Christmas at Timberwoods - Fern Michaels [110]
So, she thought as she grabbed a can of soda from the refrigerator, what exactly is my type?
Tall, dark and handsome? No.
Sensitive and shy? No.
Alpha male? Definitely a no.
She took a drink of soda. After several seconds’ contemplation, Melanie decided she didn’t have a type. She’d dated winners, a few losers, but none that knocked her socks off or made her feel like “he’s the one.” Nope. Nada. So, that left room for all those guys out there who were just waiting to beat her door down. Zero in that department, too.
For a young, well-to-do woman, she wasn’t doing all that well. Yes, she had a condo to die for here in Placerville, another in Telluride that she kept rented for most of the ski season, and was considering buying a house with a big yard, a white picket fence, the whole nine yards. She’d put that big purchase off, telling herself she didn’t need that much space. Her condo in Placerville was perfect for her. She scanned the kitchen. While not as large as her condo’s kitchen in Telluride, it was decent. Large enough for a table for six, an oak butcher-block island in its center, Sub-Zero refrigerator, a top-of-theline Wolf stove and oven, all stainless steel. She’d softened the sterile look with cheery yellow accent pieces: canisters, local pottery, and yellow and red Fiesta ware, accentuated by cherry-red place mats and matching curtains she’d had custom-made. She’d chosen pale pinks and cream for the master bedroom, and a neutral gray and maroon for the guest bedroom. Both bathrooms had Jacuzzi tubs and walk-in showers large enough for two. The living room needed some color; she’d just never gotten around to finishing the decorating. Two beige sofas with a matching love seat and two overstuffed chairs filled the room. A fireplace on the main wall had been used only once since she’d bought the place, but Melanie told herself it was too much of a hassle since she spent most of her time in the third bedroom she used for her office. She had a gas fireplace there, and, when needed, all she had to do was flick a switch and boom, within minutes the room was as toasty as a real fire. She did miss the smell of woodsmoke, but figured the lack of a mess was worth the sacrifice.
She finished her lasagna, rinsed the plate, and placed it next to the others in the dishwasher. Sometimes it took her more than a week to fill the dishwasher. Sad, she thought as she removed the box of Cascade from beneath the sink. She either needed to cook more, have company over more often, or acquire a big family. There it goes again! Why couldn’t she stop thinking about a family of her own? Was she spending too much time with Amanda and Ashley? Was she subconsciously envious of Stephanie? Growing up an only child, she’d longed for a brother or sister. Melanie had been a change-of-life baby—much wanted, her mother always added, and she knew that to be true; but she had also known that the chances of her acquiring a sibling were slim to none. She wondered why her parents hadn’t adopted another child. They were certainly financially able; they’d both been in good health and still were. Maybe it was a blood-is-thicker-than-water kinda thing. No no! Her parents weren’t like that. They would have welcomed another child. Maybe they’d never considered it. Whatever, she told herself, it didn’t matter now as she was a grown woman. She knew that her parents were counting on her to provide them with a houseful of grandchildren to spoil someday. She hoped they weren’t holding their breath.
Rolling her eyes at the path her thoughts were traveling, Melanie grabbed a damp cloth, swiped it over the countertops, then washed and refilled Odie’s and Clovis’s water dishes. She folded the dishcloth in half, placed it on the counter, and grabbed another