By Christine S. Feldman
Much as she loves her meddling matchmaker of a grandmother,
free-spirited Aimee Beasley is tired of dodging the dull and downright tiresome
dates the older woman keeps trying to arrange for her. So when she notices her beloved Gran preening
in the presence of a distinguished elderly gentleman who’s been visiting their
apartment building, Aimee is delighted at the prospect of turning the tables on
her.
But her plans to match her grandmother up with the gentleman
in time for Valentine’s Day hit a snag when Aimee realizes he’s the uncle of
their downstairs neighbor, a stodgy thirty-something history professor named
Doyle with whom she butts heads on a regular basis. She’ll need to find a way to make nice and
enlist his help, or her plan to see her long-widowed Gran happily matched again
will never work.
For Gran’s sake, she’s determined to find a way. In the process, she starts to realize that
her cranky downstairs neighbor has a softer side she never suspected
existed.
And when it comes to romantic heroes, history professors may
not have gotten a fair shake…
Barnes & Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/playing-cupid-christine-s-feldman/1118112416?ean=2940148317425
Excerpt
Aimee
Beasley held the door open to their apartment building’s lobby for her beloved
and bespectacled Gram as the older woman listed the many wonderful qualities
possessed by her pharmacist, starting with his full head of hair and ending
with his detailed knowledge of the common side effects of every medication
known to humankind. It was a
surprisingly long list, so either Gram had spent a great deal of time compiling
it, or she had simply made half of it up.
Either way, her dedication to her cause was admirable.
“So?”
said Gram, expectant and finally pausing to draw breath as she peered at her
granddaughter through tortoiseshell glasses that seemed to dwarf her face.
Aimee
shook her head.
“But
he’s such a nice young man—“ her grandmother protested.
“Nope.”
“I’m
sure the two of you would have a lovely time getting to know each other.”
“Nope.” This was becoming an all too familiar
conversation between them, and it was usually sparked by whatever “suitable”
prospect had happened to catch Aimee’s matchmaking grandmother’s eye most
recently. Today, of course, it had been
her pharmacist, a man who Aimee was quite sure had as little interest in dating
her as she did in going out with him.
Gram
held a quivering hand to her heart and sighed dramatically.
“Nice
try, Gram,” Aimee said patiently, unperturbed and shifting the bag of groceries
she carried to one hand so she could dig in her pocket for her keys with the
other. “You know that won’t work on me.”
The
older woman scowled, but the quiver in her hand abruptly disappeared.
“I don’t know why you insist upon
turning down every young man I find for you.
I’d appreciate it if you’d keep an open mind about this sort of thing,
Aimee.”
“And
I’d appreciate it if you’d stop trying to pimp me out.” Aimee finally
found her keys and pulled them out
to shove the right one into their mailbox.
Pulling out the handful of
envelopes and flyers inside, she closed it again and led the way to the
elevator.
“But,
dear, my pharmacist is really very charming.”
“Then
you go out with him.”
Gram
frowned at Aimee again and took the mail from her so Aimee could better balance
the groceries. “He’s barely thirty.”
Aimee
let out a wolf whistle. “My Gram, the
cougar!”
“The
what?”
The
elevator opened, and both women stepped inside.
“It’s an older woman who likes to play with young boy-toys, Gram. But if you do decide to bring your pharmacist
home with you one day, do me a favor and put a sock on the door or something so
I know not to go barging in, okay?”
“Young
lady—“ Gram began, sputtering at her granddaughter as the elevator carried them
up to the fourth floor.
Aimee
gave her a cheeky grin.
The
older woman’s eyes narrowed, and she recovered her composure. “Don’t think I’ll give up that easily. I’ve got plenty of time on my hands and
little else to do besides think about these kinds of things, you know.”
“Bring
it, lady,” Aimee returned, and then planted an affectionate kiss on top of the
other woman’s headful of white curls as the elevator doors opened. “So, turkey or tuna today?” she asked as they
reached their apartment door and she juggled keys and groceries again.
“Tuna.”
“Melt
or mayo?”
“Melt,
I think,” Gram decided, following Aimee into the apartment. “With the cheddar, if you don’t mind.”
“Cheddar
it is. Give me five minutes to put this
stuff away, and I’ll fix it.”
“Oh,
dear…”
“Okay,
three minutes.” Aimee pulled open the refrigerator door and
began stuffing groceries inside. “Are
you really that hungry?”
“What? Oh no, it’s not that.” Gram waved an envelope. “It appears we’ve gotten another piece of Mr.
Berkley’s mail mixed in with ours again.
Fifth time this month, I think.”
Aimee
twitched at the sound of his name.
Actually, it was the sixth time this month. Not all that shocking considering D. Berkley
lived in apartment three-twelve and D. Beasley lived in four-twelve, but it was
unfortunate all the same, because each time it meant Aimee had to go
downstairs, knock on Doyle Berkley’s door, and then—she grimaced—speak to the
man. Judging by the expression on his
face every time he opened the door and saw her standing there, he enjoyed these
little mail exchanges about as much as she did.
But
this particular piece of mail didn’t look all that thick. Maybe she could shove it under the door and
make a break for it. Sort of like
pulling the pin from a grenade and then running.
“Dear,
would you mind…?” Gram held the letter
out to her.
“Sure,
Gram,” Aimee agreed, forcing a smile as she took it and turned to go.
“Wait—here,
take some scones,” her grandma said, hastily reaching into the
grocery bag for the pastries they’d
picked up at the bakery minutes earlier and arranging some on a small
plate. “It’s the polite thing to do when
calling on a neighbor.”
So
much for shoving the mail under the door.
“I’m not ‘calling’ on him—“
“Manners,
Aimee. You can’t go empty-handed.”
“I’m
not empty-handed. I’ve got his mail.”
But
her grandma thrust the plate of scones at her anyway. “Good neighbors are hard to come by, and Mr.
Berkley is a good neighbor.”
Aimee
snorted.
“He
is! He’s been very helpful to me in the
past. I don’t know why you dislike him
so.”
“Because
he walks around like he’s got a stick up his—“
“Aimee Elizabeth Beasley!”
“Aimee Elizabeth Beasley!”
“I
was going to say backside,” Aimee returned piously.
“No,
you were not.”
No,
she wasn’t, but all Aimee said in response was, “Be back in a minute,” and then
she slipped back out the door.
* *
*
The
third floor was virtually identical to the fourth, and both showed their
age. The pinstripe wallpaper must have been an
update from whatever had covered the walls originally, but it was well-faded
now itself, and the plain brown carpet in the hallways was worn so thin that it
hardly looked like carpet anymore. No,
the Belmont was not exactly the most cutting edge when it came to apartment
complexes, although it might have been fifty years ago when it was first
built. It was, however, the place where
Ms. Delia Beasley had lived quite happily for the past three decades, and she had
made it quite clear that she had no intention of moving.
Naturally,
her son—Aimee’s father—was less than thrilled about his elderly and widowed
mother living on her own, and the difference of opinion had caused no small
amount of tension between the two.
Tensions had continued to rise until one day Aimee had taken matters
into her own hands and simply suggested she move in with her grandmother, split
the expenses down the middle, and voilà—everybody’s problems had been solved.
Well,
except for the mail delivery, she thought as she approached apartment
three-twelve.
Aimee
raised her hand that held the envelope in order to rap on the door, and then
the plate of scones wobbled in her other hand.
Reacting on impulse, she shoved the piece of mail between her teeth so
she could rescue falling scones and grab the plate with both hands—which was,
of course, precisely the moment when Doyle opened his front door.
Doyle
Berkley always seemed to have an aura of grimness about him, and today was no
exception. True, he lightened up
somewhat when speaking with Gram if they happened to pass each other in the
lobby, but even then Aimee didn’t think she could exactly call him
cheerful. Only less grim. Dark hair and shadows under his eyes did
nothing to combat the somberness of his overall aspect, and he gave the
impression of a man who did not care much for the company of others.
Likely
as not it came from spending all his time with history books instead of
living, breathing people. Memorizing dates and details about wars
throughout the centuries—and then forcing university students to regurgitate
them—couldn’t be healthy for anyone.
Which was probably why Aimee had flunked history in high school; it was
on principle.
They
stared at each other for a moment, Doyle’s grey eyes cool as they narrowed and
took in the young woman standing on his doorstep with the envelope between her
teeth.
“We
got some more of your mail,” Aimee said matter-of-factly around the
edges of the item in question, the
words slightly garbled because of the obstruction.
“So
I see,” Doyle returned, reaching for the envelope and eyeing the faint teeth
marks on it with obvious displeasure.
“And you decided to eat it?”
“In
my defense,” said Aimee. “It is
lunchtime.”
She
got no response, not even a twitch of an eyelid.
Had
this guy ever been fun? He couldn’t be
past his mid-thirties, and yet more often than not it seemed like he was
channeling his inner curmudgeon. “Oh,
come on. Lighten up. It wouldn’t kill you, would it?”
He
said nothing, but she could have sworn his eyes narrowed even further, if that
was possible.
“Brr. Did you feel that?” She made an exaggerated shiver. “I think the temperature in this hallway just
dropped by about thirty degrees. Happens
every time I come by here. How do you do
that?”
“Almost.” Aimee thrust the plate of scones at him. “These are from Gram. She insisted.”
For
a moment she thought his cool exterior thawed.
“Please thank her for me.”
“I
will.”
“Good.”
“Okay,
now we’re done here.”
Without
another word, Doyle closed his door, leaving Aimee alone in the
hallway.
“Ah,
there we go,” Aimee said aloud as she turned to go. “Warmer in here
already.”
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