Read Online Meeting Mr. Right by Deb Kastner - Free Book Online Page A

They both want to hang around with me at work. They’re at an age where they’re in complete awe of what I do.”
    “Being a paramedic? I’ll bet. With all the bells and whistles—literally—it’s pretty exciting stuff.”
    Ben cracked a grin. “I meant my job as an auto mechanic, actually. They want me to let them get under the hood of a car and get lowdown and greasy. You know how little boys are.”
    Her gaze softened. “I remember. My brothers were like that, too. They were always coming to the supper table covered head to toe with dirt, and Mama wouldn’t let them sit down to eat until they were clean right down to under their fingernails.”
    Suddenly self-conscious, Ben clasped his hands into his lap underneath the table. The dirge of being a grease monkey was the complete inability to get his hands clean, especially under the nails, no matter what products and brushes he used. Although that might be fun for a nine- and seven-year-old boy, it was not so much for a thirty-year-old man having dinner with a pretty woman.
    Even if she was a woman who didn’t like him.
    “You have the oddest expression on your face,” she remarked, her dark brows closing in over her nose as she eyed him questioningly. “What are you thinking about?”
    “Grease,” he blurted, cringing as he returned his hands to the tabletop. As embarrassing as it might be to have dirty nails, he’d hardly be able to finish his meal without using his hands. He suddenly pictured himself diving headlong into his mashed potatoes like a man in a pie-eating contest, a thought that gave him an inward laugh. Somehow he expected that might be even more conspicuous than a little stubborn grease on his hands.
    To his relief, Vee merely chuckled at his blurted exclamation.
    “That would be one of the hazards of your job, I suppose. I’ve got a similar problem myself sometimes, so I’m not one to complain. You’d be amazed how filthy I can get when I garden all day, jamming my hands into potting soil and dirt, even with protective gloves on. You shower and scrub, and still all the grime doesn’t quite come off.”
    Her answer, and the affable laughter that followed, put Ben immediately at ease—at least until another unpleasant thought popped into his head.
    What would Veronica Jayne think about having dinner with a man who couldn’t even get his hands clean?
    When Ben pictured some well-into-the-future dinner date with Veronica Jayne, it was in some classy, expensive restaurant where a coat and tie were mandatory and the prices weren’t even listed on the menu.
    It would be nothing as simple as enjoying a good old-fashioned home-style meal at Cup o’ Jo, like he was now with Vee, that was for sure. The very thought of taking Veronica Jayne to an upscale restaurant such as he suspected she was accustomed to made the hair on the back of his neck stand on edge.
    He’d have to wear a suit. With a tie.
    His throat constricted involuntarily, nearly cutting off his air, and he heaved in a deep, ragged breath to compensate. Christmas and Easter church services were the only times he subjected himself to the misery of a sports jacket and necktie. Ugh and double ugh with a cherry on top.
    Keep breathing, he coached himself. He was getting way ahead of himself here. It wasn’t like he and Veronica Jayne were going to be going on a date anywhere anytime soon, if at all. At this point their relationship hardly qualified as a romance. It was a warm friendship...with potential. The prospect of romance was there, even if the reality wasn’t.
    “I’m glad you don’t mind the grease,” he said, forcing his mind back to the woman seated across from him. Vee deserved his full attention, especially now that they were official dinner partners. How he had gone from trying to hide the grease under his nails from Vee Bishop to practically walking down the aisle with Veronica Jayne was beyond him. He mentally shook himself to put himself back in the