Loe raamatut: «The Cinderella List»
“I didn’t decide to be single. A good man just hasn’t come along yet, that’s all,” Marlo told Jenny.
“What about the Cinderella List?” her sister pointed out. “Does a man with your requirements even exist?”
“It was just a game, Jen….” Though Marlo wondered when it had turned into something more in her mind.
Jenny slipped out of the room, and returned some minutes later with a piece of folded white typing paper in her hand. “Here. I jotted this down. Maybe it will clarify things for you.”
What was Jenny up to now?
The Ideal Man According to Marlo Mayfield
Handsome (dark hair preferred)
Good teeth, great smile
Well educated, intelligent
Good manners
Earns a decent living
Looks good in jeans and suits
Thoughtful, compassionate, intuitive
Sense of humor
Faith in God
Could love be far behind?
JUDY BAER
“Angel” Award-winning author and two-time RITA® Award finalist Judy Baer has written more than seventy books in the past twenty years. A native of North Dakota and graduate of Concordia College in Minnesota, she currently lives near Minneapolis. In addition to writing, Judy works as a personal life coach and writing coach. Judy speaks in churches, libraries, women’s groups and at writers’ conferences across the country. She enjoys time with her husband, two daughters, three step children and the growing number of spouses, pets and babies they bring home. Judy, who once raised buffalo, now owns horses. She recently completed her master’s degree and accepted a position as adjunct faculty at St. Mary’s University, Minneapolis, MN. Readers are invited to visit her Web site at www.judykbaer.com.
The Cinderella List
Judy Baer
MILLS & BOON
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He who finds a wife finds a good thing, and obtains favor from the Lord.
—Proverbs 18:22
For Tom, who fulfills all the requirements
for my Prince Charming!
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Epilogue
Questions for Discussion
Chapter One
“Mr. Hammond was very explicit that he wanted us there on time. Successful men are like that.” The catering van took a right turn so sharply that Marlo Mayfield grabbed the handle above her door and hung on tightly. Marlo and her business partner, Lucy Morten, rushed to set up tonight’s catering job.
“Stop signs are not a suggestion, Lucy. They are an order.” Dressed in a pale blue blouse, with a Dining with Divas logo on it, Marlo tentatively let go of the handle and hoped for the best.
She studied the neighborhood through which they were driving. Lucy was right about their client’s success. No one lived in a neighborhood like this without a thriving business, a spot on a professional sports team or a hefty trust fund.
They drove up to a huge, castlelike English Tudor home. Sloping lawns led away from the house toward a maze of low shrubbery and a man-made pond. Statuary fountains of maidens carrying jugs were pouring water into the pool. There were seating-area vignettes scattered around the velvety grass, teak chairs and tables with brightly colored umbrellas and wrought-iron sets decorated with vases of flowers.
This was her dream home, Marlo marveled, the one she’d drawn sketches of in the backs of her notebooks as a child. Of course, in her drawings, a knight in shining armor always stood guard at the front gate. And she’d always depicted herself entering at the front of the house, not the service entrance, where they were headed.
“Are we serving outside? The lawn looks like a movie set.” Marlo expected F. Scott Fitzgerald’s Gatsby and his gang to stroll by any moment.
“No. The party is on the main floor of the house. Not every yard is a lawn ornament graveyard like yours,” Lucy commented absently.
Marlo had inherited a plaster donkey pulling a cart full of fake geraniums, and a windmill that tipped over in every breeze, from her great-aunt Tildy, who didn’t like them well enough to leave them in her own yard.
“You must really love your aunt a lot,” Lucy commented. “I wouldn’t keep that stuff around, even for my own grandmother!”
“She’s like a second mom to me,” Marlo said.
Marlo didn’t mention to Lucy how flattering it had been to be told that she resembled her aunt Tildy when she was young. That was the highest compliment someone in Marlo’s family could receive. Tall, slender, gorgeous, and with a figure anyone in senior living would give a molar to have, Tildy was the classic independent spirit. Marlo, her father often said, was the mirror image of his sister when she was young. Tildy, according to family lore, had more than once literally stopped traffic with her looks.
“Aunt Tildy has flair. She marches to no one’s drummer but her own.”
“She sounds a lot like you.” Lucy spied the door she was looking for and made a sharp left, nearly pitching Marlo into the driver’s seat. Then she slammed the brake to the floor and the van stopped with a shudder by an open wooden door. Ivy crept up the bricks around it and through the screen Marlo could see the stainless steel accoutrements of a professional kitchen.
As they carried the first trays through the open door, Marlo stared at the commercial quality appliances, granite countertops and the glass doors on the Sub-Zero refrigerator.
There were really only five things in life that Marlo longed for—a close relationship with God, a life partner, a successful business, to make a difference in the world—and a kitchen like this one.
But this was no time for daydreams. She immediately began to organize multitiered platters of finger foods, tarts and hot trays for wings and sausage-stuffed mushrooms. Lucy finished the dessert buffet.
“Can you imagine what we could do if we had this kitchen?” she asked rhetorically, not expecting Lucy to answer. “The business we could generate?” She loved making new plans for their catering business. Some worked, some didn’t. Offering a dessert buffet was a hit with their clients. The sushi to go? Everyone loved it. Fiber-rich chocolate cake? Not so much.
She walked across the room to where a series of framed black-and-white photos hung over the banquette in a small sitting area on one side of the kitchen. That and inviting, red, upholstered wing chairs, plush red, black and cream area rugs and stately porcelain horse sculptures seemed to be waiting for the master to arrive home after the hunt. An open Bible—obviously well read—lay on a mahogany end table, a sight that warmed her heart.
She moved gracefully into the niche, running a finger over the soft leather of the banquette. “I’d sit here to choose recipes for the night’s dinner—scampi maybe, or a nice tortellini with red sauce….”
While Marlo drifted into her Barefoot Contessa fantasy, Lucy stared at the photos on the wall. “Magnificent,” she breathed. “Absolutely magnificent.”
Lucy usually saved that kind of praise for cakes with rolled fondant icing, so Marlo was surprised to peer over her shoulder and realize that she was looking at the black-and-white portraits of gleaming, powerfully built—and, yes, magnificent—horses.
There were horsey things subtly scattered elsewhere: a needle-point pillow on one of the chairs boasted a muscular black horse; embroidered delicately onto hems of the luxurious red-and-cream curtains was a stylized rendition of the head of a stallion.
“I always wanted a horse,” Marlo said wistfully. “But we lived in the city and there was never any money to board a pony back then. My bedroom was papered with pictures of horses I’d cut out of magazines, drawn or colored. Mother said I preferred whinnying to talking and wanted to eat oatmeal three times a day after I learned horses ate oats. Can you imagine?”
“You must have been a very odd child.”
“My sister and I were both odd children, if you ask me. When I wasn’t thinking about horses, which I knew little or nothing about, we lived in a world of pink castles, party dresses and charming princes. We were the most girly girls you’d ever want to meet. We played dress-up and walked around on the arms of imaginary princes.”
Though she didn’t admit it, those childhood fantasies had made a lasting imprint on her view of the world. She still believed that handsome, gallant princes did exist—somewhere. Unfortunately, she hadn’t run into any of them yet.
“In a six-year-old mind, what qualities does a good Prince Charming have?”
Marlo grinned and her eyes sparkled. “Mine always smelled like oatmeal-raisin cookies.”
Ever since Marlo and Jenny had seen the movies Cinderella and Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, they’d played a private little game about the traits they each would require of their own future Prince Charming. In their tween years it was things like a driver’s permit and playing on junior varsity. It was a silly childhood joke that she and her sister still occasionally revisited, tongue in cheek. To the list of requirements for their ideal man, they’d since added a 401K and health insurance.
“We called it ‘the Cinderella List.’” Marlo smiled at the memory of those two little girls, pencils in hand, somberly devising the List. “It’s changed a lot over the years. When I was a kid, my Prince Charming had to have enough money to buy me candy, be able to ride a two-wheeler and wear a baseball cap.
“As a teenager, I wanted him to have a cool car, play football and get along with my parents. As I matured, so did my list. I still remember the last list Jenny and I concocted. It was pretty good, if I remember correctly.”
“And you’re still looking for a man with the qualities on that list?”
“Like I said, it was a good list. Too bad I didn’t use it a few years ago.” Marlo obliquely referred to her former Prince Charming, who turned out to be a royal toad. “By now we’ve refined the list so much that a man doesn’t exist who can fulfill it.”
“I’m going to ask Jenny about this.”
“You’ve got better things to do, Lucy, like figuring out where to place the ice sculpture. By the look of this house, we should have ordered one in the shape of a horse. Most people have pictures of their children on their walls. Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?”
Marlo sank onto the arm of one of the big chairs. Her expression grew pensive and her large blue eyes unfocused. “I like daydreaming about the people who own the houses in which we work. What are their interests? How did they get where they are? Are they happy?”
“You spend too much time with your head in the clouds.” Lucy grabbed a dish towel and began to wipe the counter. “Still, that creative part of you comes in handy. It amazes me how you can toss the most unlikely foods together and make them taste so good. It’s an art.”
“I imagine a taste on my tongue, and then I work backward until I find the right combination of food and spices to make it happen, that’s all.”
The expression on Lucy’s features implied that it was a strange gift Marlo enjoyed.
Marlo ignored her, to concentrate on dishes of olives and pearl onions. Then the door opened and suddenly the fantasy man, the personification of the List she and Jenny had imagined for her all these years, walked into the kitchen.
Chapter Two
He was gorgeous. Literally.
Here he was, the personification of that tuxedoed dream man she and Jenny had concocted, smiling and casually sampling a deviled egg. In her dreams, Marlo’s perfect man always wore a tuxedo. That, according to her father, was her mother’s fault. Mrs. Mayfield had watched a lot of old Cary Grant movies while she was pregnant.
She could feel her heart pounding and her throat went dry. The response was so abrupt and powerful that it almost frightened her. Even when she’d discovered Jeremiah had betrayed her, her body hadn’t reacted as strongly.
Marlo considered herself generally coolheaded but this…this was the guy on the white horse, wearing the armor, rescuing her from the dragon. Suddenly the joke she and Jenny had shared all these years didn’t seem quite so funny. Of course, she’d never expected the man from her imagination to turn up before her very eyes.
“I see the housekeeper left the door open for you. Dining with Divas, I presume?” Her fantasy dreamboat stood framed in the doorway, his elegant, chiseled features lit in the golden glow of lights in the other room, his back to the richly paneled room behind him where an honest-to-goodness butler was standing as straight and still as one of the Queen’s guards.
As he stepped into the kitchen, Marlo could see more clearly the even profile and the amused grin that played on his lips. He wore his hair short, but not short enough to tame the natural curl that evidenced itself above his ears and at the nape of his neck. She gawked at the perfectly polished shoes, his strong hands and even, charming smile. Fortunately, he didn’t appear to notice.
“Your catering business has a very good reputation.” There was pleasant anticipation in his honeyed tone and his brown eyes twinkled. “I’m expecting great things tonight.”
A pleasant shiver worked its way through Marlo as she recovered from her initial shock. Granted, this fellow looked like her dream man, but there was much more to her idea of the perfect mate than looks. She’d dated handsome men in the past and learned that the hard way. In fact, the most handsome man she’d ever loved had hurt her the most.
He looked at the women’s dumbstruck expressions and smiled more widely still, his white, even smile appearing more amused than apologetic. “Sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Jake Hammond. I’m part-owner of Hammond Stables. You’re catering a get-together for some of our clients tonight.”
“Stables?” Lucy’s round, ingenuous face looked confused. “I thought someone from a place called HMD set up this engagement.”
“HMD is Hammond, Mercer and Devins, an architectural firm. That’s my day job. Hammond Stables is my hobby.”
Horses, Marlo knew, were a hobby like sailing in the America’s Cup—neither easy nor cheap.
He eyeballed a plate of Marlo’s specialty, a hot artichoke dip, picked up a cracker and a knife and took a sample. Marlo watched raptly, glad she hadn’t been skimpy with the artichokes. Who knew her hot artichoke dip would pass through the lips of an Adonis like this?
She couldn’t tear her gaze from him. As an incurable romantic, enthralled with those Cinderella fairy tales even into her teens, Marlo had sketched dreamy renditions of a guy like this all over her high-school notebooks. And now here he was, come to life and eating her artichoke dip. Appreciates fine food. Check. It didn’t get much better than this. He probably even smelled like oatmeal-raisin cookies.
“I-is there anything else you’d like us to do right now?” she stammered.
“You’re doing just fine.” He winked and Marlo’s knees nearly liquefied. That debonair look combined with a playful smile, shades of North by Northwest and To Catch a Thief. “And no doubt you’ll be as glad as I will to have this stuffy event over.”
He’s so handsome it should be illegal, she thought grumpily. Somebody should be prosecuted for looking like that, running around giving women heart attacks and all. Still, she didn’t draw her gaze away.
“Jake, darling? What are you doing in the kitchen? The guests are arriving.” A beautiful blonde woman in an strapless, emerald silk taffeta dress rustled into the room. Her skin was flawless porcelain and her lips full and pouty. She appeared coy, brazen and petulant all at once. “Your father, grandfather and his friends are looking for you. The Hammond triumvirate is to gather in the hall to welcome guests.”
She looked at Lucy and Marlo, in their black-and-white serving clothes and sensible shoes. “You hired these people to take care of things. Now let them.”
At first Hammond didn’t seem inclined to jump to the beauty’s bidding, but then thought better of it, and with a generous smile at Marlo and Lucy, he turned and held out his hand. The young blonde curled herself kittenishly around his arm as they walked out of the kitchen and returned to the party.
“He’s too good-looking to be real,” Lucy said, sinking into a chair. “I’ll bet he’s a hologram or something.”
“You watch too much TV.”
“Too bad he’s taken.” She looked slyly at Marlo. “You aren’t seeing anyone right now. Unfortunately, that blonde had her paws all over him.”
“They make a lovely couple.”
“He’d be perfect for you. I wish you’d start dating again. You are simply too fussy about men. Charlie was a nice guy.” Lucy scowled. “Maybe it’s that dumb list of yours.”
Lucy referred to Marlo’s latest ex-flame. Marlo felt no regret at encouraging Charlie to date other women or the fact that he’d actually become engaged to one of them. They would never have made it as a couple.
He’d gone to church with her. He’d attended Bible study with her. But he’d been going only to please her. None of it meant much to him—other than the fact it was a way to make points with her. That didn’t work for Marlo. Charlie needed to do those things for himself, and until he did they couldn’t be on the same wavelength. If the spiritual connection wasn’t in place, then a romantic relationship wouldn’t work either. Sincere, active faith was the first item on the Cinderella List, and there would be no negotiation there. When she checked that item off her list, it had to be for real.
“Charlie needs to have his own relationship with God. I’m not a proxy who can do it for him.”
“At least you aren’t like most of the single women I know.” Lucy plucked a stray radish from a plate of crudités. “You don’t talk nonstop about your biological clock.”
“Unfortunately, I think mine ran out of batteries, got unplugged or something. I wish I could find a man who could jump-start it for me.”
“You probably have Jeremiah Cole to thank for that.”
Tall, blond, tan, rugged in a surfer sort of way, he’d swept her off her feet the first time they met. She only found out later that he, with his compelling green eyes and smooth words, had a way of sweeping many women off their feet.
It had been a dreadful time. Marlo had been planning her own fairy-tale wedding—and might even have gone through with it, had she not caught her fiancé and his “other woman” in a cozy tête-à-tête in a downtown hotel restaurant. She knew for sure what it felt like to have a broken heart—one shattered like a piece of brittle glass.
Marlo despised revisiting that time in her life, but it was impossible to avoid sometimes, especially when someone new expressed a romantic interest in her. The experience had colored every relationship she’d had since, and her views not only about immoral men, but about soulless women who were willing to step into an existing relationship and break it apart.
“I learned a few things back then, Lucy. It wasn’t all wasted.”
What she had learned was that men were not to be fully trusted, because they could be comfortably engaged to one woman and dating another. She also learned that no matter how much she cared about someone, she would never pursue him if there was someone else in his life. She learned that the last thing she would ever be was the other woman.
It was painful even now, months after the breakup. “I thought that we’d be perfect together, and look what a mess that turned out to be. This time I’ll wait for God to handpick someone right for me, and stay out of the selection process.”
“Admirable,” Lucy said. “It’s going to take an act of God to find someone for you. I worry that the standards you’ve set for your ideal mate are so high that no one will ever match your qualifications. You’ll regret that Cinderella List of yours.
“Jake Hammond is a perfect match in the physical looks category. Did you see what happens to his eyes when he smiles? They crinkle up and practically dance with laughter.” Lucy gazed dreamily into the glass-fronted refrigerator, swollen with food they’d transferred from the coolers in the van. “And you could hardly miss the way he fills out a suit. He must lift weights, don’t you think?”
Marlo thrust a tassle-topped toothpick into a meatball and handed Lucy the tray. “Scram. These go to the table.”
“If I can’t think about men, I can still imagine living in this house and cooking in this kitchen,” Lucy continued. “The parties we could have. Elegant, sophisticated…crème brûlée at every meal…truffles…caviar…sushi….”
“Crème brûlée at every meal? I don’t know.” Marlo tapped her finely shaped chin with a fingernail, as if trying to imagine it. Simultaneously, they looked at the clock on the kitchen wall. “Let’s party.”
Every time Marlo entered the vast dining and living room areas of the house to refill plates, her eyes scanned the room for Jake. The consummate host, he continually circled the room, speaking to every single guest as he moved. She noticed, however, that there was one guest who received more of Jake’s attention than the rest. An elderly woman with snow-white hair, pink cheeks and miles of wrinkles etching her face made her way slowly across the room, leaning heavily on a burled wood cane. She reminded Marlo of Britain’s Queen Mum. When she approached a group, conversation slowed and those in the group became very deferential, almost obsequious. Only when she left would they start their animated chatter again.
Jake, however, didn’t show the same reverence for the old woman. Each time he came around to her, their heads bent together, dark and white, and he would whisper something in her ear that made her smile. Curiosity ate at Marlo. What was their relationship? she wondered. What could a pair like that have in common?
About halfway through the evening, Marlo found out. The kitchen door opened and the regal little woman entered, surreptitiously escorted by Jake.
“I don’t think they saw us leave,” Jake said.
The old woman bobbed her head. “Good. That’s the stuffiest crowd I’ve been around in a long time.” She looked at Marlo, who was staring slack-jawed at the pair. “Jake said you’d make me a sandwich. I haven’t had supper and no amount of finger food will fill me up like a peanut butter and banana sandwich will. Jake will join me.”
Jake moved to the cupboard and took out the ingredients. He held up a banana from a fruit bowl on the counter. “Do you mind?”
Marlo stifled a laugh. “Of course not. Do you have any preferences? Thick chunks of banana? Thin?”
“Thick,” he and Bette said in unison.
As the caterer began to prepare the sandwiches, Jake said, “This is Bette Howland, grand dame of the horse world in these parts. She’s also my godmother and one of my best friends.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Marlo Mayfield.” She took a plate of sandwiches to the table. “Milk?”
Bette looked at Jake with a twinkle in her eye. “A woman who can cook. You should be nice to this one, Jake.” Eyeing the attractive caterer, Jake couldn’t disagree.
“Too many of these pretty young things after Jake are useless in the kitchen. Don’t know how they get by with it, but it’s shameful. Don’t they know the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach?”
Bette turned again to him. “Right?”
“Absolutely.” Jake smiled, glad to spend a few minutes with Bette, away from the gathering in the other room. But after gulping down a half a sandwich, he pushed away from the table. Realizing he should get back to the party, he said, “Bette, I’ll come and get you in a few minutes.”
The elderly woman waved a sandwich in the air as if to shoo him away. “Take your time, dearie,” she said, watching Jake leave.
Bette turned her bright eyes and full attention on Marlo.
“You’re a pretty thing. Jake could do much worse than you.”
Marlo felt a blush burning up from her neck. “I’m just the caterer.”
Bette snorted. “That has nothing to do with anything. Jake doesn’t have a pretentious bone in his body, unlike his father, I might add. Jake is like his grandfather, Samuel, my brother.” Her expression softened. “Those two are cut of the same cloth—compassionate, fair, loving. And Jake, bless his heart, puts up with a crotchety old woman like me.” She lowered her voice. “We go out on dates, you know.”
She grinned at Marlo’s puzzled expression. “Movies no one else thinks I should see—action-adventure mostly, suspense, mystery. Gory ones sometimes, although Jake refuses to take me to a horror movie. He’s afraid I might like them. Then we eat at a little diner around the corner from the movie theater. Oh, the heartburn I get!” Bette said happily. “I just love that boy.”
The old woman’s eyes turned sly. “I think you’d love him, too.”
Marlo didn’t doubt it. Bette had just described a man that fit perfectly with the List. Unfortunately, that was Jake’s decision, not Bette’s.
At that moment the kitchen door burst open. “Come on, Bette, let’s stroll back in like we’ve never been gone,” Jake said. Bette jumped to her feet as though that cane of hers was a mere prop, and they vanished together into the din in the other room.
A big grin spread across her face. She liked Jake Hammond.
Two hours later, Marlo and Lucy were eyeing the last of the meatballs, a single plate of veggies and dip and the empty trays they’d stacked on the kitchen counter.
If the guests didn’t quit eating soon, they would run out of food. Hammond had told Lucy there would be twenty or thirty people in attendance, but there were at least fifty. Marlo hoped they had cans of smoked oysters in the van. Perhaps they could do something with them on a cracker.
As she planned their next move, the kitchen door swung open and Jake strode in. His tie was loosened and pulled to one side, the top button of his shirt open, as if he’d worked up a sweat entertaining the crowd. “I had no idea I’d invited a plague of locusts to this party,” he said apologetically, his eyes warm with sympathy, “but they love your food. The guests are leaving with truffles in their pockets and sushi in their purses.”
He grinned impishly and a slash of appealing dimple appeared in one cheek. His skin tone was that of an outdoorsman, tan and healthy-looking, not the pasty look of an office-dwelling architect. “My reputation as high-class host is sealed, thanks to you.” With a thumbs-up, he disappeared again into the din in the main room.
“That was thoughtful,” Lucy commented. “It was as if he read our minds.”
“Not mine.” Marlo tapped a finger to her temple. “There’s nothing up here to read.”
“Reading your mind is like trying to read a newspaper while riding a Tilt-a-Whirl,” Lucy said cheerfully. “There’s too much happening at once to make any sense of it.”
Marlo wasn’t sure she liked the analogy, even if it was apt, but she didn’t have time to debate the statement. She and Lucy needed to make the serving trays and platters discreetly disappear in the next few minutes.
By eleven, the kitchen was spotless and most of the guests had taken their leave, except for Sabrina the kittenish blonde attached to Jake by Super Glue. Marlo had watched them all evening, as she moved in and out of the main rooms refilling trays and removing dishes. There was something so engaging about Jake Hammond that she couldn’t tear her eyes from him.
As if thinking of them actually conjured them up, they walked into the kitchen looking like a pair of dolls, Soiree Sabrina and her boyfriend, Tuxedo Jake.
“I’ve called you a cab,” Hammond was telling Sabrina as they entered.
She pouted. “I’m not done partying yet, darling.”
“Then you’ll have to find someone else,” Hammond advised her pleasantly, his charm not slipping for an instant. “I’m out of steam.”
“But you promised—” Her words were cut short by the sharp blast of a horn.
“Cab’s here. Come on, sweets, I’ll tuck you in and pay the fare.” Smoothly, Hammond navigated his reluctant package toward the door.
Chivalrous. Check.
Only moments after they’d left, the door swung open again and the party’s other host, Randall Hammond, strode into the room. The senior Hammond was shorter than his son by two or three inches, strong-looking but thin and sinewy, like, Marlo mused, a piece of human beef jerky. There was a hardness about the man, an inflexible, unbending quality, totally unlike that of his son. As much as Marlo had liked Jake upon first meeting him, she felt conversely wary of his father.
But perhaps she’d judged too quickly, since the first words out of his mouth were a compliment. “Well done. My guests appreciated your hard work.” His pale eyes darted around the room. “Is Jake…”
“He’s outside. He sent for a cab and…”
“He’s sending Sabrina home in a cab? Odd. He always drives her home.” The older Hammond appeared puzzled. “Those two usually close down every party. What a pair they make.” He looked both pleased and paternal at the notion.
Tasuta katkend on lõppenud.
