Kitabı oku: «A Perfectly Imperfect Match»

“Did you tell your sister about me?”

“About you?” he repeated, a little confused. Did she think that Megan would object to his planning things with her?

“Yes. About me,” she said again. The silence on the other end told her that maybe she needed to elaborate on that before he got the wrong idea.

“Did you tell her that I’ll be playing at your parents’ anniversary party?” The longer the silence on the other end of the phone, the tighter the knot that had suddenly come into being in her stomach became. A knot that had materialized for no apparent reason…

Isn’t there a reason? something whispered in her head. Haven’t you caught him looking at you in a way that made you forget all about the music you were supposed to play and made you think about the music the two of you could produce, given half a chance?

Dear Reader,

Well, the ladies are at it again. Those Matchmaking Mamas just can’t help themselves. Confronted with a sad single, they become determined to turn that single into a duo. It just takes the right person, or in this case, the right man. It’s what they love to do and feel they do best.

So when Maizie’s old friend confides in her that he is concerned about his daughter who, in a moment of weakness, confessed that she felt as if she were relegated to the sidelines of life, Maizie is immediately off and running. A few discreet inquiries later and the ladies believe they have just the man for a perfect match. Now all it takes is moving a bit of heaven, a bit of earth and getting these two people together so that they could wind up making beautiful music together for life.

Wouldn’t it be nice if it were that easy? Still, the heart is ever optimistic—and so am I. Once again, I would like to thank you for taking the time to read this, and from the bottom of my heart I wish you someone to love who loves you back.

All the best,

Marie Ferrarella

About the Author

MARIE FERRARELLA, this USA TODAY bestselling and RITA^® Award-winning author has written more than two hundred books for Mills & boon, some under the name Marie Nicole. Her romances are beloved by fans worldwide. Visit her website, www.marieferrarella.com.

A Perfectly
Imperfect
Match
Marie Ferrarella

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To

Dr Stephen Johnson,

for being

an excellent doctor all these years

and for giving me

a good idea

Prologue

“Well, I’m happy to report that all your lab tests came back totally normal,” Dr. John Stephens said with a smile, closing Maizie Sommers’s folder. He turned the stool he was sitting on so he was facing her directly. “If all my patients were as healthy as you and those two best friends of yours, I’d be forced to retire.”

“Don’t you dare,” Maizie warned the man that she had known for the better part of thirty-five years, first as her family doctor, and then as a friend. “Doctors like you are hard to find in this day and age.”

“You mean old?” He chuckled.

“No, I mean caring. And you’re not old, John,” she insisted, admiring his thick mane of silver hair and that endearing twinkle in his eyes. “As a matter of fact, there are times that you are quite possibly the youngest man I know.”

The doctor could only shake his head and laugh. Maizie had a gift for always saying the right thing at the right time. And he appreciated it, recognizing it for what it was: kindness.

“Then you definitely should get out more, Maizie,” he urged. “That’s my prescription for you—you need to broaden your base.”

“My base is just fine, thank you,” she assured him with a confident smile. “And you’ll be happy to know that it most definitely is broad.”

Seeing that she had managed to keep her trim figure over all these years, he could only interpret her comment one way. “Then your business is going well?” he asked. Glancing at his watch, he saw that he was running ahead of schedule and could allow himself a couple of moments to catch up.

After her husband had died, needing to provide for herself and her young daughter, he knew that Maizie had gone into the real estate business. She had done quite well for herself over the years and now owned her own company.

“Mercifully, yes. People still want to own their own homes, and I’m right there, eager to help them make their dreams come true.” She never liked to focus on herself for more than a minute or so. She was far more interested in the people she was dealing with. Her doctor was included in this wide circle. “How are your children?” she asked in the same pleasant, unassuming tone. And as she asked, she studied his face, waiting for a response.

He moved her file from one side of his desk to another for no reason except that he seemed to need to do something with his hands. “They’re healthy.”

Maizie leaned in a little. “That’s not quite what I asked, John.”

He laughed, shaking his head. The woman was incredible. But then, he’d thought that on more than one occasion. “Sometimes I think you wasted your talent, going into real estate. You would have made one hell of a prosecutor.”

“I don’t like going after people. I like making them happy. And I love matching up houses and people, bringing them together. There is also my other interest,” she reminded him with a subtle smile.

“Ah, yes, matchmaking.” He recalled her telling him about that the last time she’d been in for her yearly checkup. “Are you still into that?”

“Yes,” she said simply, wondering if he was going to ask her something a little less general, something that would address the nature of what had become her full-time hobby of sorts. “And so are Theresa and Cecilia,” she told him, mentioning the women who had been her best friends since the third grade.

All three of them were businesswomen, all three of them were widows and all three of them reveled in matchmaking strictly for its own sake. Bringing two people together who seemed destined for each other was all the payment they really required.

“How’s that going, anyway?”

The question sounded just a tad too innocently phrased. She studied him with interest. Had he finally admitted to himself that he was lonely? That he needed someone in his life? She was ready to help if he had.

“Our matchmaking business is doing very well. We still have that one hundred percent success record.” She decided to stop beating around the bush and just come out with it. “Would you be interested in our services, John?” she asked quietly.

“Not personally,” he protested, surprised at the question. For his part, he thought he was being very subtle about feeling her out on the subject. “At least, not for myself.”

“I understand that, John,” she assured him, silently adding, And if you ever decide to change your mind, I’ll be right here to help you. Out loud she added, “I know you. You’re a great deal like me. One life, one love. When your Annie died, you focused exclusively on your three children and your career.”

He was surprised, with all the people she dealt with, that she would remember that. “You really are a remarkable woman, Maizie Sommers.”

“So I’ve been told,” she replied with a wide smile. And then she got down to business. “Now, which of your children is keeping you up at night?”

He didn’t want to give Maizie the wrong impression. Nor did he want to be disloyal to Elizabeth. To the outside world, his daughter was outgoing, bubbly and very talented. She wasn’t desperately trolling all the singles haunts, looking for a mate. His concern about her was due to something far more subtle.

“It’s not that I’m worried about her. It’s just that…” The doctor let his voice trail off, not knowing how to phrase what he wanted to say.

“You’re worried about her,” Maizie corrected, reading between the lines. “I thought Elizabeth was seeing someone.”

He frowned, recalling his daughter’s one serious relationship. “That’s been over for a while. He was more interested in changing her than cherishing the person she was.”

Maizie smiled, amused. “Spoken like a true doting father.”

He supposed he was that. He loved all his children, but Elizabeth was his oldest and the only girl. She was the proverbial apple of his eye and he wanted to see her happy.

And she didn’t seem to be.

“We had dinner the other evening and she confided that she felt as if life were bypassing her, because she was always supplying the background music for other people’s romances.”

Maizie summarized what was on his mind. “So, in essence, you’d like to find Mr. Perfect for her.”

He surprised her by shaking his head. “No, I fully realize that there’s never going to be a ‘Mr. Perfect,’” he began.

Maizie cut him short. “Is that you being a realist, or you being a dad who feels that no man will ever be good enough for his daughter?”

He paused to consider that. “A little bit of both, I suppose, but mostly the second part,” he confessed.

Maizie laughed. “All right, I’ll see what I can do about finding Mr. Almost-Perfect for your daughter.”

The doctor rose from his stool and walked Maizie out of his office. “I never thought I’d be one of those fathers looking to set their daughter up with someone. I mean, Elizabeth’s talented, and beautiful—a passel of not-so-perfect men should be tripping all over themselves to get to her.”

“Maybe they are.” Maizie saw the look of surprise on the physician’s handsome, patrician face. “Maybe Elizabeth’s standards are exceptionally high. Maybe,” she concluded, “she’s trying to find someone as upstanding, kind and decent as her father.”

That had never occurred to him. “You really think that’s why she’s still single?”

“Most likely not consciously, but, John, you are a hard act to preempt,” Maizie told him, then added with a wink, “But don’t worry, I am going to try my darndest to do just that.”

“I don’t know whether to be relieved, or worried,” he said honestly.

“Just continue being who you are, John,” she soothed gently, then promised, “I’ll get back to you soon.”

With that, she left his office, a cheerful woman with a mission.

Chapter One

Her fingers glided flawlessly over the taut strings of her violin.

Little by little, as she played, Elizabeth Stephens felt the same old longing creeping over her, the desire to be part of the party instead of merely providing the music for that party.

The moment she realized that her mind had drifted, and that she was feeling way too sorry for herself, Elizabeth winced with guilt.

Here she was, not just stitching together a passable living allowing her to make ends meet, but happily making a very decent living.

Oh, she couldn’t go put a down payment on a yacht anytime soon, but she was more than just getting by—while others in her chosen field had either been forced to give up their dreams entirely, or were doing it more as a hobby that they tried to fit in around their day job.

Luckily, her day job also featured playing the violin. She managed to make a good salary by melding a couple or so different varieties of orchestra engagements. One gig involved playing in the pit for a theater group that was currently trying their hand at a revival of Fiddler on the Roof, another entailed being part of a six-piece orchestra that periodically was called in to provide the background music being scored for a romantic-comedy series.

The last gig involved working alongside several musicians on a commercial for an insurance company. It paid double because they not only played the music but were also seen playing. Her brother Eric had teased her about her screen “presence” and had asked her for her autograph.

And all those jobs didn’t include the weddings, anniversaries, graduation ceremonies and various other social engagements that regularly came her way.

Like this one, Elizabeth thought, taking care to keep her smile in place as she and the four other entertainers who had been hired to perform at Barry Edelstein’s Bar Mitzvah began playing yet another song.

It wasn’t the thirteen-year-old who had triggered her thoughts about sitting on the sidelines, playing while everyone else was having a good time. Instead, it was the Bar Mitzvah boy’s older sister, Rachel. The striking brunette seemed to be completely oblivious to her surroundings—and that included the music—as she gazed up into the face of the young man who was holding her to him so tightly.

As she looked on enviously, it appeared to Elizabeth that there didn’t seem to be enough space between the two young people for a breath to sneak in—not even a shallow one. Anyone could see that they were lost in one another’s eyes—and very much in love.

Elizabeth suppressed a sigh. Here was another occasion of her supplying the theme songs for someone else’s life, someone else’s romance. Without realizing it, the smile she’d kept fixed on her face slipped a little and a small frown took its place.

When was it her turn? she wondered in another moment of self-pity. When did she get to be swept up in her own romance?

“Everything okay, Lizzie?” Jack Borman whispered between barely moving lips as he leaned over toward her.

Jack was playing the portable keyboard he brought to all their mutual engagements. It was because of her previous association with Jack, whom she’d met while still in college, that she had gotten this particular gig, as well as a number of other engagements over the past few years.

Networking was all part of the life of a musician. If you managed to make enough acquaintances in this business, you hopefully got to play—and eat—on a fairly regular basis.

Elizabeth disliked being called Lizzie by some people and she knew that Jack was aware of that, but for some reason, calling her by that nickname seemed to amuse him. Since Jack was the source of a decent amount of work lately—and they were friends—she wasn’t about to belabor the point that being referred to as “Lizzie” made her feel as if she were ten years old.

That it was also, coincidentally, the name of one of her neighbor’s cats—a calico cat that was undoubtedly the fattest feline she’d ever seen outside of a documentary on the Discovery Channel—made the name even less desirable to her.

Elizabeth leaned ever so slightly closer to Jack and his keyboard. “I’m just fine,” she murmured, hoping that he’d leave it there.

But when their eyes met, she realized that she should have known better. Jack liked to think of himself as a minor deity, fixing things that had gone wrong in the lives of “his people,” as he referred to the folks he kept on his roster of potential musicians to call whenever the need for a small orchestra came up.

Of all the musicians Jack had amassed to call for the various affairs he was contracted to play, he’d sent the most amount of work her way. It was no secret that he was interested in her for more than the way she handled a bow.

His interest had a definite social aspect to it, but so far, Elizabeth had managed to get out of accepting his various invitations to “unwind” after a performance—or the handful of rehearsals that preceded those performances.

His bushy eyebrows drew together over his hawklike nose as he scrutinized her closely. “You don’t look fine,” he informed her.

“Must be the lighting,” she murmured, doing her best to terminate the conversation.

Served her right for letting her thoughts get the better of her, Elizabeth upbraided herself. She was here to play—and pay her rent—not to wax envious at what it appeared others had that she did not.

For all she knew, what she thought she was witnessing could be strictly an illusion as well. Maybe this couple wouldn’t even be together this time next year.

If that did turn out to be the case, she certainly didn’t envy either of them the breakup that might be looming on the horizon.

A breakup, she thought, that would inevitably be filled with heartache if either one of them actually loved the other even half as much as appearances would indicate.

Enough already, Elizabeth silently chided herself. What’s wrong with me, anyway?

She knew she was living her dreams. She had to cherish that and stop dwelling on what she didn’t have. When had she gotten so negative?

Besides, careful what you wish for, remember?

With effort, Elizabeth drew her attention away from the romantic couple and closed her eyes, looking as if she were losing herself in her music.

What she was actually doing was protecting herself from making any further eye contact with Jack. She knew that in turn would leave the door open for him to make suggestions as to how to “put a smile on your face” as he liked to put it.

While she was grateful to Jack for the jobs, she would have been far happier just chalking it up to mere friendship. After all, if she were playing in an orchestra or ensemble that found itself needing a pianist, he would be the one she’d recommend.

But she had the uncomfortable feeling that he was actually sending gainful employment her way in a thinly veiled attempt at seducing her.

Eventually, she knew she was going to have to face up to telling him that there was absolutely no chemistry between them, that there was more chemistry between Columbus and the Native Americans when he landed on the shores of the New World than there was between Jack and her.

Elizabeth bit her lower lip, knowing that time was coming sooner than later.

Her eyes flew open as she heard Jack whisper, “I’m having a little party of my own after this shindig. If you’re interested…” he added meaningfully.

She upped the wattage of her smile—one of her best features according to her father—and said, “I’d really love to—”

Jack looked startled, but managed to recover quickly. “Great, I’ll—”

“—but I can’t,” Elizabeth continued in very hushed tones so as not to interfere with the music. “I’ve got to get ready for my studio gig in the morning. It’s for an episode of More than Roommates.”

The name of the popular sitcom evidently meant nothing to Jack since he didn’t watch episodic television. He frowned over his apparent strike-out. Again.

“That’s tomorrow?” he asked vaguely.

Elizabeth nodded, concentrating harder, determined not to miss a single beat. “That’s right.”

Jack grew silent for a moment. He was devoted to his craft, but he also clearly had designs on being more than just a fellow musician in Elizabeth’s eyes.

“Blow it off,” he told her suddenly. “I can get you another studio gig with—”

She cut him off with a slight, although emphatic, shake of the head. “I already agreed to it. You’re only as good as your word in this business,” she reminded him as tactfully as she could. Jack had it in him to be a really good friend and she didn’t want to hurt his feelings, but she didn’t like having her back to the wall this way, either.

Jack shrugged, his thin shoulders rising and falling rather hard beneath his tuxedo as he muttered, “Your loss.”

The way Elizabeth said “I know” helped assuage his wounded ego just as she’d intended. She could see it in his expression as he pulled himself away from the carefully couched rejection.

Maybe eventually they’d work this thing out, she thought. At least she could hope.

Elizabeth threw herself into the next number and tried to put this unpleasant episode behind her.

Her apartment felt lonelier than usual as Elizabeth let herself in later that evening.

She’d deliberately left a light on when she’d departed earlier for the Bar Mitzvah, anticipating that she just might need help in being upbeat when she came home.

Unfortunately, the light didn’t manage to do the trick—that aching loneliness was still waiting for her.

Or rather, it had ridden home with her in the car, growing more and more acute with every mile that brought her closer to her empty apartment.

Locking the door behind her, she threw her keys and purse onto the top of the small bookcase near the door and stepped out of her shoes.

Maybe she needed a pet, Elizabeth mused. A warm, happy puppy to jump up and greet her as she came through the door.

For a split second, she actually considered it. She certainly had an abundance of love to give to a pet. But then she thought of how guilty she’d feel about keeping the poor thing cooped up in the apartment while she was away at work. Considering how sporadic and unstructured her engagements were, the puppy wouldn’t be able to have anything that resembled a normal, regular schedule.

Besides, she reminded herself, Mrs. Goldberg had Lizzie and she was forever telling her how lonely she was for actual company ever since “her Albert” had passed on. The feline, while fairly affectionate, still didn’t fill the gap she had in her heart, the older woman had confessed sadly.

No, the cure for this loneliness that kept wrapping its tentacles around her lately was just more work, Elizabeth decided. It was while she was playing that she felt whole, as if she was contributing something worthwhile and beautiful to the universe. The violin was capable of making its audience both laugh and weep, and she could make it do both with aplomb.

Elizabeth glanced at the answering machine as she walked past it. The red light was blinking, telling her she had messages.

One, she knew, was bound to be from her father. That wonderful man always called her every night, no matter how busy his day had been, just to check in on her.

Now there’s something to really be grateful for, she told herself. Not everyone had a father like that, a man who had single-handedly raised her and her two younger brothers while he was juggling a full-time career as a physician.

With very little warning, he’d been blindsided by his wife’s sudden onset of pancreatic cancer and just like that, he’d found himself a widower with three young children.

Rather than farming his kids off to a female relative, or gladly abdicating his role to some full-time nanny he paid to raise his children, he’d painstakingly rearranged his life so that he could be there for every school play, every concert, even every parent/teacher conference. Elizabeth would forever be grateful to her dad for all the sacrifices he’d made over the years. There wasn’t anything that she wouldn’t do for him—and she knew her brothers felt the same way.

Maybe that was part of why she was having such trouble finding someone to share her life with, Elizabeth thought. She wanted to meet a man who had the warmth, the integrity, the sensitivity that her father had. She supposed that her standards were just too high.

But then, her father met those standards. So wasn’t it reasonable to believe that there might be someone else in the world like that? Someone who, in addition to all the aforementioned attributes, could also make her world stand still.

That was how, she remembered, her mother had told her that she’d felt the very first time that she’d met her father.

It was one of Elizabeth’s most cherished memories, sitting beside her mother, flipping through an album of old photographs. She remembered it was raining that day. She had to have been around four or five. Eric had been around two, and Ethan was still in his crib. She and her mother had looked over the album for hours. Her mother had a story about every photograph.

The next summer, her mother was gone.

Just like that.

A victim of an insidious, cruel disease. It had taken her father nearly two years to forgive himself for not being able to save her.

That was real love, she thought.

And that was what she was never destined to find for herself. Elizabeth pressed her lips together. She was just going to have to make her peace with that—if she was ever to have any peace at all.

Besides, she thought, how would she feel if she finally found that one special someone and then lost him, the way her father had lost her mother? Maybe it was for the best to just avoid the pain altogether.

With a resigned sigh she went to the refrigerator to see what she had that might lend itself to at least partially filling the emptiness she felt in her stomach.

There wasn’t much to choose from.

Her father always sent her home with food whenever she visited him. In addition to being a top-notch physician, her father was also a terrific cook who could throw together sumptuous meals out of next to nothing.

She, however, lacked the cooking gene that thrived so well in his veins. Despite the fact that her brothers both knew how to whip things up, her father had failed to pass that particular trait on to her in any manner, shape or form.

She burned water when she boiled it.

Consequently, the only items that resided in her refrigerator after she ran out of the home-cooked meals her father loaded her down with were leftovers from the local take-out restaurants.

She took a quick survey—not that there was all that much to look over.

“Leftover Chinese it is,” Elizabeth murmured, pulling out a couple of cartons with red Chinese characters embossed on the sides.

She brought the cartons over to the small dinette table she had set up in the alcove. Taking the portable phone receiver over with her as well, Elizabeth made herself comfortable. She took a few bites of food—she wasn’t altogether clear on exactly what she was eating at this point since the meals all tended to blend together after a couple of days—and pressed Play.

The first call, as she’d guessed, was from her father.

Elizabeth smiled as she listened.

“Are you there, Elizabeth?” There was a slight pause as he waited for a pickup. “No? Guess you’re busy playing. I know, old joke. But I still like it. Old has its place, you know. Like your old dad.”

“You’re not old, Dad,” she murmured affectionately. “You’re distinguished.”

“Hope it was a good evening for you,” her father continued. “Sorry I didn’t get to talk to you in person. Nothing new on this end. One of your brothers is working, the other one isn’t.” A slight chuckle accompanied the statement. “Two out of three isn’t bad, I always say. Sleep well, my virtuoso. I’ll try to catch you tomorrow. If not, see you on Thursday. Love you.” It was the way her father ended every phone call to her, the way he sent her off each time they parted company. Hearing it always made her smile—and feel safe.

“Love you, too, Dad,” Elizabeth said softly to the machine.

Just the sound of her father’s deep, authoritative voice somehow managed to make her feel better, she thought as she pressed for the next message.

Ten seconds into the call, she pressed the button to bypass the message. It was someone asking for a contribution to some college on the East Coast that she had never heard of.

The third and last message was the kind of message that she listened for, the ones that involved her bread and butter.

The deep, resonant voice caught her attention immediately. Putting down her fork, she picked up a pen, drew her pad to her and listened for details.

“I’m not sure if I have the right number, but a Mrs. Manetti suggested I call. She’s catering for me. Well, not me, but my parents, except they don’t know—” She heard the man sigh, as if annoyed with the way that had come out. “Let me start over,” he said.

“Go right ahead,” Elizabeth murmured, amused. She popped a quick forkful into her mouth, picked up her pen again and waited.

“I’m hosting this special party and someone suggested that music would be good—”

“Yes,” Elizabeth said to the phone, heartily agreeing. “Music is always good.”

And so was getting paid for making it, she thought fondly.

The man with the deep voice cleared his throat several times, and she waited patiently for the message to continue.

“I’ll…uh…try to get you later,” he finally said just before terminating the call.

That’s it? Elizabeth stared accusingly at her answering machine.

“I can’t believe he just hung up,” she said incredulously. She pressed the button that allowed her to look at the previous call, wanting to find the man’s phone number via the caller ID feature since he hadn’t left it on the garbled, aborted message.

The word private spread out across the small screen. Using the *69 feature on her phone yielded the same frustrating results. No phone number, no name, no nothing. The man with the sultry voice and the tied tongue obviously valued his privacy.

Elizabeth blew out an exasperated breath. Nothing she hated more than to think she was going to be offered a job only to have it reneged.

Or, in this case, dangled before her, and then pulled like some carrot on a string.

Maybe he’ll call back, she thought, putting the receiver back down. All she could do was hope. She wasn’t at a place in her life where she could just shrug carelessly when it came to the promise of money. She needed every gig she could line up.

“Maybe tomorrow will be better,” she murmured to herself.

She erased message number two and three, clearing space on her machine for more messages. If Mr. Sultry Voice didn’t call back, someone else would. Happily, someone always did. After all her monthly bills were taken care of, she’d put the remainder of whatever money she’d earned aside in what amounted to a tiny nest egg. She turned to the latter on those occasions when she found herself needing to bridge the financial gap between engagements.

Lucky for her that her needs were few and her tastes were the exact opposite of extravagant, she thought, making short work of the leftover Chinese food.