.

When Barbie returned from lunch that afternoon, a large floral arrangement had been delivered. “Who sent the flowers?” she asked.