The Dating Resolution

Hailey didn’t even manage to draw a breath of relief before his hand dived deeper into her hair, cupping the back of her head, his thumb stroking her scalp. Goose bumps streaked down her back and up again, making her breath catch as she met his eyes. “But maybe I don’t,” he continued. “Maybe it’s just you.”

“This is not a good idea,” she stammered. “Definitely, absolutely, positively not. In fact, it’s a bad idea. A rotten idea.”

“It’s the best idea I’ve had all year.”

“You know there’s no point. It can’t go anywhere. Too complicated…”

“We’re not getting married,” Jordan murmured. Oh, Lord. He was kissing her jaw, close to her ear, his bristly cheek rubbing hers, and her goose bumps got goose bumps. “We’re just going to kiss.”

Hannah Bernard always knew what she wanted to be when she grew up—a psychologist. After spending an eternity in university, studying towards that goal, she took one look at her hard-earned diploma and thought: Nah. I’d rather be a writer. She has no kids to brag about, no pets to complain about, and only one husband, who any day now will break down and agree to adopt a kitten.

Books by Hannah Bernard

HARLEQUIN ROMANCE®

3762—BABY CHASE

3774—THEIR ACCIDENTAL BABY

3792—MISSION: MARRIAGE

3814—THE HONEYMOON PROPOSAL

The Dating Resolution

Hannah Bernard

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

PROLOGUE

BREATHING in the familiar scent of chalk, Hailey squirmed into the small seat behind the dwarfish desk and faced her friend from the perspective of a nine-year-old. “I’d like to make a statement,” she announced.

“I’m holding my breath,” Ellen managed to say around the pen between her teeth. She pulled a thermos out of her briefcase and filled the yellow plastic cup. “Why can’t thermoses ever keep coffee warm more than a couple of hours?” she complained with a grimace after spitting out the pen and taking a sip. “Someone should do something about that.”

“This is an important announcement. Put down your coffee and pay attention.”

“Sounds serious. Is it about your New Year’s resolutions?”

“Of course. What else would it be this time of year?”

Ellen made a show of pushing her coffee away and leaning back in her seat. “Well, let me hear it.”

Hailey sat up straight, preparing for her dramatic declaration. “No more men!” she called out, emphasizing it with a sweeping hand gesture.

“Uh-huh,” Ellen said, returning her attention to the pile of paper in front of her. “Right. And you’re going cold turkey on chocolate too, aren’t you?”

“Well—”

“…and doing daily sit-ups?”

“Well—”

“And getting up earlier on weekends?”

Hailey frowned. This was the annoying thing about friends. They knew you too well. “This time, I mean it. Seriously. And for more than two weeks.”

“I see. Why? Must be pretty urgent since you invaded my classroom to tell me.”

Hailey glanced around the third grade classroom, empty of children, but not of children’s presence. Classrooms never were. “At least I waited until the kids were gone. Although,” she added darkly, “if someone had told me the truth about men at an early age, I could have joined a convent straight out of high school and saved myself a lot of misery.”

“You mean you hadn’t already figured boys out by third grade?”

“Nope, stars in my eyes until I was nineteen or so. I guess I was a late developer. Hence all the scars on my heart.”

“Aw, Hailey.” Ellen made a sympathetic sound, but her pen did not pause on the paper she was scribbling on. “Why are you really here?”

“No other reason! I just wanted you to be the first to know. Especially as you’re always dragging guys in my direction.”

“No more men, huh?”

“No more men. As in, you’re not allowed to set me up, introduce me to guys, or in other ways work against my resolution.”

“I see. And are you—in principle—swearing off men for good?”

“Well, no,” Hailey admitted. “I haven’t entirely lost my faith in half of the human race. Not yet.”

“Phew.”

“It’s me. I’ve been making so many mistakes when it comes to guys. So, I’m taking a year out.”

“A year?”

“Yep.”

“A whole year?”

“Yes.”

Ellen put down her pen and leaned forward. “Hailey, do you have any idea how long a year is?”

“Three hundred and sixty-five days. And don’t make me calculate the hours. I’m lousy at multiplication.”

“An entire year?”

“Yep. One year. No men. No dates. Nothing. I’m going to pretend the other sex doesn’t exist.”

Ellen tossed a finished sheet to the side and grabbed the next one. “And—assuming that there is a problem in the first place—how’s a year out going to solve anything? You’ll be in exactly the same situation after a year has passed.”

Hailey tried to get comfortable, but in a chair that size, it was close to impossible. Someone had scribbled a swearword in crayon on the desk, and she rubbed at it with a finger, although she could well echo the sentiment. Maybe third-graders got their hearts trampled on too. “No, I won’t. That’s the whole point. Think, Ellen. What do our lives revolve around?”

Ellen pushed her glasses up above her forehead, displaying the tiny wrinkles between her eyes as she pondered the question. “Do you mean practically or philosophically?”

“It’s not a trick question.”

“I don’t trust you. With you, everything’s a trick question.”

“It’s simple. What is the one thing we’re always thinking about, always talking about?”

“Is this one of your veiled ‘What’s the meaning of life?’ questions?”

“Guys! That’s what our life revolves around. Even most of our conversations revolve around guys.” Hailey banged her fist on the table in emphasis. “I am sick of spending my life sifting through men in search for an elusive—perhaps even mythological—nugget of gold.”

Ellen grinned, gesturing with a pencil. “Well, you’ve got to admit, sifting can be fun even if you don’t always strike gold.”

Hailey stared over Ellen’s shoulder at the chalk-board behind her. “Imagine—all those gold prospectors back then. Spending years, decades, their entire lives, hoping to strike a treasure, sacrificing everything else—home, family. All most of them ever got was disappointment, pain, sweat and tears. Even those few who thought they’d been lucky—so often it turned out to be fool’s gold.”

Ellen returned her attention to third-grade spelling problems. “It takes an IQ higher than mine to follow your analogies, Hailey, but I’m pretty sure you’re being depressing again.”

Hailey shook her head. “My point is, why are we doing this?”

Ellen got that annoying dreamy look on her face. “I know the answer to this one. Because true love is somewhere out there waiting for us—only it’s a bit hard to find.”

“No. True love is society’s myth. Don’t you see? We’re being sucked into a global lie.”

“I see.” Ellen sounded rather unconvinced. “Love is a worldwide conspiracy. Are aliens involved?”

“Whether true love exists or not, the truth is that the real reason we subject ourselves to this is because it’s expected of us. Because we’re considered inferior if we’re not part of a couple. We’re caving in to social pressure, and for what?”

Ellen opened her mouth, but Hailey barged on, not allowing her to interrupt. She was on a roll. She’d spent her entire miserable, lonely—even in a crowd—New Year’s Eve composing this manifesto in her head and Ellen would hear it whether she liked it or not. “Broken hearts, that’s what we get for trying! Lousy dates, broken hearts and plummeting self-esteem each time one of the many idiots in the world displays his true colors.” She leaned toward Ellen and the tiny table creaked alarmingly. “Don’t you see? We’re not doing this because we want to, but to fulfill the role society expects of us. It all comes back down to biology. Despite all our technological advances, modern man—modern woman—is still very much a slave of biology when it comes to happiness. When women aren’t mothers, they aren’t happy unless they are actively engaged in the pursuit of someone to father their child. It’s that simple.”

Ellen gave her a wry glance. “I knew it. You’ve been reading those feminist pseudoscience books again.”

“In a nutshell, my discovery is this…” She paused for dramatic emphasis. “There’s nothing wrong with being single.”

Ellen failed to look impressed. All she did was shrug. “As that seems to be our ongoing state, I should hope not.”

“But we feel there’s something wrong with it. It’s an instinctive feeling, almost like it’s a biological force programmed in our genes. And that’s exactly what it is. It is biological.”

“Good Lord, Hailey! You’re overcomplicating things. What’s wrong with wanting a partner in life? It’s just human.”

“Exactly. That’s my problem.”

“Your problem is being human? Well, welcome to the club.”

Hailey looked down and mumbled her next words. “You see, I’ve discovered something about myself, and I don’t like it.”

“What is it?”

Hailey took a deep breath before making her confession. “I’m a relationship addict.”

“Oh, God, more psychobabble.”

“I am!”

“Is that a terminal condition?”

Hailey glared at her friend. “Why do I always confide in you? Zero sympathy. Zero understanding. Worst of all, zero co-dependence. Aren’t you supposed to be my best friend?”

“Okay.” Ellen started piling stuff into her briefcase. “I’ll be good. Tell me about your relationship addiction.”

Hailey bit her lip. She probably sounded like she was being flippant about this, but the pain and humiliation of her self-discovery cut deep. “I am not happy unless I am in a relationship.”

“Come on! That’s not true!”

“It is! This is why I hurry into a relationship before I’m ready, before the guy is ready, before either one of us is sure this is what we want—before we even know each other. Then when we break up—for whatever reason that is—I rush to the next relationship, anxious to do it right this time. It’s a vicious cycle.”

Despite her promise, Ellen was rolling her eyes again. “Come on, Hailey, it’s not that dramatic.”

“Case in point. Dan. You never trusted him, did you?”

“Well…”

“You knew he was a rat long before I did. Long before I wanted to know. But I was so desperate to have it work out that I ignored all the hints, all the lies and deceit…”

“Love is blind—”

“No! Love is not blind. I’m blind. And I was on the rebound when I met him, remember? Things weren’t much better that time around, either. It’s a vicious cycle and I’ve been stuck in it.”

“Hailey, fess up, you’ve been watching those daytime psychobabble shows, haven’t you?”

Hailey crossed her arms on her chest and scowled at her friend. “Fine, fine, make fun of my brilliant theory. But it comes down to this. Will you support me in my decision?”

“A year with no dates?” Ellen shrugged. “Sure. Can’t hurt. A year is nothing. I’ve had longer dry spells than one year. Just make sure you always have plenty of chocolate on hand.”

“I’ve given up chocolate too.”

“You can’t give up chocolate and men, Hailey! That’s not a resolution, it’s self-torture!”

A good point. “You’re right. I’ll give up chocolate next year.”

Ellen snickered. “So, what happens after the year has passed? How is this going to help?”

Hailey shrugged. “After a year my mind will be clearer. I will have broken free of the cycle. I will be better able to sift through the mud.”

“Mud?”

“Men.”

“Mud equals men—and you still want one? Something isn’t adding up here.”

“When I get some distance, I will gain a new perspective. I might be able to tell real gold from fool’s gold. Or—” She shrugged. “This is also a possibility—I might have accepted the fact that Mr. Right is nothing but a romantic myth and that I’ll be a lot happier if I stop trying to create reality out of a pathetic girlish fantasy.”

Ellen grimaced as she pushed the stack of papers away and reached for her coffee cup again. “Ouch. I’d like to stick with fantasy, thank you.”

“Why build castles in the air if they’re just going to come crashing down on your head? I mean—why would we need a man to the level of being almost desperate for a relationship? We’re modern women. We can do anything we want. Right? Right?” It was a battle cry, but not surprisingly, it had little effect on Ellen.

“Uh…right.”

“Damn right! We can have companionship, friendship, a social life, a career, even children—whatever we want without bringing ‘love’ into it. We don’t need men!”

“Uh…Hailey…remember, that thing men are good for?”

“What?” Hailey stared at her friend, frowning. “Oh, that. Well, I’ll just have to pay for it, I guess.”

Ellen sputtered coffee. “Pay for it?”

Hailey raised an eyebrow. “Fixing roofs and leaking sinks and such, that’s what you meant, wasn’t it?”

“No.” Ellen shook her head for emphasis. “No. That’s not what I meant. You know very well that’s not what I meant.”

“Maybe I’ll just buy myself some tools.”

“Tools?”

Ellen looked intrigued now. When Hailey figured out why, she tilted her head back and looked up at the ceiling with an exaggerated expression of disgust. “You have such a dirty mind. I mean tools tools. You know, for fixing the roof and such.”

“Oh,” Ellen muttered. “Okay. Never mind, then.”

“Well, you’re right, there are things a woman can use a man for if you want to be old-fashioned and dependent and stick to traditional roles—but he is definitely not necessary. I’ll just go forth and purchase a cute little toolbox of my very own. I mean, it’s not like there’s any good reason why I shouldn’t be able to fix the roof myself.”

Ellen was looking confused now. “Which roof are we talking about, anyway?”

“A rhetorical roof.”

Ellen nodded. “Right. I think I had one of those once. It did leak. But you know, a toolbox isn’t going to whisper sweet nothings and cuddle you while you sleep.”

Hailey shook her head. “The cuddles come at too great a price. This will be great. I’ll make new friends, I’ll start taking classes and find myself new hobbies, and I can stop worrying about my love life, stop dreading every weekend—whether I have a date or not.” She leaned on the small desk, gesturing earnestly. “Over the holidays I started thinking—why am I doing this? Dating makes me miserable. I’m happiest when I take a break from all that. Unfortunately I never get away with it long, before someone has set me up, and I always agree to go, thinking this time it might be different. Why do we do that? Why are we so hung up on this ridiculous idea that there is a perfect guy for us somewhere out there? Where does this true love myth come from?”

“Don’t. You’re making me depressed.”

“Exactly. Just the thought of there being no Mr. Right has us depressed. So we get desperate and take all kinds of crap, just to avoid the horrible, terrible, paralyzing thought of being still single at thirty. I’ve had it. I’ve trusted too many liars, wasted too much time on losers. It stops here.”

“Hailey, you’re being ridiculous. Okay, so you’ve been unlucky with some of your boyfriends…”

Hailey sent her a look.

“Okay, all of your recent boyfriends,” Ellen amended with a grimace. “But that doesn’t mean there isn’t a decent guy for you out there. Somewhere.”

“Ah, the elusive someone somewhere sometime. Maybe mine is in Alpha Centauri, born approximately in the twenty-fifth century?”

Ellen pointed at Hailey with a pencil. “I’m serious. There’s someone out there for everyone. More importantly, your bad luck with guys does not mean there’s something wrong with you.”

That was the point, wasn’t it? There was something wrong with her. Simply a dysfunctional pattern, she hoped, not a personality flaw. Something she could work through, habits she could break. That was what this year was all about. If there was a gold nugget out there, she’d never find it if she kept her nose in the mud simply out of desperation. “I just need some time to myself,” she said, her tone low now. “Away from the dating scene. I need a chance to break free from this evil cycle—then I can start afresh.”

“Hailey…”

“Don’t you see? It’s necessary for me to get out of my current dysfunctional pattern. Embrace possibilities. Can-bes instead of must-bes.”

Ellen rolled her eyes, but Hailey could nevertheless detect a glow of sympathy and understanding. “I will support you in this, but Hailey, you’re definitely watching too many talk shows.”

CHAPTER ONE

THE house was locked and abandoned. She’d knocked for ages—and then finally resorted to trying the door-knob.

She’d flown halfway across the world—and come to a locked door. Now what? Jane had told her someone would greet her here.

This wasn’t a good sign, was it?

Maybe “someone” was simply late. She pushed her suitcases to the side and sat down on the step. Jane wasn’t answering her cell phone, so she dug in her purse for the printout of her last e-mail to double check the street name and number. Yes. She was at the right place, and the right time had come and gone twenty minutes ago, but nobody was here yet.

She sent Jane a text message, then stuffed the phone and the diary back into her purse.

She’d wait awhile.

Then she’d panic.

At least the house looked nice. And the street was pretty and quiet—if you didn’t count the noise of children yelling. Of course, for a schoolteacher that was mere background noise.

Hailey was so mesmerized watching the children rush back and forth on their bikes in the street that she nearly screamed when a shadow fell over her.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you. You must be Hailey?”

She squinted up at him. He looked like a tall and menacing shadow from this angle, but at least the voice wasn’t menacing. This was probably “someone.” “Where did you come from?”

“Next door. Jumped over the fence, so you probably didn’t see me coming. I’m Jordan Halifax.” He shifted to the side and she could look at him. Still tall and menacing and scruffy—in what she and her girlfriends in her previous life would have called a hot way. “Jane asked me to check on you when you arrived.”

They made sexy men in Alaska too. Dammit.

But she wasn’t seeing sexy. Nope. Not for another five months. See no sexy, hear no sexy, speak no sexy. She squinted until he looked like an undefined shadow again. Safer that way. “Hi. Jane said someone would meet me here, and I guess you’re it.”

“Is there something wrong with your eyes?”

Hailey blinked, and he came into focus again. “Sorry. It was the sun. Do you have my key?”

“The key? No.”

“What?”

“The key is always under the pot.” Jordan nodded at a terra-cotta pot next to the door. “Didn’t Jane tell you about it? Just push the flowerpot a bit to the right, and you’ll find it.”

Key under a flowerpot? Seriously? What was this, a place out of time?

She pushed at the pot with the heel of her hand. It scraped on the old scarred concrete, but yes, there it lay. A house key. A bit rusty, showing it probably spent most of its time outdoors.

Jordan shifted his weight as if to leave. “Well. All set? Any questions?”

She held up the key to show her new neighbor, and pointed at the offending terra-cotta pot. “I can’t believe this! This is not good. It’s an open invitation for any serial killer to enter your home!”

“Really?”

“Yes! How do I know somebody hasn’t made a copy of this?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking at her as if she was the crazy one. “You can always change the locks, I suppose. If it makes you feel better.”

“I mean—why bother to lock your door in the first place, if you just leave the key right next to it in the most obvious spot you can think of?”

Jordan grinned. “Yeah. That’s why I never lock my door.”

This was a serious culture shock for an L.A. girl.

“And you haven’t been murdered in your bed yet?”

“I don’t think so, no. Alaska’s too cold to be hell and this street is too damn noisy to be heaven.” He nodded toward the street. “Last few days before school starts. They are desperate to cram all the fun they can into this weekend. It usually isn’t quite this bad.”

“That’s not a problem for me. I’m a teacher. We’re impervious to this kind of noise.”

“That must be handy.”

“Yup. It’s a special course we take at college. ‘Closing Your Ears 101.”’

Why was she prattling on like this? Jordan smiled at her stupid joke, and she felt it in her gut. Dammit. But there was no reason to worry—he wasn’t even her type. Not even close. Hot, yes, but too scruffy. She liked neat guys. His hair was far too long, unruly and slightly curling, and although he seemed to have shaved recently, it was a bit lopsided, as if he’d been in a hurry.

She liked guys in suits and ties, hair neatly combed until such a time she saw an occasion to change that state. She liked sophisticated aftershave and polished shoes.

This guy’s tennis shoes looked like they’d seen better decades.

Feeling better at having reassured herself she would not be the least tempted by her new neighbor, she slid the key in a pocket and stood. She held out a hand. “I guess Jane told you my name, but for a proper introduction—I’m Hailey Rutherford.”

“Welcome to Alaska.” Jordan took her hand, and as she felt the warmth of it shoot up her arm she thought she detected a flash of interest in his eyes. His hand was large and warm and he held hers for what to her male-ienated mind was a moment too long.

Oh, no.

“I’m married,” she blurted out and snatched her hand back, inching her left one behind her back to hide the lack of a ring. “Happily married. Very happily.”

Amusement sparkled in his eyes—silver eyes—and a muscle at the corner of his mouth jumped, as if he were holding back a grin. Hailey gritted her teeth as a familiar feeling of folly crept up on her. Subtlety, girl!

“Congratulations,” Jordan said. “I’m happy for you.”

“Daddy!”

One of the little hooligans terrorizing the street came sprinting, taking a running leap up on his father’s back.

Dammit. The guy had a family and she’d virtually pointed a stun gun at him without a reason. Her antenna must have rusted.

An elfin face looked at her over his father’s shoulder. He looked about seven or eight. He might even be in her class, Hailey realized with excitement. She loved the feeling of meeting a new class, getting to know all the different emerging personalities inside the squirming group of children. “Hi!” the boy said, waving a grubby hand, and Hailey smiled at him.

“Hello. What’s your name?”

“Simon. Are you the new Miss Laudin?”

Jordan grabbed his son and put him down. “Her name is Mrs. Rutherford. Simon will be in your class,” he told Hailey.

“I see!” She smiled broadly at her new pupil. “Nice to meet you, Simon! Maybe you can show me the way to school, then. Ms. Laudin told me it doesn’t take more than a couple of minutes to walk there.”