Kay David: Bachelor By Design: Bachelor By Design / Too Hot For Comfort

“There’s more where that came from,” Ramon said proudly.

Trace didn’t doubt it for a moment. “I really can’t afford you.”

“No problem,” Aunt Sophie chimed, picking a chunk of plaster out of her titian hair. “I’ll pay Ramon’s wages. He needs a sabbatical from waiting tables, but I don’t want to lose him.”

“I just can’t take the stress anymore,” Ramon explained, his voice quivering. “The menu is so complicated and some of the customers can be so rude. You dribble a little coffee on them and they start screaming about lawsuits and third-degree burns.”

Sophie wrapped one arm around the waiter’s narrow shoulders. “I thought working with his hands would be soothing.”

Maybe for Ramon, but not for Trace. “How about a vacation instead? You could lie around on a beach somewhere and soak up the sun.”

“Sand gives me a rash.” Ramon swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his scrawny neck. “For once in my life, I’d just like to be good at something. Just give me a chance.”

Aunt Sophie leaned toward her nephew and lowered her voice. “Please, Trace. For me.”

Damn. Now she had him. He’d give his right arm for Sophie if she wanted it. All the Callahan boys owed her for giving up her own career in the carnival to take care of them after their mother had abandoned them.

But Trace owed her even more.

That’s why he’d agreed to remodel the addition to Café Romeo at cost. Even though his services as a freelance contractor normally brought in three times as much money.

And why he would agree to take on Ramon as an apprentice. Which might actually cost him his right arm. Not to mention a leg and numerous fingers.

“Anything for you, Aunt Sophie,” Trace said, leaning over to kiss her cheek.

Her green eyes widened. “Anything?”

“Almost anything,” he amended, before he found himself saddled with a blind date on top of everything else.

“But, Trace, I’ve found the perfect girl for you….”

He held up one hand. “Forget it. We’ve already talked about this. Besides, I already have a date tonight with Kimberly.”

Aunt Sophie wrinkled her nose. “I’ve never liked Kimberly. She’s too…”

“Sweet? Nice? Giving?”

“Exactly. She’ll kill you with kindness. Or boredom. Or both. You need a woman who will challenge you. Who will add some excitement and unpredictability in your life.”

“That’s exactly what I don’t need,” Trace countered. He had his future drawn out as neatly as a set of blueprints. And he knew the exact specifications he required in a wife. He’d even made a checklist to use for rating potential candidates. He wouldn’t be caught choosing the wrong woman like his father had, then suffering for it later.

“Don’t be so stubborn,” Aunt Sophie admonished. “I just happened to do a reading of Kimberly’s coffee grounds, and believe me, that woman is completely wrong for you. Now if you’d just let me match you up with—”

Trace placed his hand over her mouth and slowly shook her head. “Quit while you’re ahead, Aunt Sophie. Jake and Nina are happy and in love, and you’re the one who brought them together. Why not just concentrate on their wedding? It’s only a few weeks away.”

Aunt Sophie removed his hand, her eyes glittering with excitement. “We could make it a double wedding! Jake and Nina, and you and…”

“Kimberly,” Trace interjected. “Or Heidi, or Evonne. Those are the top three in the running to become Mrs. Trace Callahan. But there’s no way I’ll be ready to tie the knot in six weeks. I don’t want to rush into anything.”

Aunt Sophie arched one orange-tinted eyebrow. “Spoken like a man who hasn’t met the right woman yet.”

Trace couldn’t argue with her. Not because he agreed, but because Ramon had started up the power saw and the noise made it impossible to think, much less speak. He turned to catch sight of the saw flailing wildly in Ramon’s hands. “Put that thing down before you hurt someone!”

Too late.

LATER THAT EVENING, Trace sat at his dining-room table knowing he had a decision to make. Kimberly sat opposite him, poised and perfect. Her perfection had actually begun to irritate him a little, but that could just be a side effect of his pain medication.

“How was your dessert?” Kimberly asked, after taking a sip of her wine. She was dressed in a pearl-gray silk suit and a pristine white blouse buttoned up to the neck. Her makeup was just right, not too heavy and not too light. Her long blond hair fell like a silk curtain over her shoulders.

“Fine,” he replied, putting down his spoon.

“Blancmange is my favorite.” She flashed him a wide smile.

Blancmange. A fancy name for vanilla pudding. That was the problem. Everything with Kimberly was just so…vanilla. Trace sat back in his chair, more irritated with himself than her. She fit all his specifications, so what exactly was his problem?

He mentally ticked off his checklist for the perfect wife. She should be attractive, but not too pretty. Adept in the kitchen, as well as a neat housekeeper. A good conversationalist, but not argumentative.

Kimberly was all of these things, yet he’d almost fallen asleep over the soup course. Maybe he was just tired. It had been a rather trying day. He flexed his right foot, which was propped up on a chair, and winced slightly at the movement.

“Does it hurt?” she asked, staring down at the bulky gauze bandage on his big toe.

“The numbness is starting to wear off,” Trace replied, trying to ignore the throbbing ache in his big toe.

She shook her head as she set her spoon down and pushed her empty bowl away. “I never realized how dangerous your occupation was before. You’re lucky you only needed four stitches.”

“Five,” he corrected, shifting his foot slightly. “And I would have needed a lot more than that if I hadn’t been wearing my leather work boots.”

She smiled at him. Her Carol Brady smile that was beginning to set his teeth on edge. Funny how it had never bothered him before. But then, he hadn’t considered the possibility of looking at the smile every day across the breakfast table for the next fifty years.

Until now.

“You really should be more careful.” She meticulously brushed a few crumbs off the white linen tablecloth and into her hand. “At least your aunt was there to call the ambulance.”

“The ambulance wasn’t for me, it was for Ramon. He had a panic attack after he dropped the saw on my foot and started hyperventilating.”

“Oh, dear,” she murmured. But Trace got the feeling she wasn’t really listening. Her total attention was now focused on scraping the dried pink wax drips off the crystal candleholder.

So maybe she wasn’t all that exciting. He wasn’t looking for that in a wife. He wasn’t necessarily looking for love, either, he reminded himself. Affection, compatibility, and hopefully passion, but not love. At least not the heart-pounding, soul-searing love that had turned his older brother inside out.

Trace wanted order in his life. Stability. A family. He wanted…vanilla. Which meant he must want Kimberly. He’d probably get used to her smile. And the way her nose twitched when she chewed. All married couples had to make some adjustments, didn’t they? It was possible she might even find one or two things about him that irritated her.

The wall clock chimed eight times. Just get it over with, Trace told himself, tired of these annoying second thoughts. “Kimberly,” he began.

She looked up from the candleholder. “Yes, Trace?”

The words stuck in his throat. He cleared it, then took a deep breath. “I’d like to talk about our future.”

She leaned forward, daintily folding her hands together on the table. “Oh, I’m so glad. I’ve been wanting to talk about it for a while now, but I didn’t know how to bring it up.”