Mad About You

said as she walked up.
    Ladden frowned. "What makes you say that?"
    She pointed to his ears. "Haircut."
    "Ahh," Ernie said, nodding. "Those are fine looking ears, aren't they, Joey?"
    "Gorgeous," Joey agreed. "Going to see Jasmine for a little private mouth-to-mouth?" The men laughed uproariously.
    "Very funny. You two should go on the road."
    "You'd make beautiful kids, you and Jasmine," Silvie told him.
    "Wait a minute," Ladden said, holding up his hands. "For the record, Jasmine Crowne and I were never dating and never will. Period."
    They were quiet for a few seconds, exchanging glances. "What happened?" Silvie asked.
    "She's dating the governor. Isn't that self-explanatory?"
    "But I already told my friends to start thinking about wedding gifts. Wouldn't you like a cappuccino maker?"
    He sighed. "Aren't you getting a little ahead of yourself, Aunt Sil?"
    She wagged a finger at him. "I saw the way you two looked at each other."
    "We're just friends."
    "Whatever you say," she sang. "But it looked like magic to me."
    Ladden downed the beer, then set the empty bottle on the bar. "Thanks for the brew, Joey."
    "Ah, don't leave," Ernie said when Ladden stood.
    "He's got friends in high places now," Joey reminded Ernie with a jab.
    Silvie gave him a knowing smile. "Say hello to Jasmine for me."
    Ladden shook his head and made his getaway. The beer had gone to his head quickly on an empty stomach, and the events of the last few days still didn't make sense. In less than a week he and Jasmine had gone from acquaintances to nearly intimate, then back to acquaintances. Only now it was worse—now they would be awkward acquaintances.
    Every time he replayed their encounter at the party, he changed the ending. In his favorite version, they made passionate love in the changing room and twice again on the way home, then Jasmine chose true love in Glenhayden over fame and fortune as the state's first lady, and they lived happily ever after.
    In the second version, they didn't have sex, but Jasmine came to him later to admit she loved him instead of the governor. Then they made love on the spot, and lived happily ever after.
    In the third version, they made passionate love twice in the changing room and once by the pool, and although Jasmine admitted she loved him, she simply couldn't pass up the life of a statesman's wife.
    He frowned. Only in real life did they not have sex and not live happily ever after.
    At the store he showered quickly in the cramped bathroom, then changed to clean jeans and a red T-shirt. On the way to unlock the front door, he checked the storeroom ceiling and found the rug still hovering there. Scratching his head, he once again tried to come up with some reasonable explanation. Was it possible that something in the ceiling pipework had attracted the static-charged carpet? Or that a friend or relative had schemed to hang the carpet as a practical joke? Perhaps with the tallest stepladder he owned, plus a hook on the end of the longest pole he could find, he might be able to pull it down.
    Or maybe the ladies would have a better idea, he thought as he approached the front door. Hell, he'd shoot a harpoon up there if he had to. He simply wanted the thing out of his store and out of his life.
    When he looked out the door, Jasmine was climbing out of her car, much like the day she'd come in after the earthquake. Had it been only three days ago? It felt like a lifetime. God, he wanted to get to know her better, to find out if she was as wonderful as he suspected. Lithe and leggy in a loose pantsuit and her hair pulled in a high ponytail with a wide silver clasp, she looked like the princess Gene had dubbed her.
    Ladden’s mouth flattened. He hadn't meant to hurt the old man, just scare him a little. Indeed, Gene hadn't been back to the store. He'd have to ask Jasmine if she'd seen him hanging around.
    She stopped on the sidewalk, glanced at her watch, then scanned parked cars on both sides of the street. Looking for her assistant, he presumed. How ridiculous that they had to resort to a witness just to transact business after hours. He grabbed a broom, opened the door, and stepped out on the sidewalk, hoping to have a word with her before their chaperone arrived.
    Wheeling toward the door, she shielded her eyes from the slanting rays of the late sun. The wind had picked up suddenly, an almost certainty they would see a storm before morning. The light fabric of her pantsuit whipped around her, molding to her