Free A Purrfect Romance by J.M. Bronston

tangy that sang of the Casbah and hot desert sands.
    And, while Bridey checked out the veal and couscous, Mack checked out Bridey, looking her over, comparing her to the other women he dated. What he saw was that Bridey Berrigan was totally at ease. She had none of the self-conscious preening and haughtiness that his usual dates brought with them, the preoccupation with their furs and jewels, their hair and nails. Involuntarily, he glanced at Bridey’s hands and saw all the little marks of her kitchen work. For some reason, they seemed very sweet, very appealing.
    The realization hit him like a fist in the chest, hard.
    This one is a real woman.
    It took his breath away. Mack Brewster wasn’t used to being blindsided.
    Meanwhile, Bridey had given the first forkful one professional taste of appreciation and now was ready for the real reason for this dinner.
    “You dropped a bombshell on me this morning,” she said, looking him straight in the eyes as she lifted a second forkful to her mouth.
    What was it she’d said? About a bombshell?
    Mack wrenched his thoughts back under control, remembering why he’d asked her to dinner. She deserved an explanation. Of course. But suddenly the explanation seemed harder than he’d expected.
    “More wine?” he said, grasping at anything to cover his momentary confusion. He signaled the waiter, who was standing at quiet readiness near the wall.
    “You’re not avoiding the subject now, are you?” she asked while the waiter poured the silky Bordeaux into her glass. “You said yourself, we need to talk.”
    “I’m not avoiding the subject,” he said, irritated by his own irresoluteness, irritated by how easily this little slip of a girl—this cook!—was getting under his skin, making him nervous. “I’m not avoiding the subject,” he repeated, convincing himself. “Not at all. It’s just that I realized when we talked this morning that you’d been set up for a bad disappointment, and I thought I ought to let you in on what’s happening.”
    Bridey lost all interest in her dinner. She was focused now only on Mack, whose face seemed to take on an almost devilish appearance in the candlelight’s glow.
    “What’s happening?” She felt her pulse quickening.
    Mack sliced his steak and chewed down a mouthful before continuing.
    “The thing is,” he said at last, delivering his bombshell as casually as if he was sprinkling salt on his steak, “it’s my intention to buy that apartment myself, as soon as possible. I’m going to break through the walls and take over the whole floor.” He cut through another slice of meat, focusing his attention on it more than on her. “I’ve been planning this deal for a long time—ever since my dad died—and now that old Mrs. Willey is out of the picture, I’ll be able to go ahead immediately. I’d have done it years ago if she’d agreed to sell, but she was such an obstinate, bad-tempered old bat.” He waved his knife above his plate as though he was cutting right through Mrs. Willey. “Oh, she was full of charm and grace when she was being the grande dame. You saw her portrait. That was the gorgeous side of Henrietta Willey. But just let the world not spin in her favor, then you’d see the imperious diva she really was. Then the claws would come out, and if you crossed her, you’d better watch out. And she could hold a grudge forever.”
    Bridey’s veal had turned to straw and she couldn’t touch another mouthful. Panic bubbled up in her like a balloon and she struggled to fight back.
    “And in those last years,” he continued, “she’d gotten totally batty.”
    “But what on earth would you do with so much space? A single man, all alone in that enormous place, just you and your dog—”
    “The market is soft right now and I can get that place at a good price. I mean to do it before someone else snaps it up. Anyway, I don’t expect to be alone forever. I’ll get married someday, and I expect there’ll be lots of