“I built my company so I can hardly walk away.” He lay back on the grass, hands now behind his head, his broad chest and hard pecs now fully on display. Drool became a bigger concern than ketchup and she held her napkin to her lips. She had a sudden urge to stretch out beside him and rest her head on his chest. He would curve one strong arm around her, lean down, and . . .
“Is something wrong? You’re staring into space.”
Zara shook herself out of her daydream. She really needed to get a grip. What kind of matchmaker fantasized about her own clients? She was done with relationships. Her breakup with her ex Javier had finally woken her to the fact that her parents’ divorce had made her unable to form healthy attachments. Her new therapist, Catherine, thought she had a fear of abandonment. All Zara knew was that she never wanted to experience the loss and devastation she’d felt when her family had been ripped apart, when she’d learned the lesson that marriage wasn’t forever and love could stop.
“So what are you looking for in the future Mrs. Dayal?” she asked.
“Whoa.” Jay stiffened. “You said match, not wife. I’m down with meeting someone to accompany me to business events or the odd social evening when our schedules allow, but marriage requires the kind of commitment that I can’t give right now.”
“Good to know.” She spoke as she wrote the words down. “Afraid of commitment.”
Jay bristled. “I’m not afraid. I just don’t have time.”
“You might want to explore that with your therapist,” she said. “Is it really an issue of time or is it avoidance? Take me, for example. Child of divorce. That right there will screw anyone up. I unconsciously sabotage relationships because I don’t know how to receive or accept love, and I don’t want to get hurt, blahblahblah. And then there’s the whole mom issue . . .”
“I don’t have a therapist,” Jay said.
“It’s the twenty-first century,” she blurted out. “Who doesn’t have a therapist? I’ve been through four or five in the last five years, and I have a psychology degree so really I could be saving money by treating myself.”
Jay sat up suddenly, his face smoothing to an expressionless mask. “I don’t need any help.”
Zara didn’t need a psychology degree to know she’d touched a nerve. She scrambled to find a topic that wouldn’t trigger him. “How about family? Brothers, sisters, cousins, aunts, uncles . . .”
“It’s just me and my mom.” He stared up at the blue sky. “She had me when she was seventeen. Her parents were immigrants who were from the same village from India. They came to California together to work in IT and settled in San Diego. They disowned her when they found out she was pregnant. Even now, they refuse to acknowledge we exist, and the rest of the family followed suit.” His hands fisted against his thighs. “My dad was in the country from London on a university exchange program. He left shortly after I was born. He didn’t want anything to do with us, either. We don’t know anything about his family, and I have no interest in ever finding them.”
Zara gave herself a mental kick. Another bad topic. Was it possible to get more feet in her mouth? “I’m really sorry. It must have been so hard for your mom.”
“She’s the strongest person I know.” Jay’s voice filled with pride. “She worked three jobs to put food on the table and still found time to get her high school diploma. She finally found a permanent position at a daycare and studied at night to get her early-childcare degree. Now she’s a part owner of the daycare with the woman who first gave her a chance.”
Zara loved how proud he was of his mom, but what about him? Who had looked after him while his mom was working three jobs? Had he had a lonely childhood? She’d had eleven years in a happy family, and even after the divorce, she’d still had two parents and dozens of relatives to look after her. “I’d love to get to know her better. We didn’t really have a chance to chat at Tarun’s wedding because she was laughing so hard. Will she be at any of the weddings this summer?”
“She was at Tarun’s wedding and I think she’s been invited to a few more.” He didn’t seem to have any issue with Zara meeting his mom. She would have to find her at the next wedding. Not just to get more information about Jay, but because she was interested to meet a woman who had become such a success after a rough start in life.
“So what kind of woman are you looking for? Let me guess. Professional. Sophisticated. Classy. Intelligent. Basically, Lucia but younger, or do you like a little Mrs. Robinson between the sheets?” She took another bite of her hot dog. Was there any better food?
“My relationship with Lucia is strictly professional, but yes, I’d be interested in someone similar.”
“So, you want a mini-me,” she teased. “I mean a mini-you. Not me. Obviously. Lucia is pretty much the opposite of me, which is another reason I knew that job wouldn’t work out.”
“You have ketchup on your cheek.” He took a napkin and gently dabbed it at the corner of her mouth.
Desire flooded her veins followed by a wave of desolation. She could easily fall for a man like Jay. Smart, handsome, ambitious, successful, and yet she sensed a longing in him, a secret Jay waiting to be free.
“Is it gone?” Her voice came out in a whisper.
He leaned in and studied her with a serious intensity that took her breath away. He was so close she could see the gentle dip in his chin, the dark stubble of his five-o’clock shadow even though it couldn’t be much past four o’clock. His lips were firm and soft, his mouth the perfect size for kissing. She drew in his scent: pine and mountains and the rich, earthy scent of the soil she’d turned in the garden when her family was whole and she never had to wonder whose house she was in when she woke up in the morning.
But this wasn’t the time to be thinking about being held in Jay’s strong arms or what it would be like to kiss him, or how just being near him calmed all the wayward thoughts in her head. She was supposed to be concentrating on finding him a match and where she should get autographed when he made the promised celebrity introduction.
“We should go.” She jumped up so abruptly her half-eaten hot dog fell to the grass. “I have to get back to the office, and I don’t want to exceed your two-hour-and-forty-five-minute time limit.”
Jay picked up the hot dog and carried it to the nearest bin. “When do you want to meet again?”
His question sent a curious thrill rocketing through her veins. She hadn’t put him off with her rambling, or her quest for the perfect hot dog, or even the uncomfortable questions she’d asked as they lounged in the sun. She couldn’t have been more excited if he’d asked her on a second date. Except he wasn’t really interested in her that way, and she needed to keep that in mind. The last thing she wanted was to get into a Cyrano situation where she would be forced to help someone else win the heart of the man she loved. She made a mental note to rewatch the 1973 Broadway version of the play with its soaring ballads and rousing word- and swordplay as a reminder of the heartbreak that could result.