Who Needs Cupid? Page 3

  “I found those plans,” she said. “Help yourself to some soup if you’re hungry. I’ll be right back.”

  Becca followed Elle to her office. “Is something going on between you and Max, Aunt Elle?”

  “He’s hooking up my WiFi. You know that.”

  Becca shook her head. “I mean that whole staring at each other like no one else is in the room. Are you two hooking up?”

  Elle hunched over her desk so her niece wouldn’t see her blush. “We’re hooking up free Internet access.”

  Becca made an impatient sound. “I compose love sonnets on Valentine’s Day cards, Ellenore. I know hot vibes when I see them.”

  “You can see vibrations?”

  “You know what I mean. You’re attracted to Mr. Maxwell.”

  “He’s a great guy but not my type.”

  “That’s a crock.”

  That was true. With a sigh, Elle picked up the rolled up set of plans and faced her niece. “The truth is Max and I have a history. Dumb high school stuff that still makes me cringe when I think about it. I broke his heart, and I’m not about to do something stupid that might wind up with history repeating itself.”

  Becca’s lips formed a pretty but pensive moue. “I’m probably not the best person to be telling you this—look at the pathetic state of my love life, but I do believe that history only matters if there’s a quiz.” Her sincerity made Elle smile. “This is life, Aunt. He’s a grown-up, and I’m pretty sure he knows the score.”

  But did he know how close Elle was to throwing in the towel and running away…again? Her bank balance was hovering around zero. She needed more business. She needed the support of local residents, but back in November, Lucky had mentioned hearing a rumor that some locals were staying away from the Cup out of loyalty to Jane. Some believed that Elle had managed to cut Jane out of their mother’s will. Jane could have set people straight about their arrangement, but had she? Apparently not.

  Elle’s relationship with her sister was depressing, and whether Jane intended it or not, it undermined Elle’s self-confidence. A part of her believed that if she couldn’t get along with her own sister, how could she ever hope to succeed in a long-term romantic liaison?

  But she didn’t tell her niece that. She didn’t say anything at all. She let the subject drop as she hurried back to the counter to give Max the blueprints. If this Wifi thing brought in new business, she might just keep her head above water financially. If that happened, then she’d consider dating for real.

  The Cup O’ Love Dateathon was not real. It was a gimmick to attract customers. Besides, she’d tried online dating before and had been appalled by the superficiality. But Max was a different story. He was real.

  MAX’S MOUTH was watering, partly from the amazing aromas emanating from the soup sitting before him and partly from the woman sitting across from him. She’d returned with the rolled-up plans under one arm then proceeded to show him exactly how to “fix” his meal.

  “The key is in the toppings,” she’d said, adding a layer of bite-size pieces of corn tortilla, right on top of the sour cream, cilantro, chopped green onions and black olives that were already floating there.

  Max could read a certain vulnerability in her expression that he rarely remembered seeing in the past. Ellenore Adams had breezed through life, but no more. He knew that from bits and pieces of gossip he’d heard over the years. A mean-spirited divorce after her husband’s rich parents dragged Elle over the coals. Jane once commented while she’d been working on Max’s taxes that Elle’s ex’s family hadn’t wanted anything to do with their son’s baby. “Such a shame. Can you picture my sister as a single parent?”

  Yes, Max had thought. Definitely. Her ability to embrace the best of life would serve any child well.

  “Yum…” he murmured appreciatively as the spices enveloped his senses. Definitely a burn, but all the toppings tempered the heat of the chilies. “This is great. Where’s your daughter these days?”

  Elle explained about Nora’s passion for travel.

  “She sounds like a free spirit. Like her mother.”

  A sweet pink blush crept into Elle’s cheeks. “I suppose you could say that. I moved around a lot more than my parents and my sister thought was wise, but every new job was a step up the ladder. I don’t regret that, except that I think kids benefit from stability. Your sons seem to be doing really well.”

  Jason, father of Max’s only grandchild, was a loan officer at the bank, following in his late mother’s footsteps. Sarah had just been promoted to branch manager when she’d discovered that her breast cancer was back. Six months later she was gone.

  Their elder son, Jared, lived in Chicago, where he was a lawyer for a firm that handled class action suits involving maritime companies.

  “They both like their jobs. Their mom always told them to find something they felt passionate about, whether it paid well or not.”

  “Like teaching?”

  He ate another spoonful of soup then nodded. “I hadn’t planned on becoming a science teacher. Thought I’d go into research, but in college I discovered that no single thesis topic really grabbed me. My mind is a vast wasteland filled with unconnected bits of trivia. Perfect for education.”

  Elle laughed. The infectious sound made him feel good, youthful. He hadn’t felt that way in a long time. The realization made him frown.

  “Do you miss her? Your wife?” She shook her head. “Dumb question. Of course, you do. You were married a long time and very successfully according to Jane.”

  He wondered what that meant but his mouth was full so he couldn’t ask. Elle seemed to read his mind because she explained, “Jane told me about your wife’s death. Tragic, she called it because the two of you were the poster-models for the perfect marriage. Her words, not mine.”

  Max wiped his lips with the paper napkin he’d picked up from the dispenser. “Hardly perfect. Sarah was a sweetheart, but she had a stubborn streak unlike anyone I ever met. Even you.”

  “Me?”

  He nodded, grinning so she’d know he was teasing. “Remember the time you refused to wear a dress to the Sadie Hawkins dance? I thought Principal Riley was going to have a coronary.”

  Elle made a dismissing motion with her hand. “Tell me what makes sense about letting—” she said the word with irony “—girls ask the boys out then insisting they dress like girls. I didn’t go so far as putting dresses on guys, which I thought would have been appropriate, but I did choose to wear jeans to the dance. Very nice jeans with pink lace.”

  He remembered. He’d gone stag. As usual. He’d fallen a little bit in love with her that night, even though the principal had forcibly removed Elle from the gym. He’d decided she was his hero. His Rosa Parks, albeit for a less noble ideal. That was when he’d first decided to ask her to the Valentine’s Day Ball. Since her jock boyfriend had broken up with her after his coach had threatened to sideline him if he hung out with a radical like Elle, the timing had been perfect.

  She’d even agreed to go with him.

  Until two days before the dance.

  “So, show me the plans,” he said, finishing off his soup.

  Elle looked relieved to let the subject of the past disappear. “I heard Jane’s calling the dateathon my last ditch effort to stave off the inevitable, but she thinks like an accountant. Wifi is hot right now. The dateathon might be silly, but if it gets people through the door, then my coffee and charming ambience will bring them back.”

  Max sure as heck hoped so, and he intended to do everything in his power to make sure that happened. He also intended to be Elle’s date to the party.

  CHAPTER THREE

  SIX DAYS LATER, Elle was almost ready to call her plan a success. Max worked his magic almost overnight and suddenly anyone with a laptop or wireless-compatible handhelds could connect with the outside world at her little corner of it. Word had spread quickly—thanks to the power of the Internet, and she suspected Max the Teacher.

  The m
ajority of her new customers were high school and college students. Elle loved serving this vivacious crowd. It was almost like having Nora around. And the best part was they had money. And they liked to spend it.

  On mochas and macchiatos.

  And on the one-of-a-kind greeting cards Becca had just put on display.

  The one thing these patrons weren’t buying was the Cup O’ Love Dateathon. The site had gone “live” yesterday, Martin Luther King Day. Since school had been out, there’d been a steady stream of young people in and out of the place. None had shown any interest in playing the dating game.

  But now, school was back in session and the place was quiet again. Too quiet. Elle walked to the satellite radio receiver on the shelf and zeroed in on her favorite station. Songs she knew the words to.

  “Um, hi. Um, could you help me? I’m thinking about branching out a bit, dating-wise, and the girl who’s helping me with my taxes said you’re running some kind of romance contest or something?”

  The woman was about Elle’s age, although the heavy wool coat and knitted cap made it hard to tell exactly. “You bet,” Elle said, barely catching herself from adding “cha” on the word. “I’ve got all the information you need set up at this table. Participants are going to create a questionnaire that other participants will fill out, then they can pick the most appropriate contender and meet here on Valentine’s Day. We’re having a party. Nice and safe, very public. Even those guys and gals who don’t get chosen will be invited to meet other runners-up.” Not losers, as Max had teased, when she’d outlined her idea to him.

  “What if nobody replies to a person’s questionnaire?”

  Elle had tried several online dating services in the past and always had far more men interested in her than she ever could have dated. But she didn’t tell Max that. “Then we’ve proven beyond a doubt that Cupid sucks,” she’d joked.

  “Either that or he has someone in mind for you who doesn’t play games,” he’d countered.

  His reply had left her oddly breathless. That had been yesterday when she filled out the first dateathon application. So far, she hadn’t had any hits. Which was a little unnerving, but until she had some competition to compare her list to, she wasn’t going to worry about it.

  Two hours later, the woman—Gloria, Elle learned—was still at the dateathon table, “Wow,” she said, motioning Elle over. “Look at this. Three hits. My goodness, that was fast. Since I don’t have a computer at home I’m going to have to come in every day to weed out the good ones, aren’t I?”

  That was the plan, Elle thought, forcing a smile.

  Maybe I need a new photo on my home page.

  MAX WAS PERCHED on his stool in the lab, half watching his honor students dissecting their frogs. The other half of his mind was focused on creating a man.

  Just call me Max Frankenstein, he silently joked.

  The man he was creating was going to submit his online résumé to Ellenore’s home page. Max planned to add two or three men a day so Elle wouldn’t get suspicious when no potential dates appeared under her name in the dateathon. This wasn’t really cheating, he told himself, because Elle had already admitted she didn’t plan on dating the winning name on her page. She was only participating to generate interest among her customers.

  Since she wasn’t really looking for a guy, then any of his imaginary alter egos would work, right?

  “Mr. Maxwell, I can’t find my frog’s heart,” a voice said.

  “Maybe he doesn’t have one. Like you,” a deeper voice grumbled.

  “Shut up, Peter.”

  Ah, young romance. A little bit like old romance, only more honest. He pressed Send, then slid off the stool and walked to the lab table where the heartless frog—and princess—awaited him. A really sharp scalpel was the answer. Missing heart—tiny and nonoperational—was right where it was supposed to be.

  The princess in question stuck out her tongue at the less than gallant knight across from her then went back to work. Max smiled and returned to his computer to create another man. A heartless rogue, this time, he decided.

  ACROSS TOWN, Elle let out a little gasp.

  Lucky leaned over Elle’s shoulder to read the page displayed on the laptop. “Oh, my, he’s a naughty one.”

  “Naughty? I was thinking more like…deranged. I’ve got to talk to Max. He’s supposed to be screening for sociopaths. Did you read what his hobby is?”

  “Where? I missed that.”

  Elle pointed to the line that read: dissecting frogs for fun and profit.

  Lucky made a face. “He must be joking. Nobody who really tortured amphibians would admit to it, right? That’s just…sick.”

  Elle sent the possible suitor to her reject pile. So far, that was where all her interested beaus had wound up. She couldn’t explain it. Not one bio had tickled her curiosity, much less made her want to type a reply. What was wrong with her? Had her standards changed? Was she losing her sexual drive?

  “Do you think it’s menopause?” she whispered softly.

  Lucky frowned. “They can’t all be going through the change. Some of them weren’t that old. In fact, wasn’t one of them seventeen?”

  Elle laughed, as her friend had intended. “Yes, one was a kid. He reminded me of someone, but I can’t think who. But that’s not what I meant and you know it. There are things going on—bodywise—that tell me I’m past my childbearing years. Which, I’m happy to say, is a good thing, but maybe I should make an appointment with a doctor and check this out. Women going through the change still like sex, right?”

  “You’re asking the wrong woman. No older sisters. No mom to ask about such things. I was counting on you leading the way when my time comes.”

  She sounded so sincere Elle had to bite down on the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. “I could ask Jane, but I don’t see that conversation ever taking place. The last time I asked her a personal question, she told me I shouldn’t be thinking about such things and to go to church.”

  “Church? Really? What did you ask her?”

  “Whether or not you could get pregnant when you’d just gotten over your period.”

  “Hmm…what did you do?”

  “I got pregnant, of course.”

  Lucky didn’t laugh. Instead she let out a deep sigh. “Going to church might have been an option back then, but it isn’t going to be for much longer,” she added cryptically, then stood up. “I have to go.”

  Elle didn’t try to stop her. Lucky’s disappointment in Pastor Joshua Watts seemed to be multiplying exponentially. The handsome young minister appeared to have a new agenda—both where the Fenelon Falls Community Church was concerned and in his personal life, where Lucky didn’t appear to have a role.

  Elle would have liked to help her friend, but as far as her attempt at beating Cupid at his own game went, she wasn’t doing too well. She clicked on the next name on her “Persons of Interest” list.

  A few seconds later, she groaned softly and closed her laptop. Her reject list was filling up with players who weren’t in the same ballpark, let alone the same league.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “SO, ELLE, how goes the quest for Mr. Right? Is Cupid smiling on you?”

  It was Friday. Max’s favorite day of the week. Well, Wednesdays were pretty great, too, because of his standing date with his granddaughter, but Fridays were special because chess club met at lunch. His A-team was made up of honor roll seniors who could drive and had permission to leave the school during lunch hour, so last week, when he’d mentioned the new Wifi at the Cup, he’d told them that this week’s meeting would take place here.

  Two birds, he’d figured: give Elle some business and spread the word among the faithful—people who lived and breathed the Internet. And, from what Elle said about her busy three-day weekend, he’d been successful.

  As the members of his team swarmed behind him, Elle answered his question. “Cupid is a putz, Mr. Maxwell. If I see the little snot, I’m going to run over
him with my car,” she called over the sound of her cappuccino frother.

  The eight students in line behind him started to laugh. He’d forgotten how much he liked her sense of humor. Edgy and smart.

  “Who’s the chicklet, Mr. M?” Abraham Jones, a stringbean who was continually asked to play on the basketball team but had no athletic abilities whatsoever, asked.

  “I heard that, tall person,” Elle said, returning to the counter. She secured a lid on a grande cup, slipped it into a corrugated band to protect against the heat then passed it to the woman standing just to Max’s left. Luann Payne. Divorced. Two kids, grown. A member of the Fenelon Falls Community Church, which Max had attended regularly until his wife’s death.

  He nodded a greeting. She barely acknowledged him in her rush to grab a chair at the far table in the corner. A table adorned with red balloons and sparkly hearts.

  Elle’s lovely green eyes narrowed as she sized up his students. “My goodness, geeks have changed some since I was in school. Mr. Maxwell being the notable exception, of course,” she added with a wink. “You aren’t by any chance selling Hotties of Chess Club calendars, are you? You could make a fortune.”

  The twinkle in her eyes was only slightly touched with avarice. Max glanced over his shoulder. These were all great kids, and they handled their brilliance with a lot more style and grace than he’d ever possessed—prior to his almost date with Elle, that is. He wondered if she’d believe him if he told her what that near-miss date with her had done for his ego. Probably not. Max had a feeling she still felt guilty about chickening out.

  “Ellenore Adams, meet the members of Chess On Fire. They smoked the competition last year and plan a repeat performance at State this year, too.” He called out individual names. Waves, winks, leers and a “Yeah, baby” or two rounded out the greetings.

  Elle and her helper quickly and efficiently filled their orders while the students hung out. All were technophiles, so they felt at home in a place that offered Internet connections and even a couple of laptops. Max was kicking himself for not bringing the club here before this. Some high school students frequented the Cup—he’d seen them here—but fewer than he’d expected. Probably because the magic hadn’t happened. Yet.