An Engagement in Seattle - Debbie Macomber [89]
“I want to see you again,” Chase said once he’d found his voice, once he knew he could speak without making a fool of himself.
“Yes” came her breathless reply.
“A movie?” That was the first thing that came to his mind, although it was singularly unimaginative.
“When?”
“Tomorrow.” Waiting longer than a few hours would have been a test of his patience.
“Okay. What time?”
He didn’t know. It seemed a bit presumptuous to suggest a matinee, but waiting any longer than noon to see her again seemed impossible.
“I’ll give you my phone number,” she said. “And my cell.”
“I’ll call you in the morning and we can talk then.”
“Yes,” she agreed.
“I’ll walk you to your car.”
He didn’t dare take hold of her hand or touch her. He’d never felt this way with a woman, as if he’d lose control simply brushing her lips with his. All she needed to do was to sigh that soft womanly sigh that said she wanted him and it would’ve been all over, right then and there.
They didn’t need to walk far. Lesley had parked in a slot beneath the viaduct across the street from the aquarium. He lingered outside her door.
“Thank you,” she whispered, not looking at him.
“Dinner was my pleasure.”
“I didn’t mean for dinner.” She looked at him then and raised her hand, holding it against his face. Softly, unexpectedly, she pressed her mouth to his.
“I…don’t know if I would’ve made it through this day without you.”
He wanted to argue with that. She was strong, far stronger than she gave herself credit for.
“I’m glad I could help,” he said finally, when he could think of no way to describe the strength he saw in her without making it sound trite. He wished he could reassure her that the man she loved had been a fool to let her go, but she didn’t want to hear that, either. Those were the words he knew others had said to her, the counsel she’d been given by family and friends.
“I’ll wait to hear from you,” she said, unlocking her car door.
He’d be waiting, too, until a respectable amount of time had elapsed so he could phone her.
“Thank you again,” she said, silently communicating far more than thanks. She closed the door and started the engine. Chase stepped aside as she pulled out of the parking space and stood there until her car had disappeared into the night. Then he walked to his own.
Three
The phone in his room rang at eight the next morning. Chase had been up for hours, had eaten breakfast and leisurely read the paper. After years of rising early, he’d never learned to sleep past six.
The phone rang a second time. It couldn’t possibly be Lesley—he hadn’t mentioned the name of his hotel—yet he couldn’t help hoping.
“Hello,” he answered crisply.
“Mr. Goodman, this is the answering service.” The woman sounded impatient and more than a little frazzled.
“Someone responded to the ad,” Chase guessed. He’d nearly forgotten about the billboard.
“Someone!” the woman burst out. “We’ve had nearly five hundred calls in the last twenty-four hours, including inquiries from two television stations, the Seattle Times and four radio stations. Our staff isn’t equipped to deal with this kind of response.”
“Five hundred calls.” Chase was shocked. He’d never dreamed his advertisement would receive such an overwhelming response.
“Our operators have been bombarded with inquiries, Mr. Goodman.”
“How can I possibly answer so many calls?” The mere thought of being expected to contact that many women on his own was overwhelming.
“I suggest you hire someone to weed through the replies. I’m sorry, but I don’t think any of us dreamed there’d be such an unmanageable number.”
“You!” Chase was astonished himself. “I’ll make arrangements this morning.”
“We’d appreciate it if you’d come and collect the messages as soon as possible.”
“I’ll be there directly,” Chase promised.
Five hundred responses, he mused after he’d replaced the receiver. It seemed incredible. Absurd. Unbelievable. He’d never guessed there were that many women who’d even consider such a thing. And according to the answering service, the calls hadn’t stopped, either. There were more coming