Hold Me Close(27)

* * *

“So, tell me about what you do.” Mitchell waited for the waiter to finish pouring the coffee before he leaned forward a little to look across the dessert plates at her.

It was an inevitable question for a second date, and one for which Effie had a standard answer. “I work from home, handling the details of an online retail store specializing in handcrafted items.”

“Cool.” Mitchell pulled the sugar packets toward him and added a few, then cream. “Do you like it?”

She laughed. “Sure. Do you like what you do? Tell me what you do, exactly. Software engineering. What does that mean, exactly? Programming? Writing code?”

It was almost always a cinch to get men talking about themselves so she could avoid talking about herself. Mitchell laughed and sat back in his chair. He shrugged.


“I put out fires,” he said.

Effie sipped coffee. “Huh?”

“People bring me problems, and I fix them. Writing code, yes. Mostly for websites, but sometimes for internal company functions like, for example, if a company needs an internal instant message system, I might work on that.”

“Sounds exciting,” Effie said.

Mitchell laughed again, ruefully, and tilted his head. It was charming, the way he did that. Something about the slant of his smile.

“Oh, it doesn’t. And it mostly isn’t. Do I like what I do? Not really. I mean, it’s a good job, I guess. But mostly at this point I’m just lazy about it. I do what I have to, and that’s about it.”

It was not a confession she’d expected from him, yet it made her like him better. No false modesty. “So why keep doing it?”

“Money. And lazy,” he repeated. “I don’t feel like trying to find a new job or do something else. I envy people who follow their dreams, I guess, but I’m too practical.”

For a second, Effie considered telling him the truth about what she really did, but it would have only been to brag and would’ve opened doors she wasn’t ready to unlock. “There’s a lot to be said for being practical. What would you do, if you could do anything in the world?”

“I’d knit sweaters for ducks.”

He said it so deadpan, so serious, that Effie didn’t know what to say. When he laughed, though, she joined him. Mitchell shook his head.

“Sorry. It’s something my dad always said when someone asked him what he was doing. He’d say, knitting sweaters for ducks. I have no idea why. But, really, if I could do anything? I’d be a ski instructor in the winter. In the summers, be a rafting guide.”

Effie sat back in her seat. “Really?”

“Really.” Mitchell shrugged and gave her that head tilt, that tilted smile. He had no idea how cute it was, that was evident, which meant that no woman had ever told him so. Maybe no woman had ever thought so.

Watching him gave Effie a warmish feeling all over, thinking that perhaps there was something about him that would be fresh and new with her. That she might be the first, in some way. Which was vanity and arrogance, she reminded herself.

“I’ve never gone skiing. Or rafting.”

Mitchell shifted in his seat and leaned a bit closer, his gaze on hers. “I’ll have to take you, then. Next summer.”

Next summer was a long damned time away, but his words sent another round of tingling heat through her. They were only words, she knew that, but even so, it gave her something to think about. Something beyond a third date, anyway.

The conversation drifted after that, interrupted by a buzz from Effie’s phone. She excused herself to check it. “My kid.”

It was a photo of Polly and Heath at the bowling alley, both with wide grins and thumbs up. Another came in a moment later of Heath doing what looked like a victory dance after a strike. This one had the corner of Polly’s eye and someone else in the background. A blonde someone. Effie frowned and didn’t reply. She looked up to see Mitchell’s curious look.

“She’s out with her...my...friend. They’re bowling,” she explained.

“Everything okay?”

No, because apparently Heath had taken Polly on his date with Lisa Collins. Effie didn’t say that aloud. “Yep. I should be getting home soon, though. He’s doing me a huge favor taking the kid. My mom was supposed to, but she was sick. I promised I wouldn’t be out late.”

“Seems like they’re having fun, though. Are you sure you have to rush home? I thought we could check out this local jazz band at Mooney’s. A friend of mine’s the bass player.”

Effie hesitated. Jazz made her ears bleed. She must’ve done a poor job of hiding her distaste, because Mitchell frowned.

“No?” he asked.

“I just... I really... I hate jazz.” She gave an apologetic smile.

“You know what?” Mitchell said. “Me, too.”

She laughed and shook her head. “So...why?”

“My friend really is the bass player. He’s been asking me to come out for months. I figured if I had to suffer through it, at least the company would make it all worthwhile.” Mitchell, Effie discovered, had a really great, genuine smile.

They sat in smiling silence for a moment or so. She liked him, Effie realized. Really liked him and his great smile and his sense of humor and the fact he was up front about being lazy with his job. She liked that he knew without a doubt what it was he’d like to do, if he threw away the restrictions of practicality. She liked that he hated jazz but would listen to it so he could make a friend happy.