Page 80 of An Irresistible Force (Vancouver Vice)

“You know I’m right.” She bit into her cookie. “You’re the one who told me that the worst thing that could happen to JoJo was that she’d end up having more experience with men. So why does that not apply to you?”

“Well, I’m older,” I hedged.

“Older, but it’s not like you’re that experienced with men.”

“I’ve had my share of boyfriends.”

Cynthia shook her head. “I suspect they’ve all been the kind of guys you didn’t care that much about. Like that Simon guy you mentioned.”

Seriously, the woman had a memory that elephants would bow down to. I waited for the rest of the lecture, but instead she leaned forward and dropped her voice to a whisper. “I know you don’t want to kiss and tell, but I have to ask you—does he have one of those six-packs? I’ve always wondered what it’s like to be with a guy who’s built like that.”

I could not help myself and began to giggle again. “You never slept with a guy who had a six-pack? What about Ziggy, that guy you dated in grade twelve? He was skinny enough.”

Cynthia’s eyes widened. “Ziggy? Euw. I never had sex with him. I started dating James during my first year of design school, and he’s the only man I’ve ever been with.” Her expression was simultaneously proud and disappointed, which made me laugh. James was not svelte, and he had been even plumper when I first met him. Cynthia had made him over the way she made over all her homes.

“You can laugh. But seriously, Amanda, are you out of your mind? If you both like each other, why are you not going out with him?”

A damn good question.

34

Sanctuary

Amanda

I was gettingready for bed when I heard the deep chimes of the doorbell. 11:00? Who would be here at this time of night? I pulled on my robe and headed down.

I peeked through the sidelight window and saw a large familiar figure in the teeming rain—Chris! I flung the door open.

“What is it? Are you all right?”

He looked at me—his brown eyes staring, yet not really focused. The collar of his dark coat was turned up and rain was pouring down on him. His hair was plastered to his head, and there were rivulets of rain running down his face. It almost looked like he was crying.

He stood uncertainly at the door. His voice was soft and hesitant—so unlike his usual confident self. “I was close to here. I couldn’t drive, but I couldn’t stay there....”

“So you came here? That’s fine, no problem.”

I was still completely mystified as to why he was here, but Chris was clearly not himself. I pulled on his arm and brought him in. He was like a sleepwalker. I took over: removed his wet coat, guided him to the living room, and sat him down in a chair. The embers of an earlier fire were still burning, so I threw another log on and poked it.

“Did you want something to drink? A Heineken? Or a cup of tea?”

He shook his head. He ran a hand through his damp hair. “Maybe a water?”

“Okay.” I got up and went to the kitchen. Bonita was already there, in a pink satin housecoat. She was making up a tray with tea and cookies.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” I said. “He’s not hungry.”

“Something to warm him up. Poor man.” She liked Chris from the moment he ate all her dinner and complimented her heartily. And like my mother, she was not immune to the fix-up-poor-Amanda syndrome.

I thanked Bonita, then grabbed a bottle of mineral water from the fridge and added it to the tray, then took the whole thing out to the living room. Chris was hunched over with his head resting in his hands. He looked so unhappy that sympathy and pity rose up in me—emotions I’d never thought I’d feel for him.

He raised his eyes as I set the tray down on the coffee table. “You didn’t have to go to all that fuss.”

“It was Bonita,” I admitted. I poured a cup of tea and offered it to him.

Chris took it and smiled slightly. “For my mom, a cup of tea could fix anything.”

“Same here. Is she English?”

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