Listen to Your Heart - Fern Michaels [43]
Josie tried to digest the information. Fat lady, big feet, wild hair! He came to get Zip. “Did Paul send you here?” Josie snarled.
“Yes, ma’am, he did. Now if you’ll just fetch the other lady, I’ll explain and take Zip with me. I’ll be happy to pay for the screen door.”
“This is the second screen door Mr. Brouillette has ruined for me. Damn straight you’ll pay for it. There is no fat lady here with big feet. It’s just me and my sister. I don’t appreciate your humor, and I sure as hell don’t appreciate Mr. Brouillette’s humor either. Where is he?”
“He . . . ah . . . he said he was delayed. I haven’t talked to him in a few days. I did get a message this morning. He said he was going to call you. That’s Paul for you,” Jack said, throwing his hands in the air. She was nice. Too nice for Paul. Hell, she looked even better than Marissa. He turned on the charm. “I really am sorry about all this. I thought I was doing a friend a favor. Somehow Paul just—what he does is . . . hell, he’s a nice guy, but you know, not dependable at all. Think about it. You had his dog. I took his dog. I brought them back. You’re angry. I’m angry. And where is Paul? Do we know? No, we do not know. He leaves messages. Nice guy, though. Real nice guy. You aren’t fat at all, and your feet look pretty good to me. I like your hair. I love wild hair. I mean, I really like wild hair. When a woman has wild hair there’s so much to hang on to. Listen, how would you like to have dinner with me?”
“Not in this lifetime. Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been? I drove around all night looking for those dogs. I called the police, sat by the phone. This is unacceptable.”
“I am so sorry, and you are right—it is unacceptable. However, you can’t shoot the messenger because you don’t like the message. We need to lay the blame where it belongs : on Paul,” Jack said virtuously. “Why don’t we have dinner this evening and talk this over? In the meantime I can call the hardware store and have someone come to fix your screen door.” At Josie’s undecided look he switched gears. “Hey, I’m a nice guy. I clean up good. I have manners, and my teeth are my own. Look at this hair—it’s not receding one little bit. I own my own business, and I know how to be charming. You can bring your sister if you want. I love animals. I really do. That’s why Paul trusts me with his.”
A devil perched itself on Josie’s shoulder. “Sure, why not? What time?”
“How does eight sound?” Jack said gleefully as he smacked his hands together.
“Eight sounds good. Now, about Zip. He won’t go without Rosie, so that means he has to stay here. I’ll keep them for now. Do you have any idea when Paul will be back?”
“I didn’t speak to him. Someone called and left a message. You know what I know. You and Paul . . . are you . . . ? What I mean is, are you two, you know, an item?”
Josie laughed, a bitter angry sound. “Hardly.”
“By the way, I’m Jack Emery.” You screwed this one up, Paul. You snooze, you lose.
“Josie Dupré,” Josie said, holding out her hand. She got goose bumps when Jack brought her hand to his lips. She laughed when she saw the merriment in his eyes. It might be a fun evening. Anything was better than sitting home with two dogs mooning over each other.
“I’ll see you tonight then. I’m punctual.”
“Good. So am I.
Josie watched until the BMW was out of sight.
Life was just one surprise after another.
Seven
He was just as tall as Paul, just as slim. Where Paul was dark, Jack was fair. Same weight. Same size. Both had a sense of humor, but where Paul’s was dry and droll, Jack was ebullient, and he literally danced when he got off a zinger, his eyes sparkling with glee.
“This is just a hole-in-the-wall restaurant, but they serve the best, and I do mean the best, shrimp boulettes and corn puppies. That’s the menu. Fried corn on the cob is the side dish. No rolls, no salad. Dark beer. I come here at least once a week. It’s dark, it’s dingy, and probably a little on the dirty side, but you can’t beat the food. If you don’t like it, we can go someplace else,” Jack said, holding the door