Someone Like You

“You’re too tall, too intelligent.”

Teddy blinked. Was he real? “You can tell my intelligence level from a couple of sentences?”

“My mother gave me a little information,” he explained.

Teddy’s mother had told her nothing. “I see. You’re looking for arm candy. Petite, long wavy hair maybe, big brown eyes. The kind you could get lost in.” She paused, giving him a moment.

“Someone who isn’t very smart, but good in bed,” he admitted.

Not to be waylaid by the good-in-bed comment, Teddy asked, “So I’m being dumped because of my height?”

“Not exactly dumped,” he said.

Teddy took a breath and calmed down. She smiled sarcastically. “You’re right. I am not the one. I’m not arm candy and I don’t want a man who is. No matter how good-looking you are, I prefer a man I can talk to both before and after sex.” She hooked her purse farther up on her shoulder. “And I am not just good in bed, I’m great in bed.”

Pivoting on her high heels, she moved away from the table. She’d only taken a step when he called her name. “Theresa?”

She turned back.

“I probably shouldn’t have said that. It’s been a long day and I’ve forgotten my manners.”

“Is that an apology?”

He nodded.

She had the feeling that he rarely apologized. He was a man in command. She could tell he was confident and obviously chose his own road. This date orchestrated by his mother and her mother was outside his developed character.

“Teddy,” she said. “Everyone calls me Teddy.”

“Teddy,” he repeated. “Since you’re obviously hungry, and we’re already here—” he spread his hands encompassing the room “—we might as well eat. That way I can answer truthfully when asked how my night went.”

“It hasn’t begun on a high note. You sure you don’t want to stop here? If we go on, things could get worse.”

He laughed. The sound was deep and infectious, but Teddy refused to join in. She kept her features straight and unsmiling.

Teddy shrugged and returned to her seat. Undoubtedly, she’d be questioned, too. They ordered, and as she cut into a prime rib so tender she could have used a butter knife, Adam opened the conversation.

“While I was arguing with my…” He stopped. “I hear you’re in the wedding business.”

Teddy didn’t like his tone. She nodded. “I design wedding gowns and I’m a partner in a wedding consulting firm.”

“So you believe in orange blossoms and till death do us part?”

She refused to rise to the obvious bait. “Orange blossoms would be very expensive on this coast. But there are some brides who insist on them.”

He raised a single eyebrow and sipped his drink.

“I take it you are a nonbeliever?” Teddy asked.

“I’m a realist. I’ve seen too many of my friends walk down that aisle only to end up hating the person they vowed to love.”

Teddy was in trouble. She should have taken the opportunity to walk out the door when she had it. Now she was as stuck here for as long as the meal lasted.

“You’ve been married,” she stated. He had all the earmarks of a man who’d been hurt in a relationship, but his tone regarding orange blossoms told her he’d been down that aisle himself. His nod was barely perceptible.

“And you hate her now?”

He shook his head. “Quite the opposite. We’re very good friends.”

She frowned. This was an exception to the rule of divorce. “What happened?” she asked, realizing it was probably the wrong question, but it was already out.

He spread his hands and hunched his shoulders. “We were too young. We got married for all the wrong reasons. Mainly, we didn’t know each other, didn’t understand that our dreams weren’t the same.”

“What was her dream?”

He smiled. Teddy liked it. It was the good-memory smile, the one that appears when a person looks back and only he understands the happy place he’s entered. She was glad he had good memories of his marriage. She’d seen her share of people who only remembered the wedge that separated their relationship and not what created it.