A Real Keeper: Arranged Marriage Romance Read online

  Looking around I wonder where my kid's gotten off to. She took off as soon as I got here, saying something like "ohmygoddad I can't work with you."

  Draining the water from the bottle, I crush the plastic and toss it into the recycle can. My little girl's growing up. This past year has been full of "just drop me off heres" and "you don't need to go with mes."

  I scan the carnival, looking for Mari and my eyes land on the woman that got the last pizza I have to make today. Not many women I've met can handle that much heat, and I made sure I doused that pie with everything I had, but she just stood there and took a bite without even wincing. I like a woman who's up to a challenge.

  She's sitting at one of the tables that the school hauled out here for the food court today, looks like she's finished her pizza and now her eyes are scanning the area while she sips from one of the flavored lemonades that the girls' volleyball team is selling. I thought she was sitting with another woman but she's alone now.

  Her dark hair is pulled back tightly in a no-nonsense ponytail and her skin is make up free. She's wearing light blue scrubs likes she's a nurse or something. The scrubs do about nothing for her figure, she's got an athletic look to her, but anything could be under those scrubs.

  What I can see is attractive. She's got a natural thing going on and I admit I was impressed with that little show she made about the pizza before she walked away from the booth.

  I've never seen her at any of the school events before. I watch her toss her cup and plate into the bin and head across the make shift carnival midway wondering which kid she belongs to-- and if she's got a husband around here somewhere.

  Chasing women isn't really my style. With Mari to look out for, I haven't put much effort into dating at all. I want to make sure I set a good example for my daughter and that means not going after every piece of ass that wiggles into view but something about ghost pepper girl has my feet headed in her direction, hoping I can catch up to her and at least get a number.

  "Dad!" I hear myself being paged and turn toward the sound of Mari's high pitched voice as she comes barreling at me from somewhere off to my left. I don't quite have time to focus on whatever she's holding out in her hand before she runs into me at full speed, jabbering a mile a minute, "So I know you told me no goldfish but it's not a goldfish I swear!"

  Her hand is clutched around a small plastic cup filled with water with a lid over the top.

  "I won it on the first try! I got the quarter right up in the top saucer and that means I got to pick on of the fancy ones." She holds up the cup triumphantly and I see the little fish inside. It's not a goldfish, I can't argue there. It's a blue and green Betta that looks like it's been in the cup-- and out in the heat today-- long enough to start contemplating suicide.

  "I promise I'll take care of it," she tells me with one of her trademark pouts, "besides, if I'm going to be a vet, I should at least have one pet, don't you think?" And finishes with her trademark fist on hip.

  "You still want to be a veterinarian?" I ask, putting my hand over the top of her head and steering her-- and her fish-- toward the car. I look for the ghost pepper woman but she's out of sight now. I'm a little surprised at how disappointed I am that I didn't get a chance to meet her.

  "I thought you'd moved on to hostage negotiation specialist?"

  Mariah turns her head under my hand to give me a hard glare as I wave and shout thanks at Paul for coming out today with his fancy pizza oven to help the kids.

  "A what?" Mari asks, then shakes her head and decides whatever I said must have been just another "stupid dadism" and launches into setting me straight, "No, Dad, I want to be a veterinarian, just like I always have that's why I'm going to work for the animal hospital this summer, remember?"

  I feel several hairs go gray at the sound of my little girl calling her summer internship "work" but I nod, "I remember," I tell her as I hold her fish for her while she gets her seatbelt on.

  "Dad, are you sure it's OK to leave the carnival?" Mari asks as I hand her fish back to her, "I thought all the eighth graders were supposed to stay till after it closed?"

  I close the door and walk around to the driver's side, "We got brownie points for bringing Uncle Paul," I tell her as I start up the car and aim for home.

  "You mean for bringing Uncle Paul's pizza oven," she tells me with a smart aleck grin.

  "Something like that," I look up at her in the rear view mirror and give her a wink but she's too busy getting to know her new fish.

  Probably working on her suicide counseling skills.

  Kendra

  I haven't made my mind up about Raven. On one hand, she's beautiful, poised, confident, and has an almost Zen-like calming effect to her. Everything she says makes perfect sense and I can't help but trust her.

  On the other hand, she's quirky. Yeah. We'll go with quirky.

  First there was the eighth grade carnival meet up. Which went well enough, I suppose even though I'm still not sure why she insisted on that particular venue. I've since decided to chalk it up to her wanting to experience my home town at the street level. Or something like that.

  The carnival was Saturday afternoon. Aside from the fancy pizza and some excellent raspberry lemonade, we didn't really accomplish much. Raven stayed and talked to me for maybe 15 minutes and then left me at the carnival, promising to be in touch.

  I had dinner with her Monday at her hotel and she asked me a thousand questions but she still hasn't exactly told me why she's here to interview me even though she knows I can't afford her services.

  When she called this morning, she was very insistent that I meet her here, at this specific restaurant, at this specific time, for lunch this afternoon.

  As I take a seat opposite Raven at the table she's already sitting at, I glance around at all the business men and women in here on their lunch hour and I'm glad this is the day I work on admin stuff instead of seeing patients. At least I'm wearing a button down blouse and a pencil skirt with a pair of nice pumps instead of scrubs covered in hair.

  "Kendra!" Raven says my name clearly at a volume a hair louder than necessary without exactly yelling it out to the whole room, "You look beautiful today," she smiles at me with such confident poise I can't help but sit up a little straighter in my chair and feel like maybe I'm imagining the way she says my name like she's secretly introducing me to the neighboring table of women from the credit union who are ignoring us anyway.

  The waiter comes by and takes our lunch order and Raven tells me about her morning browsing through the local antique shops. We make what feels a lot like pointless small talk while we wait for our food to arrive and while Raven rattles on about the town I can't help but find myself staring past her to the table of men just behind her.

  The man facing me is handsome. His dark hair is styled in clean, razor cut with a sort of sexy messy just-got-done-fucking-the-shit-out-of-someone look. His face is made of rough cut, masculine lines that aren't hidden by the neatly trimmed beard that covers his jaw and I find Raven's voice fading into the white noise of the lunch crowd around us as I idly think of all the places I'd like those whiskers to rub me.

  I try not to be too obvious as I crane my neck to get a better look at the guy behind Raven. My view is obscured by the back of the heads of the two men that Mr. Handsome is having lunch with and it isn't helping matters that my lunchtime fantasy man is largely keeping his head down, focused on whatever business he seems to be discussing with his companions.

  Suddenly I realize that Raven isn't talking anymore. My eyes fly back to her face and I find her looking at me with an odd, unreadable, grin on her face.

  "See something you like?" She asks in a wicked tone.

  "I, um, sorry," I recover--poorly-- but Raven doesn't seem to mind as the waiter sets our plates in front of us.

  I sneak a glance back up at the man behind her as he dons a pair of sunglasses as he stands and waits for the other two men to do the same before they turn and file past us on their way out o
f the restaurant. I like to think the man that's going to fuel my fantasies for the next few nights is taking his time to notice me as his head tilts down on his way past but he's probably eyeing our plates to see what we ordered or he could be checking out Raven, she's certainly stunning enough to command a man's attention.

  I fight the urge to let my eyes follow his ass out the door even though I'm dying for a look at his body to see if it goes with his face. I'm sitting here having lunch with a professional marriage broker. A real, live match maker that takes her work very seriously. If Raven is here interviewing me it's because she has someone on her client list that she thinks I'm right for even though I can't afford her, I don't want her to see me checking out some guy and get the idea that I'm not serious about what she's here to offer.

  "Are you still interested in getting married?" Raven asks directly for the first time since she called me out of the blue.

  "Yes!" I blurt out, immediately feeling too enthusiastic, "Um, yeah, of course," I demure between bites of pasta.

  Raven nods, contemplating her lunch thoughtfully. "Do you believe in love at first sight?" Raven looks up at me with a serious expression.

  I think about it for a minute because that's what you're supposed to do, right? Love at first sight is one of those crazy fantasies that people like to hope for but it's not really practical and if you say you believe in it, then you must be crazy.

  Raven watches my face and somehow I feel like she can see my thoughts written there even though I haven't answered her yet.

  "Good," she says with a smile before I can open my mouth so I decide to take another bite of penne.

  "What about sex?" she asks and I choke on my Alfredo sauce.

  Looking around at the people who are left in the restaurant with us now that the lunch hour is over I'm glad that no one seems to be listening in on us.

  "What about it?" I ask, trying not to sound squeamish.

  We went over a lot of very to the point questions the other night, I'm not exactly sure what kind of answer Raven's looking for right now.

  She smiles, taking a sip of white wine, "Sooner or later?" she asks.

  I shake my head, not sure what that means. Yeah, sooner or later I'd like to have sex with who ever she sets me up with. Hell, sooner or later I'd like to have sex period. It's been a while. In fact, I hadn't realized how a while it had been till I found myself picturing Handsome Beard-guy between my thighs just now.

  Raven gives me another one of her little Mona Lisa smiles like she's reading my thoughts, "Do you think it's better to jump into bed with a potential mate-- act on raw attraction, test those waters, get it out of the way first, reduce the tension-- right away? Or do you think it's best to let the tension build? hold off till you know one another better? make sure the rest of the relationship is right?"

  I watch her fingers absently sliding along the base of her wine glass instead of making eye contact with her but I think carefully about her questions. Not just the questions, but the meaning underneath them. Both ways can be good, but I guess if I'm seriously considering the man as husband material from the beginning...hmmm.

  "It depends," I finally look up at her and answer.

  "On what?" she asks, sounding surprised.

  "I'm not sure, exactly," I tell her, "but every relationship is different, right? I guess I don't have any rules about when it happens, I think you just have to go with the flow."

  Raven gives me an unreadable look as the waiter clears out plates, "Tomorrow," she tells me firmly as we head for the parking lot after lunch, "dinner and drinks. 8 o'clock at the Old Millhouse."

  Just like that, Raven Swann is in her rental car and waving good bye to me while I stand in the middle of the parking lot and wonder if I'm missing something, or if this is really how professional match makers work.

  Logan

  The irony is that Beth threw me out because all I wanted to do was hang out at the bar with my buddies.

  I was barely 21 then. I had a wife and a little girl at home waiting for me, but all I wanted to do was get my newly legal drink on with the guys. I told Beth I was a man and that hanging out with the guys was what men did.

  Six months later I was barely 22, divorced, and lost as fuck in a one bedroom apartment that was sorely lacking in a woman's touch.

  When the judge gave Beth and I 50/50 custody of Mari, the guys all high-fived me-- told me what a sweet deal it was. I still got my daughter, I didn't have to pay child support, and every other week I had a locked in babysitter so I could still go party.

  It didn't take long for me to understand what Beth had meant. All the ways I'd failed her as a husband. All the ways I'd failed at being a man. I was determined not to fail Mari though and at least I can be proud of the dad I've been to her in these last 10 years since all that.

  Now I'm still hanging out at the bar on the weekends that Mari's with her mom, but it's not because I'm out partying with the guys. The guys all have their own families now and they'd rather spend their Friday nights at home with their wives and their kids.

  I get myself set up in the corner of the local watering hole, plug in the mic, get the amp tuned just right, and scoot the guitar case behind my chair so no one will trip over it. Josh sets a beer and a glass with a pitcher of water on the table next to my chair while I tune the guitar.

  I'm not likely to get discovered and become the newest country singing sensation or anything, but I can carry a tune and I know enough songs to give Josh's Millhouse Pub some ambiance every other Friday night.

  Josh appreciates that I can read a crowd well enough to know which songs the people need to hear in order to keep them ordering more drinks and I appreciate that he lets me take up space in his bar so I don't spend my Fridays without Mari alone at home watching action movies and scratching my balls.

  When I started playing down here I kinda thought it might be a good way to meet women. I haven't done that much dating since Beth and I split up.

  I did plenty of screwing those first couple of years, that's for damn sure. Young, dumb, and full of cum, and all that I guess. None of 'em stuck. It took me about five minutes to realize that I was being extra picky about anyone I brought around Mari, and it took me another five whole minutes to realize that most of the chicks that were interested in me, weren't interested in my daughter.

  Turns out dating as a single dad is a tricky balance to find.

  Beth got remarried years ago. She's pregnant with their second baby now. She's happy and I'm happy for her but I gotta admit these last few years have been hard on me.

  It's not like I've been hung up on Mari's mom all this time. Beth and I were high school hook up partners. More benefits than friends, but we got along well enough. Well enough that when she turned up pregnant I didn't fight her dad's "suggestion" that we get married but I always knew she wouldn't have been the woman I chose to give my name to under other circumstances.

  Mariah's growing up. I already only have her half the time but lately she's been wanting to spend the night with friends, and when her friends come over to our place she wants me to make myself scarce. She doesn't want me around all the time like she did when she was little and as much as that breaks my heart, I'm also glad to see her becoming so independent.

  It does leave me alone in a big house that's awfully quiet most of the time now though.

  The crowd is good tonight. The converted Millhouse is more pub than bar, with a full menu and 24 beers on tap. They push beer and wine over the hard stuff, but Josh serves it all.

  Tonight the place is full of couples out for date night, several tables of single women pre-gaming the hot new rom com that just opened at the theater across the street, and the usual riffraff lifting pints at the bar.

  No fights, no screaming, no game on the television to compete with. I hear a lot of drunken, off-key voices singing along with the well known tunes I'm playing and the tip jar is filling up with more dollars than phone numbers-- despite the number of ladies-only tables I've
seen tonight. This is the kind of night that has me sticking around to play another set or two, even though my deal with Josh is that I only have to play till 10.

  What the hell, it's not like there's anyone waiting for me at home.

  Even though the place is technically a bar, the kitchen closes at 11 and the place officially closes at midnight. Sometimes, Josh locks up and lets a few guys stick around after hours since he can still legally service booze for a couple more hours after closing.

  Tonight is shaping up to be one of those nights and no one's in a hurry to leave the joint. I play till 11:00 and then join the guys at the bar for a few beers before I start packing up.

  Josh is in the process of clearing the place out a little at a time and even though I'm feeling good and wouldn't mind a little human company with grown ups that I don't feel guilty swearing in front of, I can take a hint.

  It takes two trips out to the car to get my gear packed up and I'm headed back inside to grab the last of my stuff just in time to run into a couple of chicks are leaving the place. Literally.

  The red head catches my eye first. She's got this sort of dark skin, high cheek bone thing going on with some really long red hair. Real exotic looking in a way that would set a lot of guys I know sniffing after her without even noticing the rock on her hand that looks like it was probably sold by the pound instead of carats.

  The other one though... I almost let out the long whistle that sounds in my mind as the two women walk toward me, totally oblivious to me standing in front of them.

  The brunette is completely absorbed in whatever the redhead is telling her, holding her glass of red wine in front of her as she walks in my direction without looking up. Which is fine by me if it gives me a chance to look at her a little longer.

  There's a familiar feel to her that makes me take a closer look at her than I'd normally give a strange woman at the bar.