"What do you mean?"

"I wasn't the only one staring at Alison the other night. You can't start messing around with your clients, or you'll jeopardize our plan."

"I have no intention of messing around with Alison. Our relationship is strictly business."

"Yeah? Every time I turn around, you're with her for one reason or another. You're letting her use your house for the tour. And you're really dragging your feet on finding her another match."

"I'm not dragging my feet," Brandon said. "I'm just being careful. After the two I've set her up on that went south, I can't afford to screw up again."

"Well, set her up with somebody so she becomes off limits."

Actually, that was a pretty good plan. If he made another match for her that stuck, she'd be taken, and anything happening between them would no longer be a possibility. That way, when it came time for him to leave, there would be no ties to sever.

"Now, that was a damned fine movie," Charlie said, sitting in his well-worn recliner, watching the closing credits roll. "Assuming you like zombies. Me, I love zombies. They just keep coming. They don't give up until you pop them right between the eyes."

Personally, Alison had always felt sorry for zombies. They had to die, but then they came back to life again looking like hell, only to get killed all over again. Didn't seem fair to have to go through it twice.

The truth was, though, that for the past couple of hours she hadn't been thinking about the zombies.

She'd been thinking about Brandon.

When they were playing pool, she'd challenged him to run the table just so she could step back and admire every move he made. He was clearly a man in his element, moving gracefully from one side of the table to another, taking shots with practiced perfection. She hadn't been able to take her eyes off him. Her imagination had run wild: I wonder what it would be like to make love on a pool table?

And then Tom had shown up and blown a hole right through that particular daydream.

All through the movie, Blondie had stretched out inch by inch beside Alison until she'd shoved her right up against the armrest. Now that the dog had her fair share of the sofa, she was snoozing soundly. It reminded Alison of the time she'd had a window seat on a commuter airplane next to a threehundred-pound man.

"Hey, Blondie," Alison said, poking the dog on the shoulder. "Hope you're comfortable. I'd hate it if you weren't."

Without even bothering to open her eyes, Blondie took a deep breath, then released a sigh of doggy satisfaction.

"Shove her aside," Charlie said. "She's a sofa hog."

"I know. But she looks so comfy."

"And you say I spoil her." Charlie tossed the remote aside. "Let's eat. I'll order a pizza."

"You know you shouldn't be eating pizza."

"Chinese?"

"You'll only eat the fried stuff."

"So you want to tell me who delivers sacks of broccoli?"

"I'll fix us a salad."

Charlie frowned. "How about a compromise?"

"What?"

He made a face. "A vegetable pizza?"

From the tone of his voice, he might as well have said and toss a little anthrax on top while you're at it. Alison still thought there was entirely too much fat in the veggie variety, but she'd take what she could get.

A minute later she had a pizza on the way, and her father was searching the Zs on his cable channels to see if he could score another zombie classic.

"Damn," he said. "I don't see any other zombie movies scheduled."

"Try searching 'dead.'"

"Nah. All that vampire crap comes up. I hate vampires. But not your mom. She loved them. Said they were sexy. Wrong. Vampires are not sexy."

Alison's heart skipped a little, just as it did every time he mentioned her mother.

"Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"Have you thought any more lately about maybe dating a little?"

Charlie frowned. "You know how I feel about that."

"I think you need some companionship."

"That's what a dog's for. I have a dog. Case closed."

"What would be wrong with going out with a woman now and again?"

"Because most of the women out there have no balls."

"Anatomically speaking, they really can't help that."

"You know what I mean. If I was on a date with a woman and I said her perfume made her smell like a French whore, she'd probably cry or something."

"Yeah? You think?"

"But your mother wouldn't have. She'd have told me my cologne smelled like monkey sweat, so we were even. I'm too old to tiptoe around anyone." He turned to the dog. "Hey, Blondie!"

She lifted her head, coming to attention.

"You're having a bad hair day. And you run like a girl."

Blondie panted with excitement, her mouth turning up in a doggy smile.

"There. Do you see her crying over that? No. Which is why I'm good with a dog."

Alison sighed. If he compared every woman he met to her mother, not one of them would ever have a chance.

When she'd come into her father's den that evening, she'd glanced at the bookcase where their wedding album was. Her father wasn't exactly fastidious about dusting, so she could usually tell if it had been moved. About once a month, it had, which meant that even though he'd carried on with his life for the past fifteen years as if he'd put his wife's death behind him, Alison knew just how often he looked at that album and how much he missed her.

"I almost forgot," Alison said. "I need your help."

"Doing what?"

"Getting a house ready for the home tour."

"Which house?"

"A friend's. He's agreed to let us use it, but it needs a little work."

"Where's the house?"

Alison gave him the address.

"What day?"

"Saturday after next."

"What tools do I need to bring?"

"We need to do some painting, some cleaning, and a little general repair stuff."

"Okay. I'll bring the big toolbox just in case. Will I need to stop by the Home Depot for anything else?"

"No. I'll make sure we have any supplies we need."

"So what's wrong with this guy's house that it's such a mess he needs a repair crew?"

"He just inherited it from his grandmother and hasn't had time to renovate it. I told him we'd help get the house ready if he'll let us use it for the tour."

"Don't tell me he's one of those guys who doesn't know what the business end of a screwdriver looks like. I hate those guys."

"No. Actually, he's done a lot of real estate investing, so he knows home repair pretty well. He just needs some extra hands to get the place ready in time."

"Then it looks like we'll get along just fine."

Alison smiled. For some reason she couldn't figure out, she really liked the sound of that.

Chapter 15.

The next day at work, Alison waited until most of her co-workers were on their lunch breaks. Then she grabbed the unmarked sack and moved stealthily to Lois's desk.

"Hey, Lois. I need a business card design."

"Yeah?" Lois said, still typing. "What's in it for me?"

Alison held up the bag. "The usual."

Lois's eyes flicked back and forth with interest. "Same client?"

"Yep."

"Standard size cards?"

"Yep."

"Two-sided?"

"One will do. I already e-mailed you the info."

"What kind of design are you looking for?"

"Incorporate the logo. Consistent branding. Other than that, it's up to you. Oh-I do want the owner's photo on the card."

"Photo? That's so hokey. I mean, this woman is a matchmaker, right? Photos on business cards are for cheesy insurance salesmen and real estate agents."

"The matchmaker isn't a woman. It's a man."

Lois screwed up her face. "Huh?"

Alison grabbed her phone and brought up Brandon's photo. Lois looked at it and froze.

"He's the matchmaker?"

"Yep."

"A guy?"

"That's right."

She leaned away, clearly struck by the force of Brandon's universal good looks. "Oh. Well, then. A photo it is."

Alison smiled to herself. A picture was indeed worth a thousand words.

"I'll run the final by you, then send it to the printer," Lois said. Then she turned around and opened her lower desk drawer, and Alison dropped the sack inside. As she walked away, Lois nonchalantly shut the drawer and kept on working. But five minutes later, history repeated itself. She took the sack and disappeared into the bathroom.

Alison didn't know when the Godiva people had started adding heroin to their product, but for that she thanked them.