Be Sweet by Diann Hunt Read Free Book Online Page A

me.
    Needing time to calm down, I realize going to Mom and Dad’s isn’t an option right now. With a flip of the car’s turn signal, I head for another place. Just like old times.
    Lord, please help me while I’m here to keep focused on what I have to do, and please keep the painful memories away.
    I’m doing fine sticking to comfortable friendships. That’s what I have with—um, well—okay, I’m just stressed right now. His name will come to me as soon as I calm down. I’m sure of it.
    Turning my car onto the road, I settle in for the ride when my cell phone rings. Once the earpiece is in place, I flip open my phone. “Hello?”
    â€œHey, Charlene.”
    The nameless man. Little neurons reach to the far corners of my brain and finally bring it to me. “Hi, Peter.” Peter McDonald. Friend, broker, and owner of McDonald Realtors. The one person who refuses to shorten my name. In fact, if he heard Russ call me Charley, Peter would probably duke it out with him. No, maybe not. A fight would mess up his hair—saying nothing of the grime it would leave on his Cavalli pants. Anyway, he hates nicknames, period. He says names are given to us for a reason and out of respect for our parents, we should use them in their entirety.
    Our relationship is like a comfortable pair of shoes. Nothing to get excited about, but at least there’s no pain involved. I suppose that’s why it works in the office. Slightly more than great friends, we’ve managed to keep work separate from our personal lives.
    Not that he isn’t good-looking. Quite the contrary. With a lean body—that he works out daily—stretching to a full six foot two, some would say he borders on perfection. He combs his thick, sandy hair back from his forehead, and, trust me on this, it does not move for the rest of the day. When I first met him, I thought his hair wasn’t real because it never moved. One time I feigned a moment of passion just so I could run my fingers through it. When it didn’t shake loose, I figured it was real. Passionate moment over.
    His stuffy ways have cramped my flair for fun on many a day, but we have real estate in common, and that seems to work for us. In fact, sometimes I wonder if he doesn’t “wine and dine” me because I’m the most profitable realtor in the office. Guess he’s just like everyone else.
    â€œGood to hear your voice,” I say.
    â€œYeah? Maybe you’re missing me?”
    â€œMaybe.”
    â€œSo how’s life on Sunnybrook Farm?”
    â€œDon’t get me started.”
    â€œWant me to come and rescue you?” he asks.
    â€œYour last name is McDonald. I don’t trust you. Farming is in your blood.”
    â€œWhen are you coming home?” Like my mother, he ignores my jokes.
    â€œI just got here, remember?”
    â€œOh, yeah.” Papers stir in the background. No, wait. I’m sure there are tidy little stacks. He would never have papers strewn about his desk. That would be me. “Have you spotted any land for the Scottens yet?”
    â€œPeter, I have been here less than twenty-four hours.”
    â€œSorry. When are you going to give up the syrup and just enjoy the good life?”
    â€œGive up the syrup? Never! Besides, my family is here. I have to come back sometimes.”
    â€œI guess.”
    â€œWorking late?”
    â€œYeah. I just sold the Sanderses’ house.”
    â€œThat’s fabulous, Peter.”
    â€œAnd my best girl isn’t here to celebrate.”
    The fact that he says best girl doesn’t elude me. There’s that safe relationship thing again. Peter made it clear from day one that he was never going to marry, and that was fine with me. I’ve gotten along by myself for all these years, and I don’t need a man telling me what to do at this point in my life. We are free to have other “friends.”
    â€œI’m sorry.