Chance of Love

Chapter 2

Amanda couldn't concentrate on her work anymore so she leafed through her recipe books instead. She couldn't find anything to make for the picnic. A cake was a safe thing to make, but it was boring. She didn't have the ingredients to make cheesecake or strawberry shortcake. She did have apples, however. She'd make an apple pie.

Having made a decision, she spent the rest of the evening relaxing in the bathtub with lots of bubbles. Every time she closed her eyes, the image of Mark's face rose to her mind. What if he didn't like the way she looked when he saw her in the bright light of day? She was being silly, of course. What did it matter what she looked like? What was inside a person was what counted the most.

The warm water helped her feel drowsy and she had no difficulty drifting off to sleep when she later crawled into her bed.

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Amanda got up early the next morning so she could make her pie. The crust was the hardest part. She hoped it wouldn't be too crumbly. It took her a while to roll it out the way she wanted. But her patience was rewarded.

After she babysat the pie while it was in the oven, she had a quick shower and did her hair. She fussed over which clothes to wear. She finally chose her favourite pair of jeans and a sweater. She hoped she didn't look too much like a slob. After all, it was Sunday.

She was just putting the finishing touches on her French braid when the doorbell rang. Amanda looked at her watch. It was five minutes before 11. Her heart started to thump again.

She pasted a smile on her face as she opened the front door.

Mark looked even more handsome in the daylight. His eyes were blue and he was solidly muscular.

"Hi," he said, giving her some flowers.

"Oh," she exclaimed, in surprise. "Thank you, Mark! They're lovely." She smelled them. They were violets.

"Come in," she said, smiling. "I'll go find a vase to put these in." Mark came into the house and shut the door.

Amanda was reaching way up high in one of her kitchen cupboards when she heard his voice right behind her.

"Here, let me," he said, reaching up and handing her the vase. As she took it, their eyes met and she felt as though the floor was moving.

"Thanks," she replied, taking the vase from his outstretched hand and turning toward the kitchen sink.

"You have a nice place," Mark said appreciatively.

She shrugged and replied, "It's not my dream house, but I've tried to make it comfortable."

As she arranged the flowers in the vase, Mark asked her about the Grand Piano Fund. She turned and saw him examining her fund raising chart on her frig door.

"Oh, I try to put away some money every paycheck so I can buy a grand piano someday."

"Really?" he asked, surprised. "I didn't know you played the piano."

"Of course not," she said teasingly. "You just met me."

Mark looked at her and laughed. She liked the sound of his laugh. It was deep and rich.

"I played the trumpet in high school," Mark said, "but I hated to practise so I quit."

Amanda nodded and put the vase of flowers on the kitchen table.

Mark noticed the pie sitting on the kitchen counter. He leaned over and smelled it.

"Mmm," he said, "this smells delicious."