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A Perfectly Imperfect Match
Marie Ferrarella
Jared Winterset is not in the market for a wife…until he’s thrown together with beautiful violinist Elizabeth.Soon, they are enjoying themselves way too much, but Elizabeth isn’t sure it will last and Jared thinks their relationship is just fun. But they’re about to learn that, in a real love match, both players can win…



“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 (http://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.

Chapter Two
“So, how did it go, Jared? Were you able to reach Elizabeth to make the arrangements?” Theresa Manetti’s melodic voice asked early the next morning when, bleary-eyed and semiconscious, he’d managed to pick up the phone receiver on his second attempt.
The caterer had caught Jared Winterset completely off guard. He’d been up late, working on an ad campaign that needed some serious last-minute revamping and fueling his flagging energy with bracing black coffee, which could have walked off on its own power at any time. Consequently, he wasn’t firing on all four cylinders this morning when he answered his phone.
Jared liked the woman. His path had crossed Mrs. Manetti’s because, in his line of work, he occasionally had to throw a few parties for his clients. Someone had given him her card a couple of years ago, along with a glowing recommendation that turned out to be right on the money. Theresa took pride in her work and had a personal stake in every affair she catered. The food, he could honestly say, was incredible.
Over time, they struck up an easy friendship. She was like the doting aunt he’d never had and he valued her input. It was Theresa who had given him the name and phone number of the violinist he hadn’t been able to reach last night.
He wondered now if possibly the two were related. Why else would Theresa be calling at this hour to find out how it went?
“No,” he answered. “She wasn’t home. I tried to leave a message on her answering machine, but that didn’t work out too well.”
Rather than just letting it go at that, Theresa surprised him by wanting to know, “What happened?”
For the second time in two minutes, she’d caught him off guard.
“Bad connection,” he answered. Okay, so it was a lie, he thought, but he really didn’t feel like going into the fact that he’d hung up midmessage after becoming tongue-tied and unable to articulate even the simplest of thoughts.
Instead of making a second attempt at leaving a coherent voice mail, Jared had decided to just try again another time. His hopes were that the future call would get him in contact with a human being rather than an irritating recording announcing that no one could take his call at the moment, but to please leave a message after the tone.
The sad truth was that answering machines left him somewhat disoriented, and if not exactly flustered, certainly not at the top of his game. After all, he was an ad executive who had great people skills according to his annual evaluations at the firm, not to mention the input given to his superiors by very satisfied clients. But, despite all that, there was no getting away from the fact that he just didn’t feel right talking to a machine—in this case, the answering machine.
Jared would have been the first to admit that inanimate objects held no interest for him. That was the main reason why, other than when the necessity for extensive research arose, he spent next to no time online. He had no overwhelming desire to look up old acquaintances or strike up new friendships via the internet.
He was and had always been a one-on-one kind of a guy and he liked it that way just fine. It was what made him so good at ad campaigns. He made them seem as if they were speaking solely to each person in the audience.
“But you’ll try getting in touch with her again?” The way Theresa asked the question, it was as if his answer was a foregone conclusion.
“Well, I’m going to be kind of busy for the next few days,” he told her. There were still a great many details about the celebration to iron out, not to mention that he had several clients’ hands to hold through a rough time. “I’ve got an idea,” he told Theresa. “Why don’t you just make the arrangements for a band for me?” he suggested. “I mean, you’re already handling the catering and you’ve always done a bang-up job with that.”
No, no! You’re not getting the point, Theresa thought in frustration. Frustration she managed to completely hide from the intended target of all this effort.
Maizie, one of her two dearest friends in the whole world, had called her the moment she’d left the doctor’s office, telling her about Dr. Stephens’s daughter. Maizie had put both her and Cecilia, her other friend, on high alert. Between the three of them, she was certain that they could find someone for Dr. Stephens’s daughter.
Theresa had gotten lucky first. But nothing ever went smoothly, she thought now.
“I’ll do anything you want me to with food, Jared, but I think that you should be the one to select your parents’ music,” she suggested tactfully. “After all, you’re the one who knows what they like—”
Actually, he didn’t have a clue as to what his parents liked to listen to. He vaguely remembered that when he was a child, his mother used to like to play old show tunes—but he didn’t know if she still did—and as for his father…Off the top of his head, he couldn’t recall if the old man favored one style of music over another.
“Probably the same thing you like” was his best guess.
This wasn’t going to be as easy as their last effort to pair up a couple, Theresa thought. But she was nothing if not a study in quiet determination. People, it was her firm belief, were much happier in pairs than alone.
“Be that as it may, Jared. I know that I would be touched if my son was personally involved in all the preparations for my thirty-fifth wedding anniversary. Trust me, mothers are funny like that,” she added as her closing argument.
Before he could jump in with another rebuttal, an idea came to her. “I happen to know that Ms. Stephens will be playing at Paragon Studios today. She’s part of a small ensemble recording the background music for this romantic-comedy series, More than Roommates. Why don’t you drop by and give her a listen?” She paused. “That way you can hear her perform in person and that’ll help you make up your mind about the pluses of having live music at your parents’ party.”
It sounded reasonable, but there was one thing wrong with her suggestion. “I can’t just waltz onto a sound-stage,” Jared pointed out. He didn’t know all that much about the mechanics of taping a show, but he did know that.
If he thought this was over, he was mistaken, Theresa thought with a tinge of triumph.
“Not most studios,” she agreed. “But you can this one. The director’s an old friend of mine. I’ll give him a call and I know he won’t mind you coming in—as long as you just observe.”
The woman had an answer for everything. Jared felt as if he’d just gotten in the path of a hurricane and been swept up. He laughed, surrendering. “Fine, you get the okay, and I’ll go listen—but it’ll have to be in the late afternoon,” he stipulated. “I have to be in the office today.”
“No problem. These things run over,” Theresa assured him, recalling what little she did know about tapings. “I’ll call you back with details,” she promised.
He shook his head as he hung up. Maybe the woman was right. He’d hired Theresa on a number of occasions, and he fully respected both her work ethic and her opinion. Besides, she was around his parents’ age. She would know better than he what would please them. They’d probably like having a live band.
He smiled to himself. This was something his sister, Megan, hadn’t thought of when she left him with a list of things to follow up on—just before she went off on that extended cruise with her husband.
Megan was going to be surprised at his intuitiveness, he thought. She didn’t have to know that the suggestion had come from the caterer.
However, he had no way of knowing that Theresa and her friends, Maizie and Cecilia, had banded together to form a matchmaking group that had been dubbed “Matchmaking Mamas” by one of their children. All three women were successful businesswomen in their own right, but making matches for their children and their friends’ children was where their hearts really lay.
And so far, they had a perfect record.
Theresa had no intention of having that streak be broken.
The friend Theresa called the moment she hung up with Jared wasn’t the director she’d mentioned—it was Cecilia, her other dear friend and comrade-in-arms. Cecilia was the one who knew the director on the sitcom. The company Cecilia owned provided cleaning services, and she personally oversaw the cleaning of the director’s sprawling mansion twice a month.
Favors were called in and within twenty minutes, all arrangements were made. Jared would be allowed onto the set for the taping.
Theresa called back and cheerfully informed her young client that “All systems are a go, Jared.”
“Excuse me?” Preoccupied with the account that had kept him up, he wasn’t sure what the woman was referring to. Juggling his phone as well as his house keys, he was trying to shrug into his jacket as he made his way out the door.
Theresa patiently spelled it out. “Ted Riley, the director of More than Roommates, said you could come onto the set anytime after four today. That’s when they’re taping the final take of the background music for the episode.”
One arm punched through a sleeve, Jared stopped putting on his jacket, and glanced at his watch. He had a meeting with a client at noon. With any luck, it would be wrapped up by four. That meant he’d be free to drive over to Paragon Studios. If he recalled his geography, Paragon Studios was only approximately two miles away from his client’s offices.
“Okay, since you’ve gone through all this trouble, I’ll swing by and give that woman a listen.” And then he laughed as he put his arm through the second sleeve. “You do know that you should join the U.N. and use your powers of persuasion for good, don’t you, Theresa?”
Tickled, she laughed lightly and said, “That’s exactly what I am doing, Jared. I’m using my ‘powers’ for the greater good.” Your good—and Elizabeth’s, she added silently.
Jared didn’t question her any further. He just assumed the woman was referring to helping him with the arrangements for his parents’ celebration.
Elizabeth shifted ever so slightly. She could feel the handsome stranger’s eyes on her.
She’d noticed him immediately, although he’d obviously tried to be unobtrusive when he’d slipped onto the set ten minutes ago. He’d stood off to the side as gaffers, cameramen and other technical pros scurried about, just barely managing to keep clear of the very small area where the ensemble was playing.
He’d tried to go unnoticed, but a man who looked like that wasn’t the kind who exactly blended into the scenery. Tall, with straight black hair and near-perfect angular features, not to mention wide shoulders and a trim waist with slim hips, he looked as if he should have been in front of the camera, not off to one side behind it.
Why was this dashing gentleman watching her play so intently? Was her fingering off? Or was there something wrong with the way she was dressed?
But even as the questions occurred to her, she knew that the answer to each was no. She was wearing the same kind of attire that the other musicians had on, and her fingering hadn’t been off since she was five.
Was he another technical adviser? Someone associated with the studio who wanted to make sure that money wasn’t being wasted on musicians who couldn’t hold a note?
She knew that a lot of the music for programs these days was of the prerecorded variety, just artfully melded by one person in a sound booth to avoid the expense of having a six-piece ensemble supply live play.
“And—it’s a wrap,” the director finally declared. Vibrant just a few seconds ago, he looked weary now and incredibly relieved to be wrapping up a shoot that had taken longer than he’d anticipated.
“Thank you, people. You can go home now,” he announced, waving them off the set.
The moment she started packing up her instrument and the sheet music, the handsome observer began to make his way toward her.
“Excuse me.” The deep, resonant voice was polite as he tried to get her attention.
The moment he opened his mouth, she was struck by a feeling of déjà vu. That voice was familiar. Where had she heard it before? Elizabeth wondered.
But the next moment, she nixed the thought. How could his voice sound familiar? She’d never met the man. She definitely would have remembered meeting someone who looked like him.
Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d heard his voice somewhere before. On a commercial perhaps? Elizabeth stopped packing up her violin in its case and gave him her undivided attention.
“Yes?”
Theresa hadn’t mentioned that the woman was a knockout as well as talented. He found he had to struggle to maintain his train of thought. “Are you Elizabeth Stephens?”
Definitely a familiar voice, she thought. But where had she—?
“Yes,” she answered, her curiosity piqued.
Jared decided to treat this like an ad campaign and plunged right in. “Theresa Manetti suggested that I get in contact with you.”
Elizabeth shook her head. She had no idea who he was referring to. It certainly wasn’t the name of someone who had hired her to play before. She had each and every client’s name and number memorized.
Raising her head, Elizabeth looked the man straight in the eyes—noting that they were a knee-numbing light green.
“I’m afraid I don’t know who that is,” she told him.
He had to have her confused with someone else, she decided—then immediately backtracked. The man knew her name, so he couldn’t have her confused with someone else. But who was this Theresa Manetti, and why was she sending this man to her?
“Really?” Jared asked, somewhat confused himself. “She speaks very highly of you.”
And then it hit her—why his voice sounded so familiar. It was the same voice she’d heard stumbling on her answering machine last night. He was the incomplete call that had abruptly ended in midsentence.
Her eyes pinned him in place, daring him to deny what she was about to say. “You called me last night.”
Instead of denying it, he surprised her by owning up to the botched call. “I did.”
“But you hung up,” she pointed out.
He looked slightly chagrined, like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar and unable to pull it out, or even come up with a plausible reason why his hand was there in the first place.
“Sorry about that,” he apologized.
Face-to-face, he could easily make up an excuse as to why he’d terminated the call. Power failure, a dropped signal—there were myriad reasons for him to choose from. But he didn’t see the advantage of beginning what would only be a very short association—his parents’ anniversary was in three and a half weeks—with lies and excuses.
So he told her the truth. “I’m not very good when it comes to talking to answering machines,” he confessed.
“I noticed,” she acknowledged, then laughed softly. “Just between you and me, I’ve got the same problem. If you call in person, I can guarantee that I pretty much could talk your ear off. But if I find myself on the other end of some robotic-sounding recorder, I go completely blank.”
Her summation of the problem amused him. “Nice to know I’m not alone.” He became aware that the director was looking expectantly in his direction. “I think we’re in the way here,” Jared said.
Now that he’d met her, he wasn’t so keen on pulling the plug on the music anymore. He looked around the soundstage, but there didn’t even seem to be the hint of a vending machine around.
He looked at her. “Is there somewhere we can go where we can talk?”
Though she told herself she was letting her imagination run away with her, Elizabeth felt her pulse kick into high gear.
She inwardly chided herself for getting carried away. The man obviously meant he just wanted to talk to her about her playing abilities, not because he was as drawn to her as she was to him. Someone who looked the way this man did was either married, spoken for or extremely busy socially.
“Well, you could walk me to my car,” she suggested. “Other than that, I think there’s a coffee shop about a block away outside the gates,” she told him, trying to picture the place.
He glanced at his watch. He just wanted to make sure that he didn’t lose track of time. He had an early meeting tomorrow and he needed to have some rough drafts of the new campaign for Getaway Resorts done before then.
“Ordinarily, coffee would sound great, but I’ve already had twice my quota today…and if I have any more, there’s no way I’m going to get any sleep tonight. Maybe I should just walk you to your car.”
She nodded, surprised at the sliver of disappointment that seemed to slice through her. She told herself she was behaving like an adolescent, but somehow, that didn’t seem to change her feelings.
“Walking it is,” she declared dramatically, then lowered her voice as if she were part of a stage performance. “Although I should warn you, I didn’t exactly park close.”
Elizabeth led the way out of the soundstage, taking a side door marked Exit.
The darkness enveloped them the moment they came out.
“As a matter of fact,” she went on to say, “if you didn’t have time to get in your morning run today, this will probably make up for it—and then some.”
Her comment bemused him. “What makes you think I run?”
She looked at him as if the question didn’t even really require an answer. “This is Southern California. Everyone always claims to be into all kinds of exercise out here. Running was the first thing that came to mind.”
Also, a body like yours doesn’t come from a mail-order catalog, she added silently. He made her think of Michelangelo’s David—except more so.
“Do you?” she asked out loud. When he looked at her somewhat quizzically, she added, “Run?”
“Only when I’m late getting somewhere and the car doesn’t work,” he quipped. He had no idea what made him share the next piece of information with her. “I’ve got an elliptical trainer in the garage that guilts me out every night when I park my car inside.”
“That’s simple enough to avoid,” she told him, then suggested, “You could try parking your car in the driveway instead.”
He saw the twinkle in her eyes, and laughed. He liked her sense of humor. “Sounds like a plan,” he murmured.
As the sound of his laugh wrapped itself around her, Elizabeth caught herself returning his smile.

Chapter Three
“So,” Jared said once they stepped outside Paragon Studios, “where’s your car?”
“You can’t see it from here, but it’s that way,” Elizabeth told him, pointing in the general direction. “We’re going to have to walk a little bit before you can see it.”
Jared shook his head. He’d thought she was exaggerating before. Obviously not. “You weren’t kidding about your car being parked far away.”
She stopped and looked at him. Taking the man on a forced march was not the way to win over a potential employer. “If it’s too far for you, you really don’t have to walk me to my car.”
He laughed and waved away her words. “Just an observation, Ms. Stephens, not a complaint. The way I look at it, the exercise will do me good.” They resumed walking, stopping only to get out of the way of a car that was pulling out. “But seriously, why did you park so far away from the actual soundstage?”
Most of the people he knew tried to find a space that was close to their destination, not park in the next county.
“The first time I came here, I found that the parking spaces that were near the building were either reserved, or already taken. I didn’t want to waste time driving up and down the aisles, looking for someplace that was relatively close, so I just took the first space I saw when I pulled in.”
Megan could stand to learn a lot from this woman. “I bet you get a lot more Christmas shopping done with that philosophy,” Jared speculated. His sister spent half her time cruising the lots, looking for that one perfect spot that just happened to be right in front of the mall entrance.
“I don’t know about my philosophy having anything to do with it, but I’m usually done with Christmas shopping in November.” Glancing over at him, she noted that Jared looked as stunned as if she’d just told him she had superpowers.
“You’re kidding,” he said incredulously. “November? Really?”
She nodded. “That’s right,” she confirmed, then decided that maybe an explanation was in order. “That way, I can take my time, and then enjoy the season instead of dashing madly about, looking for some picked-over last-minute gifts that people may or may not like.” But there was also a more practical reason for her spreading out her shopping season. “Besides, December is one of my busiest months. People seem to like violin music more when there’s a Christmas tree involved.”
Her phraseology amused him, but he pretended to take her comment seriously. “Must be the smell of pine,” he quipped.
Elizabeth nodded, mimicking his overall tone. “Must be.”
He liked the way her mouth curved ever so slightly as she was trying to keep a straight face. Liked the smile in her brilliant blue eyes. Since they had a ways to go before they reached her car, Jared decided to use that time to find out a few things about this attractive blonde.
He started with an easy question. “How long have you been playing the violin?” he asked her.
She knew the exact moment she had started playing in earnest, but for simplicity—and because the story wasn’t one she shared with someone she’d just met—she said flippantly, “Sometimes it feels as if I were born clutching a violin in my hands.”
“Must have been a really rough delivery for your poor mother,” he deadpanned.
The mention of her mother—even in jest the way this obviously was intended—always brought a sliver of pain piercing her heart.
Though her mother was gone by the time she had entered kindergarten, Elizabeth had a handful of memories that she treasured and hung on to for dear life. One of those memories involved listening to her mother playing the violin for her father.
It was shortly after her mother’s death, in an effort to try to cheer her father up, that she picked up her mother’s violin and began to play it. She managed to miraculously recall the way her mother had stroked the bow over the strings while fingering them. What resulted might not have been ready to be heard in any concert hall, but at least it didn’t sound as if she was scraping her nails against a chalkboard.
Immensely touched and even more impressed, her father signed her up for violin lessons the very next day. To that end, he also gave her mother’s violin to her to use during her lessons.
Elizabeth could remember regarding the violin nervously. To attempt to play it once in order to cheer up her father was one thing, to suddenly become the keeper of this precious instrument was quite another. And quite a responsibility.
She recalled looking up at her father and asking, “Daddy, are you sure?”
“Very sure,” he’d told her firmly, then added the words that completely won her over. “Your mother would have wanted you to have it.”
Entrusted with this sacred duty, Elizabeth had taken loving care of it, taking great pains to keep the violin in top playing condition. When it finally had to be restrung, she retained the original strings, putting them carefully into an envelope and tucking the envelope away in her jewelry box, something else that she’d inherited from her mother.
Jared noticed the serious expression that had crossed her face. Noticed, too, that she had suddenly become very quiet.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized, thinking this sudden change in her attitude was his fault. “Did I say something wrong?”
Elizabeth shook her head. He had nothing to do with the thoughts that were going through her head. Her mother had been gone for twenty-one years, but there were times that it felt like only yesterday.
“No,” she told him softly. “I was just thinking.” That was an open-ended sentence, begging for more of an explanation, and she knew it. But for the moment, she didn’t feel like going into it. She had no desire to either unload, or to make him feel uncomfortable and guilty for raising the subject of her mother, however innocently, since she had passed on.
“About…?” he prodded.
“Nothing of importance,” she finally said. “This violin belonged to my mother, and I was just worried that I might have nicked it earlier,” she lied. “I’m sorry, you probably think I’m obsessing.”
“Not at all. Perfectly normal to want to take care of a beautiful thing,” he said.
He was being kind, she thought, finding herself more and more drawn to this handsome, likable man.
“Your mother used to play?” he asked her.
Elizabeth felt pride swelling within her. “Like an angel.”
But even as she said it, it occurred to Elizabeth that she was spending too much time talking about her personal life. While friendly, she didn’t usually open up this much about herself. It was definitely time to change topics.
“So, what’s the occasion?” she asked him brightly.
She’d switched gears a bit too fast, she realized when he looked at her quizzically and asked, “What do you mean?”
“I’m assuming that you don’t want to hire me to serenade you outside your bedroom window. So, what’s the occasion?” she repeated.
For just a second, Jared allowed himself to dwell on the scenario she’d just drawn for him. The very idea of her playing her violin just for him outside his window both amused him and—in an odd sort of way—aroused him.
He realized he was letting his mind wander while she was waiting for a response. “My parents’ thirty-fifth wedding anniversary is coming up in a little more than three weeks. Why, does that make a difference?”
“Absolutely. The occasion always makes a difference,” she told him. “There’s a different mind-set involved in playing for a couple who’ve been together for thirty-five years than, say, playing at a wedding where the couple is just starting out. And both require different preparations than setting up to play at a high school graduation party.”
“Get to play for many of those?” he asked, amused. When he’d graduated high school, he’d hung out all night celebrating with his friends. He didn’t even remember he had parents until the following morning.
“You’d be surprised at how many indulgent parents live in Beverly Hills,” she answered. And then a question hit her. “Was that my audition?” she asked, seemingly out of the blue. “Back there, in the studio,” she clarified, nodding back toward the building now in the distance.
It was starting to make sense. “You really should signal when you’re switching lanes like that. Otherwise, a person could get whiplash,” he said drily. “As for your question, I don’t know if I’d call it an audition, but the woman who gave me your name thought it might be a good thing to hear you in action, so to speak. I liked what I heard,” he was quick to add. “I should have realized that I would since Theresa speaks so highly of you.”
There was that name again, she thought. Who was he talking about?
“Theresa,” Elizabeth repeated, her tone all but inviting him to add a surname to the woman’s given one.
But when he did, she was no more enlightened than she’d been before. “Theresa Manetti.”
Elizabeth did a quick mental run through her client list. The woman’s last name didn’t ring any bells. As far as she knew, she’d never dealt with a Theresa Manetti when it came to making arrangements to play at a party or a gig.
Moving over to one side in order to avoid stepping on a rather fat wad of bubble gum, she shook her head. “I’m sorry, I just don’t remember this woman.”
He thought that odd but pressed on. “She was the one who told me where you’d be working this morning and set it up so that I could come down and hear you play for myself.” He shrugged. “Actually, although she didn’t say it in so many words, I got the feeling that she really wanted me to meet you as soon as possible.”
“Huh,” Elizabeth murmured to herself. She still wasn’t getting an image in her head. “Did this Theresa Manetti happen to tell you where she heard me play? I’m pretty good about remembering the people who hire me, so I’m guessing she might have heard me at one of the little theater groups in the area.”
For all she knew, the woman could have just been part of one of the audiences, but if that were the case, how did this Manetti woman know her name or her schedule? This wasn’t making any sense to her.
Jared, meanwhile, had been sidetracked by something she’d just said. “You play for theater groups, too?”
She wasn’t sure if he was impressed, or just surprised. In either case, the answer to his question was the same.
“Yes.”
He was undoubtedly wondering why she didn’t stick to a single venue. Aside from variety being the spice of life, there was a far more basic reason behind her working all these diverse jobs.
“It takes a lot of gigs to stitch together a living,” she told him honestly. “Unless you’re a world-class musician who can pretty much write your own ticket, you have to scramble to find work anywhere you can. And I really do love show music,” she confided. “As a matter of fact, I’m playing at the Bedford Theater this weekend. They’re doing Fiddler on the Roof. It’s their final weekend,” she informed him. “I can leave you a ticket at the box office for this Sunday if you’d like to come.”
He didn’t want to inconvenience her, or ask for special treatment. “You don’t have to do that,” he protested.
She laughed at his protest. “Are you kidding? The more bodies, the better. It’s a known fact. Musicians always play better to a packed house,” she said with a wink.
He found the wink incredibly appealing, not to mention sexy. Without realizing it, he glanced down at her hand to see if there was a promise ring, or an engagement ring or, worse yet, a wedding ring on the appropriate finger. When he saw that there wasn’t—and there was no telltale pale line there to indicate a recent removal of said ring—he smiled broadly at her.
“Then I’ll definitely make it a point to catch the show,” he promised. “Thanks for the ticket.”
“Hey, my pleasure,” she responded with sincerity before suddenly realizing that she hadn’t been paying the strictest attention while they were walking. They were practically on top of her car and she hadn’t noticed. A few more steps and they would have overshot it. If she had, she was certain he would have thought he was hiring an idiot to play for his parents’ big day.
“We’re here,” she announced belatedly, gesturing toward her vehicle.
Jared stopped walking and looked around, scanning the area. This really was the end of the lot, he thought. For the most part, it was almost empty. Except for what looked like an old T-bird, the initial model, which had been all but pocket-size when it came out.
“Is that your car?” he asked incredulously.
She couldn’t even begin to guess what was going through the man’s head, except that she was certain that at least a part of him was undoubtedly thinking that a car like that was wasted on a woman.
“That’s my car,” she said proudly.
He knew that the car was regarded as vintage, but all that meant to him was that it was old. “Let me guess,” he mused, peering at the vehicle from several different angles. He gave no clue as to what he was looking for. “That belonged to your mother, too, right?”
She supposed that her beloved car did look old enough to be considered a hand-me-down from one generation to the next.
“No,” she told him. “That’s the first thing I bought with my earnings as a violinist. I saved up for six months for it,” she said, remembering.
He heard the affection in her voice. Obviously Elizabeth saw something in the vehicle that he didn’t, Jared thought. He tended to like new things rather than things that had weathered the passage of time. Those needed coddling and he didn’t consider himself the type to do that. Everything in his life was kept on the light, uninvolved side, as per his plan.
“And it still runs?” he asked, surprised.
She grinned. “Most of the time,” she allowed. There was no point in dwelling on the times that it hadn’t. That was behind her now. “She does get temperamental every now and then,” she added fondly, “but I can’t stay mad at her. Lola always comes through in a pinch.”
“Lola?”
“That’s what I call my car. What do you call your car?” she wanted to know.
“Reliable,” he answered, then commented on the logistics that were complicating her life. “Sounds like you were describing a grumpy old uncle a minute ago and not a car.”
“It’s a little bit of both,” she confessed. “But nothing I can’t handle, although I have to admit that the parts for Lola are getting harder and harder for me to find.”
He made a tactful suggestion. “Has it ever occurred to you to buy a new car?”
She shook her head. “No. I don’t abandon things just because they’re getting on a little in age,” she said with feeling. It was one of the main principles she lived by: she stuck with things.
Unlocking the door on the driver’s side, Elizabeth deposited her violin into the backseat, then leaned in to slip open the glove compartment.
Standing behind her, Jared got a particularly good view of the backs of her shapely legs as her black skirt rode up on her thighs. She was reaching across both seats in order to get at the glove compartment.
Jared knew he shouldn’t be staring, it wasn’t right. But he had to admit that what he was being privy to was a very appealing sight.
Getting what she wanted, Elizabeth straightened up and snaked her way out of the vehicle. She found herself bumping up against Jared. When she looked at him questioningly, he muttered a semiexcuse.
“I thought you might need help taking something out of the car.”
The look in her eyes told him that she didn’t believe his alibi, and when she grinned, he could have sworn that he could literally feel the impression of her lips on his. The sensation drew out his smile in response.
“The card’s not all that heavy,” she told him.
“Card?” he repeated, lost.
“Card.” She held it up for his perusal. It was a business card for the little theater group performing the musical this weekend. On it was the address, the box office hours and the theater’s telephone number.
“The final performance is this Sunday,” she repeated, in case he’d already forgotten. “Curtain goes up at seven,” she added.
“I’ll be there before seven,” he promised. Closing his hand over the card, he slipped it into his pocket. “Looking forward to it.”
He glanced at his watch out of habit. When Jared saw the time, he frowned. He was far behind schedule and they hadn’t even gotten around to any of the specifics about the gig. “Look, can I call you later on tonight?” he wanted to know.
For just one isolated moment, she thought Jared was asking to call her on a social basis. But the next second, she knew that wasn’t possible. After all, he’d done nothing to indicate that he would be interested in seeing Elizabeth the woman instead of Elizabeth the violinist.
“Absolutely,” she told him with a bright smile. “I should be home for most of the evening.”
“Good, then I won’t get your answering machine again.” He shrugged, ever so slightly self-conscious. “As I mentioned before…I’m not really too keen on talking to machines.”
She laughed at the footnote he’d just tossed in her direction. He found the sound light, melodious and almost hypnotic.
“No worries…I’ll be sure to pick up,” she promised him, getting behind the wheel of her vintage car.
Jared stepped back, allowing her space to swing her door closed. “I’ll talk to you then,” he said.
Then, turning on his heel, he started retracing his steps to get to his own car, which was parked a good deal closer to the soundstage than Elizabeth’s was.
The fact that he fully expected to hear her car start up but didn’t had him stopping after about five steps and turning around.
He could see her frowning from where he stood. Frowning and going through the motions of starting her car up.
Still nothing.
Her beloved vintage car was apparently nonresponsive, no matter how many times she tried to get it to come back from the dead.

Chapter Four
Jared stood watching her for a moment longer, thinking that Elizabeth’s car was just being temperamental. Some older models seemed to take their own sweet time starting up.
He was still waiting to hear her engine make the proper noises as he made his way back to the uncooperative Thunderbird.
“Problem?” he asked.
Elizabeth’s frown deepened as she pumped the gas pedal one more time and turned her key. Still nothing. She was also afraid that she was going to wind up flooding the engine.
Frustrated, she sank back in her seat. “Not if I don’t mind spending the night in the parking lot,” she responded.
Moving to the front of her vehicle, Jared looked down at her headlights and said, “Turn on your lights.”
She had no idea how that was going to help anything, but at this point she was willing to try anything. Shrugging, she did as he instructed.
“Now what?” she asked.
There wasn’t so much as a glimmer in either headlight.
The phrase “dead as a doornail” came to mind as he frowned at the vehicle.
“Now nothing, I’m afraid,” he told her. “Looks like your battery’s dead.”
Undaunted, she said hopefully, “Maybe we can jump it.” She slid out from behind the wheel. “I’ve got jumper cables in my trunk.”
Jared looked at her in surprise. He thought of that as being rather responsible for someone her age. He doubted if his sister even knew what jumper cables were. Experience taught you things like that.
“I take it this has happened before,” he assumed.
She inclined her head and made a vague gesture he couldn’t begin to interpret. “Once or twice. Or five,” she muttered under her breath.
He still heard it. “All right, I’ll go bring my car around and see what I can do.”
But apparently, at least on the outset, he could do nothing—although it certainly wasn’t for lack of trying.
Jared aligned his vehicle so that the two cars were literally nose to nose in the lot. Elizabeth took it from there. He was amazed at how expertly, not to mention quickly, she managed to hook up her car’s battery to his.
“Start yours first,” she urged as she got in behind the steering wheel in her car.
When the other engine hummed to life, Elizabeth pressed down on the gas pedal and turned the key, mentally crossing her fingers. She might as well not have bothered.

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