Blind Date Disasters & Eat Your Heart Out Read online

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  CAMI REALLY NEEDED pain relief, coffee and a shower, and not necessarily in that order. Then, and only then, could she perk up and be truly ecstatic about her future.

  But she didn’t have time. She actually had a man waiting for her, not an everyday occurrence. Granted, he was her contractor, but he was waiting for her.

  In her bedroom, she managed to pull on a blouse and socks. Then the phone rang. She continued searching for her pants, which had been on the floor the last time she’d checked, mostly because she never had an available hanger. What was that about, anyway? It ranked right up there as one of life’s little mysteries, next to why her keys were never where she’d last put them.

  “Mew.”

  “I know,” Cami said, on her hands and knees now, peering beneath her bed. “You want food. Go tell your new lover boy.”

  Annabel shot her a snooty look as the phone continued to ring.

  “Where’s my Advil? Hello?” she said into the receiver, just as she found her pants, but naturally they had a stain on them. “Oh, damn.”

  “Young lady, what kind of language is that?”

  Perfect. Her mother was half Italian and half Irish. They didn’t come any more bossy, stubborn or domineering than Sara Lynn Anderson, who alternated between attempting to run Cami’s life and praying for her daughter’s soul to keep it safe from the devil.

  “Sorry, Mom. I didn’t know it was you.” Because if she had, she wouldn’t have picked it up.

  “Never mind, darling. Look, I wanted to talk to you.”

  Never mind? Cami had used a swear word and her mother had said never mind? All Cami’s problems vanished as she sank to the bed and clutched the phone.

  Someone had to be sick.

  Dying.

  Or already dead. “What’s the matter?” she demanded, just as bossy, stubborn and domineering as her mother. “Tell me. I can take it.”

  “Nothing.”

  “Mom!”

  “I just have a little favor, that’s all. Can’t a mother call her own daughter for one little favor?”

  Cami was so relieved she let her guard down. A bad mistake with her mother. “Well, of course you can.”

  “I need you to go out with—”

  “Oh, no, you don’t.” It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know where this was going. “Not another blind date.”

  Her mother had started this when Cami and her sister turned twenty-one and she hadn’t wavered in her single, solitary mission to marry her daughters off in order to get grandchildren.

  “It’s just one little date, Cami. One little favor. Just one little short night out of your life.”

  “Too many littles.”

  Maybe deep, deep down Cami had the same happily-ever-after dream for herself that her mother did, but she wasn’t going to admit it to the woman who had given her more blind dates from hell than any dating service ever could. Plus, truth told, Cami was terrified of finding Mr. Right. She didn’t believe in Mr. Right. “No.”

  “Just because you think you’ve got it all together now that you’ve received your design degree doesn’t mean your future is set.”

  “My future is fine.”

  “Really? Is your laundry done?”

  Cami glanced guiltily at the pile of dirty clothes in the corner behind the door. “What does that have to do with anything!”

  “So it’s not.”

  “No to the date. Double no. Triple no.”

  “Oh, sure.” Her mother’s voice softened as she switched tactics, became vulnerable. Sad. “Turn me down in my time of need. I understand. I only spent twenty-four long, sweaty, torturous hours in labor with you and Dimi, and—”

  “And we nearly killed you,” Cami said in tune with her mother, who was really getting into the story now, and had even mustered tears in her voice. “I know, Mom,” she said, rubbing her forehead and the ache that settled there every time she spoke with her mother. “I remember.” How could she forget when her mother pulled this story out at every turn?

  “I’m going to die soon, you know.”

  “Oh, no, you’re not,” Cami said with a laugh. “You’re going to outlive us all.”

  “You never know.”

  “Mom.”

  “You’d really send me off to heaven, where you know I’m going to run into Aunt Bev and Cici, both of whom had daughters who gave them five grandchildren? Each?”

  “Mom—”

  “All I’m asking for is one little bundle of love to treasure in my final days, one grandchild. But apparently even that’s too much.”

  Cami’s headache increased in pressure so that she could see herself keeling over in nothing but her shirt, socks and panties, with Mr. Sexy Tool Belt the only one around to resuscitate her. “Look, Mom, you know I love you, but—”

  “He’s very handsome, too. I promise.”

  “Who?”

  “Your date! Keep up, Cami. He’s Great-Aunt Lulu’s cousin’s brother-in-law, and she swears by him, which is good enough for me. I hear he makes a wonderful living doing those fancy dub-dub-dub thingies…what are they called again?”

  “Web sites.” Cami let out a soundless sigh, tipped her head back and stared at the ceiling. As if divine intervention could help when it came to her mother! No one could help, not even God, not when Sara Lynn Anderson had made up her mind.

  “You sound busy.” Her mother sniffed in that way all mothers have that insures guilt to the tenth degree. “Too busy for me, probably.”

  It was pure bad fortune that Cami happened to have the gene inside her that made it impossible to enjoy herself in life unless everyone around her was happy. Yes, that left her wearing the proverbial doormat on her head that said Take Advantage of Me Because I Can’t Say No, but it happened to look good on her, if she did say so herself. “I’m not too busy for you, Mom, but—”

  “Good, because he’s the catch of the year, and—”

  Cami tuned her out, her attention drawn by a noise coming from the living room. Her master carpenter. Her gorgeous master carpenter.

  The man who hadn’t given her a second look.

  Was she, at twenty-six, losing all appeal? So maybe she carried a few extra pounds, but she hadn’t had time for exercise since…since, well, she hated exercise.

  But even if she had the time, which she didn’t, and even if she worked out seven days a week, which she didn’t, she’d still have too many darn curves.

  So really, all she had going for her was her hair and her own teeth. That had to count for something.

  “Lulu says he loves the Tahoe region and he’s thinking of relocating here permanently, seeing that his stock portfolio is worth more than her retirement fund.”

  Cami hadn’t had a date in…well, forever. Sad state of affairs, really.

  Even sadder was the fact she was sitting here, without pants, actually considering it.

  It was just one night. With a computer geek, which meant he had to be at least semiintelligent. “Mom—”

  “And I bet he has all his hair.”

  “Mom—”

  “Because he’s blond. It’s really hard to pull off a blond toupee.”

  “Mom, stop. I’ll do it.”

  “And he has all his— What? You will? You really will?”

  “Yes, but this is the last time. The real last time. Got that?”

  “Absolutely. Probably.”

  Cami could only sigh. And hope he indeed had all his hair.

  TANNER WAS STILL leaning over the set of plans when his new boss came racing through the back door. Strange, since he would have sworn she was still in the town house, but even stranger, her cat took one look at her and hissed.

  She was already dressed, in a pale green business number that showed a set of legs well worth a double take. There was makeup on her face, and her hair had been taken care of, piled on her head in some artful manner.

  Pretty quick for a female, especially one who looked as she did, all blond and buxomy an
d naturally tousled.

  That kind of natural look took women forever in the bathroom to achieve. Tanner knew this because, one, his mother had been both blond and beautiful, and in his memory of her, she’d never taken less than a lifetime to get ready to go anywhere, and two, in his wayward youth, he’d worked his way through plenty of blondes of his own.

  At thirty-two years old, he had higher standards now.

  Usually.

  Skidding to a halt between the kitchen and the living room, she stared at him, clearly shocked to find him still there. “Oh,” she said, blinking huge chocolate eyes that suddenly seemed…different.

  “Yep. Still here.” He wondered what she’d done, exactly, because though a sexpot was a sexpot, it was almost as if she was a completely different person.

  “Oh,” she said again, ignoring her cat, who walked away from her, tail switching back and forth in annoyance.

  Very strange.

  “Did you forget I was here?” he asked, her reaction reinforcing his earlier thought—he was working for a woman missing a few marbles.

  “I…yes. Yes, I guess I did forget.” She bit her full lower lip and looked at him, as if she’d never seen him before.

  She was sleepy-eyed and pouty-lipped and could have just bounced out of bed, if not for the fancy clothes. He had a feeling she always looked that way, that she knew how to get exactly what she wanted by showing off her tall, lush body to her advantage.

  In his dubious maturity, the one that came with preferring steady income over a hot babe to look at, he took a big mental step backward.

  First of all, he was finally at work doing a job he loved after a year from hell fraught with family tragedy. He needed the work.

  Not to mention, Cami Anderson was living in a great fixer-upper that he badly wanted to get his hands on. In fact, he was practically salivating at the opportunity. This particular town house complex was over a century old, and though it had been sorely mistreated by age and neglect and the severe weather of the Sierras, it had the potential to be brought to its former glory.

  With his help.

  Running a hand over the scarred, original wood flooring, he smiled. Yeah, definitely, beneath the abused material was a foundation based on character and strength. Personality.

  And he couldn’t wait to dig in—with or without the nutty lady.

  “Um…” She continued to gnaw on her lower lip. “Why are you here again exactly?”

  Tanner laughed, but when she didn’t so much as smile, his humor faded.

  Ah, hell, she had lost a few marbles. “To work,” he said carefully. “Remember?”

  “Work.” She nodded. “Well, if you’ll excuse me a moment.” And before he could so much as move, she took her made-up self down the hall. Toward what he knew to be the bedroom.

  Again.

  Was there another exit that hadn’t been on the set of plans he’d studied and memorized? Or had she crawled out her window to come around?

  “Nutty to the bone,” he muttered, shaking his head and returning to the plans.

  DIMI MOVED down the hall and barged into Cami’s bedroom, her face serious and intent as always. “First,” she said to Cami, who was still dressing.

  Or attempting to.

  “First, I need my lipstick back. Stop stealing it and buy your own.”

  Cami ignored her twin, who’d obviously let herself in—again—and tried to zip up the trousers she’d just found. Man, she really needed to stop eating doughnuts for breakfast.

  Wincing, she lay flat on the bed and sucked in a breath. The pants closed, barely, though she wouldn’t be able to so much as sneeze all day.

  “And second…” Dimi let out a rare grin. “Oh, baby, major hunk alert in your living room.”

  Cami managed to find a shoe. Breathless, she looked up. “What?”

  Dimi gestured down the hall. “Don’t look now, but you’ve got a really amazing-looking guy out there. He’s wearing a tool belt and a killer smile, to boot.”

  “Yeah.” It wasn’t something Cami thought about often, because it was stupid. But when it came to men, she was actually jealous of her sister. Dimi was her identical twin, but somehow she seemed far more put together than Cami could ever hope to be. Prettier.

  More likely to get lucky.

  As a result, Cami rarely told anyone, especially any date she might be lucky enough to get, that she was a twin. Didn’t say a lot for her confidence in herself, but it was a fact. “Oh, damn.”

  “What?”

  Cami held out her shoe, which had a suspicious-looking lump in it, one that smelled like…Craning her neck, she glared at Annabel.

  From her perch on the dresser, the cat blinked innocently.

  “Ugh,” Dimi said, wrinkling her nose. “Dump the cat. But the guy, let’s not dump him. Did you know that he thinks I’m you?”

  Cami sighed. “Did you tell him you’re not?”

  “Now why would I do that and waste a perfectly good opportunity to mess with his head?”

  “Don’t you have work or something?”

  “Yep.” Eyeing Annabel warily, Dimi grabbed Cami’s purse off the dresser, dumping it out onto the bed. Rifling through, she pounced on the tube of lipstick and pocketed it. “Don’t you have work, too?”

  Cami had made her way through college by sewing clothes. By using her own designs and materials obtained at cost through school, she made enough money for tuition, books, gas and her mortgage. Whatever was left over went into the redo-Cami’s-town-house fund, which meant she ate lots of cheap soup, but she’d gotten used to it. “Less than usual now that I’m looking to get my designing going.”

  “Hmm. I’m trying to convince my boss to let you come redesign the studio.”

  Redecorating Dimi’s kitchen studio for her cooking show would be nothing short of huge. “Really?”

  “Really.” She grunted when Cami threw her self at her and hugged her hard. “Jeez, wait till you get the job.”

  “Thank you!”

  “Yeah.” Dimi disentangled herself and headed toward the door.

  “Wait. You’ve got my lipstick.”

  “You owe me. Hey, want to double date with me this weekend? The guy I met at the doughnut shop has a brother who needs a date.”

  “I already agreed to go out with Great-Aunt Lulu’s cousin’s brother-in-law.”

  “Mom caught you, huh?” Dimi looked superior, and not just because she was wearing a great-looking suit while Cami had managed stained slacks and a wrinkled blouse.

  “How many times do I have to tell you, screen your calls.”

  “He doesn’t sound that awful,” Cami said in her defense. “He’s got all his hair.”

  Dimi slanted her a look of sheer pity. “Have we forgotten who’s setting you up? Mom has a terrible track record. You know this.”

  “It’s not that bad.”

  “No? Remember Ed? He had all his hair, too.”

  Unfortunately most of that hair hadn’t been on his head. The guy had been a virtual gorilla. Remembering that, and all her other recent pathetic dates, Cami sunk to her bed, mystified. “What do you think is wrong with us?”

  “Nothing’s wrong with me. But you? You’re a case.”

  “Thanks.”

  Dimi pointed to the living room. “What about pretty boy? Why don’t you go out with him?”

  Humiliating as it was, Cami always told Dimi the truth, even when her sister didn’t want to hear it. Like that time Dimi had gone out with a resident doctor and had come home dancing on air, baffled because her “perfect” date hadn’t kissed her at the door.

  Cami had been the one to break the news—the large piece of spinach stuck between Dimi’s two front teeth, the result of the lovely Italian dish they’d had two hours earlier.

  Dimi, queen of hygiene, had nearly died.

  “What happened?” Dimi asked, already sensing something good. “Don’t even say nothing. Something is all over your face.”

  “All right, fine. Yo
u want the horrifying scoop. I answered the door naked and pretty boy, as you call him didn’t even notice.”

  “Didn’t notice, or was being polite?”

  “Dimi, I was naked. There’s no polite when you’re naked.”

  Dimi considered. “Define naked.”

  “I had a blanket, but it kept slipping.”

  Her twin shook her head. “Why are all the cute ones gay?”

  “I don’t know,” Cami answered, miserable at the thought of all that magnificent maleness going to waste. “So I have to take the blind date. I have no other prospects in sight. None.”

  “Don’t do it, Cam. Refuse. All you ever do these days is go on blind dates. You’re just sabotaging yourself. Setting yourself up for failure.”

  “Am not.”

  “Are, too. You have this fear of commitment.”

  “Funny, last time I looked, you were a food-show host on cable television, not a damn psychiatrist.”

  “Your fear is fueled by Dad’s seven marriages and Mom’s inability to find a man for herself,” Dimi continued. “Everyone knows this but you. Just give up on the blind dates, okay?”

  “You’re the one who just asked me to go on another one with your friend’s brother!”

  “That was for me, not you. Now face these stupid fears and find your own man.”

  “Spoken by the goddess of love, who herself hasn’t had a decent boyfriend in two years.”

  “One,” Dimi said, miffed. “And I don’t have your fears. I just haven’t found Mr. Right yet.”

  “I don’t have any damn fears!”

  “Really? Then why are you always agreeing to go out with these guys, none of whom ever work out because they’re from some other planet entirely?”

  Because she really was pathetic. But she couldn’t maintain any sort of self-righteous anger because she did have fears. Big time. “This is the last one.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “Really.”

  “Just call Mom and cancel.”

  “Hell, no. I value my life, thank you very much.”

  “Fine,” Dimi said, disgusted. “Suit yourself. But if he has buck teeth and a bad toupee, not to mention breath from the sewer plant, don’t blame me.”