The Fantasy Factor by Kimberly Raye

even though he felt fairly certain he’d lost the blue Pinto and its persistent driver. “The Heavenly Hook-Up Service that you and the other seniors have going down at the church.” He shook his head, surprised at his own boldness where the old woman was concerned. But it didn’t feel right being with Sarah and having other women chasing after him. He wasn’t sure why, considering that their relationship was strictly sex, but it didn’t, and so he was here to put a stop to the old woman’s matchmaking once and for all. “It’s not going to work.”
    “First off, it’s called Creative Connections, and it has nothing to do with the seniors group down at the church. Why, that’s the Lord’s time. We only talk about it at the hairdresser.” At his pointed look, she rearranged the platter of eggs and bacon she’d just placed on the table. “And sometimes at choir practice, but that’s only when it’s an extreme case and we have to help some poor soul in desperate need of a quick connection.”
    “Were there perms sizzling in the background when you were talking about me?”
    She rearranged the bacon. “Actually it was a very passionate version of ‘Amazing Grace.’”
    “I knew it.” He paced back to the door and peered past the curtains. The vegetable garden sat to one side. A huge flower garden glittered in the early morning sunlight. White sheets were draped over a clothesline, partially blocking his view. A perfect hiding place for someone if someone was, indeed, following him.
    “Sit down, sweetie.” She said the words she’d said to him every day when he’d brought her newspaper.
    What he’d always hoped she would say, because she made the best eggs in town. Even better, she had the warmest and the best-smelling kitchen in town, and he’d liked just sitting there with her every morning. Not talking, just sitting and smelling and feeling the comfort of the gingham curtains and the rows of jellied preserves and her. He would eat and she would read, but every so often, she smiled at him over the Daily Gazette and made him feel as if he belonged.
    This kitchen had been the one and only place that he’d ever felt such a feeling. He had the sudden image of some stranger sitting in this very kitchen once she sold out and moved to Florida. The thought bothered him a lot more than he wanted to admit. Not because of the land, but because of the house. This house. His house. At least that’s what he’d pretended time and time again as a child when he’d longed for a home of his own.
    “You look hungry,” she said.
    He tamped down the strange possessiveness bubbling inside him and focused on the old woman. He summoned his best frown—not easy considering he rarely frowned at Miss Marshalyn. Her constant interruptions and her headstrong ways left him feeling more dazed and confused than angry.
    Not this time. He was fed up with her meddling and he intended to put a stop to it. “Don’t try to change the subject. We were talking about your butting into my business.”
    “I thought we were talking about my eggs.”
    “Before the eggs. You put out the word and now I’ve got women following me around everywhere.”
    “Actually, it’s just one woman. Imogene Asbury. You remember her, don’t you? She’s the same age as you. Light brown hair. Black eyes. Pleasantly plump. Her nose twitches when she smiles.”
    “You just described a hamster.”
    “Come to think of it, she sort of looks like one of those little fellas over at Pam’s Pet Emporium. Sure, she’s not your first choice, not with a pretty Persian sitting right next to her, but she sort of grows on you. She’s so friendly and cute.”
    “And persistent,” he said as he peered out the window for the familiar blue Pinto. “She would have followed me all the way here if I hadn’t lost her by making a fast U-turn on Main Street.”
    “I thought you liked aggressive women.”
    “Aggressive as in straightforward. The type of woman to