Must Love Mistletoe

glanced up from their fashion magazines. One of the condo complex’s very few male residents opened his eyes, then dismissed him.

At the two-hundred-unit Crown Palms, men were at a premium, he’d found. And so attracted more than their fair share of attention.

“Dan!” As if to prove that last thought, a pretty, thirty-something brunette waved at him from her spot near the shallow end. “Just the person I hoped to see.”

“Is that right?” He settled in the lounge chair beside hers, his ego puffing like a balloon. This morning he’d been with a bright, blue-eyed blond, and it looked as if this afternoon he’d be busy too.

These women needed him. Appreciated him. Even if Tracy didn’t.

He shut his estranged wife out of his mind and turned on his hip to give Brenda-the brunette-his full attention. His smile was for her alone, in gratitude for all the ways she’d distracted since he’d moved and set upon his single life.

Her dimple dug deep into her right cheek. “You’re looking good, Dan. Sleeping better now?”

When he’d first moved to the complex, his biggest complaint-besides the ache in his heart-was insomnia. He’d taken to whiling away the late-night hours in the weight room, and it was there he’d met Brenda. And Lynn. And Cherry.

If he called them his little harem in the privacy of his thoughts, it didn’t offend anyone.

Leaning on his elbow, he propped his head on his fist. “I’m working out in the mornings now. How ’bout you?”

“Not getting into the gym as much as I’d like.” She shrugged, shifting the oiled curves of her breasts in the tiny turquoise triangles trying to contain them.

While he didn’t ogle, Dan let his gaze sweep over the feminine flesh laid out on the other lounge. He thought it was expected of him. Even appreciated. “Whatever you’re doing looks fine from here.”

Brenda gave him another of her smiles. It did seem grateful. “You always know the right thing to say.”

Not to Tracy. One September afternoon it had hit him hard. She didn’t see him. She didn’t hear him. Though they worked together every day and went to bed in the same room every night, he’d become a piece of furniture. No different from a chair. The computer. Not a man. Not her lover.

Panic had sent him to the mirror. It had shocked the hell out of him. In his mind’s eye he’d seen himself as young and fit as his eighteen-year-old son, Harry, but in the impersonal reflection of the mirror there was a middle- aged guy with too much gray, going soft around the middle.

No wonder Tracy looked past him, he’d thought.

But all that he’d done-his personal Extreme Makeover episode-hadn’t changed a thing. She hadn’t even noticed.

Crushed by her disinterest, he’d moved out.

“You’re going sad on me, Dan.”

He wrenched his attention back to the younger woman. “I’m not.” Sad was how he’d felt each time Tracy looked through him. He lowered his voice and sent Brenda his new, six-hundred-dollar, blinding-white smile. “But I’m hoping you were happy to see me for a reason.”

She nodded. “I need you, Dan. You’re the only man I know who’s been able to make it…I don’t know what you’d call it exactly. Hum?”

He pushed down his sunglasses to look at her over them in disbelief. “I’m the only one?”

She nodded. “No kidding. It’s been four years that I’ve struggled. Then one hour with you and…”

“Hum.”

“Yeah.”

They smiled at each other. While his time with Brenda-and Lynn, and Cherry-didn’t completely obliterate the pain of his messed-up marriage, it soothed some rough edges, filled some empty hours. They thought he was good for something. Almost fifty years old and maybe he did know a thing or two that other men did not.

“Well, whenever you’re ready I’m prepared to make my magic,” he said. A few more tricks and maybe he’d have Tracy out of his mind forever.

Brenda swung her legs off the lounger. “I don’t want to wait a minute longer.”

They stopped off at his place for protection. A few minutes later they were in Brenda’s cream-and-apricot condo and ready for action.

“The real trick is in how you put it in,” he instructed. “Careful. Gentle. Then you move it gently too.”

“Gentle,” she repeated, her breath warm against his neck.

“If you get another man here, tell him not to shove it in or push too hard. Tease it.”

He put his hands over hers to show her exactly what he meant. They worked it together for a few minutes, playing with the pressure. “Easy,” he murmured. “Not too hard. Take it easy.”

Then, suddenly, the tension broke.

“There,” Brenda breathed. She was still for a moment, then she smiled up at him. “Thank you, God. Thank you, Dan.”

Withdrawing his pole, Dan grinned down at her. “You’re more than welcome.” He reached over to flip the switch.

The garbage disposal-instead of being frozen-hummed.

They both drew off their protective safety goggles and listened to the happy sound.

Satisfied it was in good working order again, he turned it off. “Do you want my special tool?”

She laughed at him. “Someone could take that wrong, you know.”

“I meant my special sawed-off broomstick.” The complex’s garbage disposals were notoriously finicky. One too many lemon peels or celery tops and they went from happy hum to high-pitched whine. That’s when you knew the blades weren’t turning.

Once he’d shared his solution with one woman, word had gotten around. This morning he’d fixed Lynn’s, the blue-eyed blond. Now Brenda’s. Cherry’s wouldn’t be far behind, he supposed, and he was always glad for the chance to do something.

“Cold drink?” Brenda asked.

“Sure.”

They settled into matching wicker chairs on her small patio. Over a tall hedge of jasmine was the sweeping curve of the Coronado Bridge that linked the island to San Diego. After a few minutes of comfortable silence, the younger woman tossed him a little glance. “You’d make someone a fine husband, Dan.”

And just like that Tracy was in his mind again. He wished he could see himself as someone else’s anything. But so far, it seemed he was a one-woman dog.

He’d caught sight of Tracy a couple of days before when he couldn’t stop himself from driving past the house like a teenager with a crush. But he didn’t need that glimpse to remind him of what she looked like. He had a dozen images of her stored in his memory. A hundred.

Windblown hair, her nose sunburned, one hand holding a little girl’s, the other gripping a plastic pail of sand. Their first date.

Smooth ponytail, little white suit, roses trembling in her grasp as they told the judge, “I do.”

Happy tears, sweaty bangs, the perfect curve of her arms as she held their newborn son.

Tracy with a pencil behind her ear. With a fire in her stride as she went toward the neighborhood bully who’d pushed Bailey off her bike. With her fingers trembling as she brushed imaginary lint off Harry’s comforter after making his college bed.

He saw again the flinch of her body, then the distant, almost vacant look in her eyes when he’d told her he was leaving.

“I couldn’t believe she married me in the first place,” he heard himself say. “She’d been hurt by her ex.”

Brenda gave an understanding nod. “Been there. Done that. Have worn the hair shirt.”

“I was persistent.” It had taken time, but he’d won Tracy over. Not Bailey, though. As much as he’d tried, as much as he regretted the failure, he knew he’d never quite cracked that hard shell she’d built after her father left. And it was as if Tracy had retreated behind that very same barrier now too.

He shook his head. “The garbage disposals aren’t going to do it, are they? And not the sticky doors or broken cabinet hinges?”