But it seemed that being partner at Waxman, Barnes, Wiffle, and Hodge left little time for jaunts to the Caribbean. Worse, the women interested in beach flings bored him, and his buddies were either married or shortly due to wander down the aisle. Still, he'd waited a long time to live the footloose, fancy-free bachelor life, and by damn he was going to!

Unfortunately Melanie Gibson didn't strike him as a one-night stand sort of girl. No, she was not at all the type of woman he wanted to meet now. Maybe in five years. She had long-term written all over her, and for now he wanted his long-term to be no more than two hours. Three hours tops.

Still, it hadn't been easy to walk away from her. He swallowed a mouthful of baked beans and found himself wondering what she was going to do about her car.

Shaking his head, he forced his thoughts into another direction. He wanted to date sleek, blond, model types. Why would he want a lunatic brunette who drove a rusted-out '77 Dodge?

An image of Melanie sprawled across his lap flashed in his mind and he groaned. Okay, he knew why he would want her, but he had to forget her. He'd never see her or her dilapidated car again. That was good. Definitely very good.

The phone interrupted his thoughts, and he snatched up the receiver. "’Lo."

"Christopher, how are you, dear?"

"Hi, Mom." He bit into a chicken thigh and prayed Lorna Bishop wasn't going to announce that she'd fixed him up with another of her friends' daughters.

He should have known better.

"Guess what?" she asked.

Chris's warning antennae immediately rose. He knew that innocent voice, that innocuous question all too well. He stifled a groan.

"Can't imagine, Mom."

"Well, you know the family cookout we're havin on Sunday to celebrate Mark's new job?"

He'd completely forgotten, but he knew better than to say so. "Yes. The cookout Sunday. What about it?"

"Well, Cousin Ralph called. He and Margie are bringing along Margie's second cousin's neighbor's sister for you to meet. Her name is Zoë Kozlowski. Ralph says she has a great personality. She's twenty-nine, looking to settle down, and-are you ready?-she's a florist. Isn't that exciting? I just love flowers. I'm sure you two will have so much to talk about."

Uh-oh. The warning bells in Chris's head reached alarming proportions. He had to do something and quick, or Mom would be picking out china patterns with Zoë Kozlowski the florist within the week.

"Mom, I appreciate this, but I can get my own dates."

"Of course you can," Mom said, her voice cheery but determined, "but you don't get them. All you do is work, work, work. If you got your own dates, I wouldn't try to fix you up."

Promises, promises. "Mom, I date. I've just been really busy at work."

"Humph. When's the last time you met a nice girl?"

Chris closed his eyes and prayed for patience. An image of Melanie Gibson flashed in his mind, and his eyes popped open.

"Tonight," he improvised in a jiffy. "In fact, I had a date tonight." Sort of. Kinda. Okay, I'm a big fat liar, but these are desperate circumstances. He imagined Zoë I'm-looking-to-settle-down Kozlowski, and the picture wasn't good. God help him. Besides, the story wasn't a total lie. The part about meeting a nice girl tonight was true enough.

"How wonderful! What's her name?"

Chris pinched the bridge of his nose. Me and my big mouth. "Her name is Melanie."

Lorna chirped out a barrage of questions. "Have you known her long? What's she like? What does she do? Where does she live?"

"I haven't known her long. She lives with her grandmother, and she owns the Pampered Palate."

"Pampered Palate? What's that?"

"A gourmet food takeout place."

Chris could almost hear the wheels turning in his mother's pretty, matchmaking head. "So she cooks."

"Uh, yeah."

"Wonderful! Tell her to bring a dessert to the cookout. I can't wait to meet her. Your sisters will be so excited you've met someone. We'll see you both on Sunday! Oh, and tell Melanie to bring her grandmother if she wants. Two o'clock. Oops! There's the doorbell. Gotta go! 'Bye."

The dial tone sounded in Chris's ear. He placed the receiver back on the cradle and thumped himself on the forehead. His mother had missed her calling. She should have enlisted in the military-she could outmaneuver General Colin Powell. Now she expected him to bring his "date" on Sunday, not to mention dessert.

He finished his beer in a single gulp, reviewing his choices. There was Zoë Kozlowski, the florist with the "great personality," or Melanie Gibson, the gourmet cook with the killer bod who had his libido dancing the Lambada.

Neither one, he suspected, would do his mental health any good.

Well, tomorrow night he had a real date with Claire Morrison, a marketing executive he'd met several weeks earlier. She was blond, beautiful, and smart, and she'd sent out very definite signals that she had no qualms about kissing-or "whatever"-on the first date.

He wondered how she felt about cookouts.


* * *

Late the next afternoon, Chris parked his Mercedes in the Piedmont Hospital lot. Glancing at his watch, he estimated he could spend about thirty minutes visiting Walter Rich and still have plenty of time to pick up his date.

Carrying a cheerfully wrapped copy of John Grisham's latest legal thriller, he strode into the brightly lit hospital, checked in at the information desk, and made his way to Walter's room. When he walked in, he saw his friend sitting up in bed, smiling at a dark-haired woman who had her back turned to Chris.

"Christopher Bishop!" Walter exclaimed when he saw his new visitor. "What a nice surprise."

Chris opened his mouth to say hello, but the words died in his throat as the woman turned around to face him. Big chocolate-brown eyes stared at him with a clearly surprised expression.

"Don't just stand there in the doorway," Walter said. "Come on in and join the party." He indicated the woman with a wave of his hand. "This is Melanie Gibson, a dear friend who took pity on a starving old man and brought me the most scrumptious feast. Melanie, this is Christopher Bishop, an accountant at-"

"One Atlanta Plaza, twenty-fifth floor," Melanie finished for him with a smile. "Chris and I have already met." She stood and held out her hand. "Nice to see you again."

Chris stepped into the room and shook her hand. Same soft skin, same lush lips, same deep dimples. And boy, did she clean up nice. A riotous mop of chin-length reddish-brown curls framed an uncommonly attractive face. His gaze traveled downward. She wore a neon-green T-shirt that read KISS THE COOK, faded Levis, and Nikes that had seen better days. Not exactly come-hither clothes. So why did his heart rate suddenly accelerate? And why did the slogan on her T-shirt seem like the best idea since the invention of the telephone?

"I see you took my advice," she said.

He brought his wandering gaze back to her face. "What advice is that?"

"You changed your pants."

He reached out and gently tugged one of her shiny curls. "You combed your hair."

She laughed. "I didn't have much choice. Every dog on the block would have tried to bury me in the backyard if I hadn't."

"Ahem! Remember me?" asked Walter in an amused tone from the bed. "The guy with the broken leg, cracked ribs, and other assorted aches and pains."

Chris leaned around Melanie and smiled at the lawyer. "So sue me. She's prettier than you are." After setting the gift-wrapped book on the nightstand, Chris pulled over a chair. He sniffed the air. "Do I smell cookies?"

Walter nodded. "Home-made double chocolate chunk cookies." He passed a round tin to Chris. "Melanie baked them for me, and they're mine. Since you were kind enough to visit me, you may have one."

"What happens if I take two?" Chris asked, reaching into the tin.

"Lawsuit," Walter said without hesitation.

Chris made a horrified face. "Okay! Only one cookie." He took a bite and groaned. "Wow. I think I might have to risk the lawsuit."

Despite Walter's threats, the cookie tin was soon empty. Chris discovered that Melanie not only made the best cookies on earth, she also had the sexiest laugh he'd ever heard-a low, throaty rumble that reminded him of fine brandy. Warm, smooth, and delicious. He was enjoying himself so much, he forgot the time. When he glanced at his watch, he realized that if he didn't leave immediately, he'd be late picking up his date.

He stood. "I'm afraid I have to get going," he said, surprised at his reluctance to depart.

Melanie leaned over and sneaked a peek at his watch. "Good grief. I need to leave also."

"Thank you both for coming," Walter said, giving Chris's hand a hearty shake and accepting a kiss from Melanie. "And thank you for the dinner, my dear. Best veal piccata I've ever eaten."

"My pleasure, Mr. Rich. When you're feeling better, I'll bake you some more cookies."

"In that case, I see a miraculous recovery right around the corner," he replied, his eyes twinkling.

After a final wave from the doorway, Chris and Melanie headed down the hall together. "He's such a nice man," Melanie remarked once they were in the elevator.

"Very nice," Chris agreed. His gaze wandered over her, studying her profile. He wasn't aware he was staring until she turned toward him.

"Something wrong?" she asked, cocking a single brow.

Chris shook his head. "No. I was just realizing I was right."

She gave an unladylike snort. "Oh, brother. A man realizing he's right. Now there's a shocker. Good thing I'm not in my heart attack years. I might just keel over." She slanted him a pursed-lips look. "What were you right about?"