Mad About You

welcome." He walked around behind Maddie and dropped a kiss on the top of her head.
    "Look what Jasmine gave me," she said, lifting the comb for his inspection.
    "Very nice." He nodded appreciatively, swinging his gaze in her direction. Jasmine squirmed, torn by the urge to flee the intimacy of the atmosphere and the desire to observe a normal, all-American family—a phenomenon she had never experienced.
    As Maddie opened the last of her gifts, Ladden moved behind Jasmine's chair and whispered, "I found your car. It's in city lot D, but you can't claim it until morning."
    She had feared as much. Pushing back her chair, she said, "Thanks. I should be getting home." She answered the chorus of good-byes as she left the table, all too aware that Ladden was only a step behind her.
    "Er, Jasmine, I'm sorry you got dragged into all that." He gestured vaguely toward the party. "My family can be a little exuberant."
    "It's okay," she said, moving as quickly as possible toward the bar.
    "I'll take you home."
    She stopped and slowly turned back to see him rubbing his hands together in a nervous gesture. Her heart jumped erratically. "I don't think—"
    "I'll go back to the shop and get the truck—"
    "No!" Her tone was more sharp than she'd intended, triggered by alarm she felt at the attraction that had sprung up between them.
    Ladden wet his lips, then nodded and took a step back. His smile was apologetic. "That's okay—I didn't expect you to want to go rattling around in my big truck."
    Jasmine winced inwardly when she realized she'd hurt his feelings. The world could use more people like Ladden—he was a true gentleman. "I mean, no, don't do that because... because it's a nice night." She conjured up a smile. "I'll walk with you to your truck."
    "Yeah?" he said, the right side of his mouth climbing.
    "Yeah."
    He swept his arm toward the door.
    She stepped ahead, inhaling sharply when his hand brushed her waist. He waved goodbye to his uncle, then held open the door for her. Jasmine gripped the oil lamp tightly to calm her pounding heart as she stepped down onto the sidewalk.
    The night was lovely, she acknowledged as he fell into step beside her. The late October air was bracingly cool but fresh and head-clearing. Goose bumps skittered across her arms and shoulders beneath the thin silk of her tunic. The streetlights flickered on, activated by the falling dusk, and a few pedestrians dotted the sidewalks in small knots, on their way to the movies or to dinner. Traffic had slowed, almost as if it were lulled by the haunting sounds of a saxophonist on the corner. They stopped to listen for a few seconds, and Ladden tossed a bill into his upturned hat.
    "You have a nice family," Jasmine ventured into the silence between them.
    He chuckled, shaking his head. "Thanks—they can be a bit overwhelming, but they're great. Silvie and Ernie practically raised me. Maddie is more like my little sister than my niece." His voice held true warmth, and she felt a stab of envy. "It was nice of you to give her the comb."
    "She seems like a sweet kid."
    "The best. And she really liked you—they all did."
    She smiled. "That's because they thought I was your girlfriend."
    His laughter was short and rueful. "Sorry about that. My aunt and uncle are eager for me to settle down."
    Jasmine grinned. "Well, according to your uncle, you have your pick of women."
    "My uncle is delusional."
    They walked a little farther before she asked, "So why haven't you married, Ladden?"
    He pursed his lips. "I guess you could say I'm married to my job. I work long hours, and I spend most of my time away from the business scavenging for more antiques."
    "But I'd think having... someone... around to help you would make things easier."
    His smile was easy, displaying white, even teeth. "If by someone you mean a wife, well, I simply haven't met a woman who shares my love for old things."
    She scoffed. "But what about the shop? Everyone who comes in loves old things."
    Ladden shook his head. "Most of my clients are gay men"—he sighed dramatically and pinned her down with his gaze—"or unavailable women."
    Her stomach was doing funny things. "Th-there are lots of single women in Sacramento," she stammered as he led her down the dimly lit alley beside his store. Their footsteps echoed off the brick pavement, and she heard scurrying noises near the Dumpster, driving her closer to his side.
    "Except I'm not interested in lots of single women," he said, putting his hand