Page 24 of Edge of Whispers

“Whatever is relevant. You’re not married, engaged, or seriously involved, I assume. Lucia wouldn’t have thrown me at your head if you were.”

“True enough,” he agreed.

“So what’s wrong with you?” I threw out the challenge.

He looked mildly curious. “What do you mean, ‘wrong with me’?”

I shrugged. “One would think that a guy like you would’ve been taken by now. You must be, what, thirty-five?”

“Thirty-six,” he confirmed.

“Thirty-six,” I repeated. “How have you escaped the noose for so long?”

“I don’t see it as a noose. I haven’t met the right woman yet, and I won’t settle.”

My phone rang as the waitress arrived with our food. It was the manager of the venue in Indianapolis where Peter was performing in three weeks, calling to postpone the date. I made a note, promised to check the artist’s availability, then hung up and gave Liam a tight smile. “Back to this ideal woman. What’s she like?”

His eyes narrowed. “How would I know? I haven’t met her yet.”

“You must have a list of qualities you want. What’s on your list?”

Liam eyed me over his cup as he sipped his tea. “Not really a list,” he said. “None of these items are dealbreakers, just preferences. My ideal woman is a good cook, I guess. Likes to bake. Wants children. Would consider being a stay-at-home mom, but I’m flex on that. She’s relaxed, mellow, likes flowers, gardening. Loves to hike. Likes animals. Dogs, cats, horses.”

My heart sank like a stone. Which was dumb. After all, I had no designs on the guy. Why should it matter if I was the opposite of his ideal woman? I loved my cat, but I couldn’t tell a pumpkin from a hollyhock. Children? What a concept. I hadn’t given up hope of maybe having at least one someday. But cooking? Baking? Hah.

Liam went on. “She puts home and family first. She’s content with simplicity.”

“I get the vibe,” I said. “Earth mother. Cultures her own yogurt. Dips her own candles, makes her own soap, carves her own toothpicks.”

His lips twitched. “You’re jerking me around.”

My cell rang again. It was a presenter of a concert series in Portland, Oregon, who wanted Mandrake’s promo packet. I took down his data and promised to send it.

“You know, that thing has an off button,” Liam said.

I looked at him blankly. “What’s your point?”

He sighed. “Never mind. You haven’t touched your sandwich.”

I looked down at my turkey club. “I’m not really that hungry,” I admitted.

Liam frowned. “Try to get down at least half of it.”

“I don’t want to argue about my sandwich. I want to know more about this ideal?—”

“You’re not going to learn anything worth knowing if you come at me with that attitude,” he said.

I carefully set down my coffee, startled. “Oh. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“Okay,” he said. “Didn’t mean to snarl. You get a free pass after what happened today. Multiple free passes, actually.”

I stared down while Liam finished his omelet. “I’m not sure what just happened,” I said after a few minutes. “But it was definitely my fault.”

“All I know is, one minute I was talking to you, and the next minute I had an uptight, bitchy stranger wearing a Nancy mask all up in my face. It was jarring.”

“Sorry.” I blinked back a startling rush of tears.

“Don’t be. Come on, Nancy. Indulge me. Eat some of your sandwich. Please.”

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