Afro Poetry Times

The Way To A Man's Heart

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TESS let out a huge sigh. “I just wanted to forget about the past six months and get on with my life,” she said to her friend Andrea. “Next time I get involved with a man I’m going to make sure he’s got a proper job and a reliable car. And I’m not even going to smile at a good-looking guy. They’re all so arrogant.”

Tess couldn’t believe how she’d fallen for Paul’s smooth charm. He’d just flown back to England, leaving her his rusting old sedan instead of the three months’ rent he owed.

“Forget men. You need to get out and do something creative,” Andrea said firmly. “Why not find out about evening painting classes?”

“Good idea,” Tess said. “Shall I make us some supper? Anger gives me an appetite.”

She boiled some spaghetti and opened a can of sauce. “Fast food, my favourite!” she grinned. Andrea took a forkful and grimaced. “Lucky you’ve got a cheerful personalit­y, Tess,” she said. “Because you’ll never win a man’s heart any other way.” “Okay, but admit it, I open a mean tin.” “Let’s open another bottle of wine as

well. Maybe you should try cookery classes.” THE college secretary shook her head. “The cookery course is full, I’m afraid,” she said. “Why not try something else?” Tess ran her eye down the list. Russian History, City Gardening, Computers for Dummies, Basic Car Maintenanc­e . . . Car Maintenanc­e!

Exactly what she needed. She couldn’t afford to get Paul’s old banger fixed profession­ally but if she could learn enough to make it run properly again . . .

“Excuse me, where do I find one of those forms?”

On her personal Gorgeous scale of one to 10, this man with dark hair and the deepest blue eyes she’d ever seen was nine and half, and Tess scowled at him.

“Last year I did pottery,” he smiled, undeterred. “This year it’s Car Maintenanc­e.”

“Really? That’s the course I’m doing!” She stifled a little electric shiver. This man was obviously a practised charmer like Paul and probably flashed that friendly smile at anything in a skirt.

“Really?” he said approvingl­y. “Most girls don’t like getting their hands dirty.”

“I’m not all that crazy about the idea myself,” she confessed. “But asking a mechanic just to lift the bonnet costs money. Never mind what they find after that.”

“Well, I look forward to seeing you Wednesday evening. It says here we should wear old clothes.”

He picked up his briefcase and saluted a jaunty farewell.

Tess wished she could wear something floral and feminine but she’d probably be brandishin­g a spanner and discussing gearboxes. Anyway, she planned to concentrat­e on short, plain men for a change.

TO HER surprise, Tess loved the classes. The teacher, Alfie, had looked at her dubiously when she introduced herself. “Interested in cars, are you, Miss?” he asked.

“No, but I need to know how to fix mine,” she said.

Blue-Eyes introduced himself as Richard, looking fabulous in a pair of crisp new

overalls.

They all stood round gazing down at the engine of a car. Alfie explained what the various parts did and Tess was impressed.

“Pistons compressin­g fuel and igniting sparks that push the pistons up and down . . . So all this was going on behind the dashboard?” Tess said.

“Fascinatin­g,” Richard added. “And so shiny. What’s this bottle for?”

“You’re joking, right?” Alfie asked. “That’s the windscreen water.” “Sorry,” Richard mumbled. By the time the class ended, Tess realised car maintenanc­e was going to be easy.

“Fancy a coffee?” Richard called after her. He caught up with Tess outside. “Let’s walk to the café on the corner.”

Over cappuccino­s, they chatted for ages about everything under the sun. Apart from his gorgeous blue eyes and irresistib­le charm, she had to admit this man was practicall­y perfect. He had a quirky sense of humour and his good-looking face broke into an easy smile. She discovered they shared the same tastes in books, films and food. He claimed to be able to cook too, although she thought that was stretching perfection a bit far.

They ended the evening with a date to see a new French film on Saturday and Richard walked Tess back to her car, which was rusting away quietly under a lamppost.

ON THE phone the next morning, Andrea was pessimisti­c. “I thought those good-looking guys were a nono?” she said. “They are, but Richard’s exceptiona­l. Anyway, if he turns out all right, you can meet him.”

Richard turned out to be very much all right. They had dinner after the film at a little Vietnamese restaurant and the following day they went for a long walk along the river.

“He and I are just so compatible, Andrea,” Tess burbled. “Did I tell you he’s in computers?”

“Employment is always a plus,” Andrea said. “But you’ve fallen in love with a Greek god. Again.”

I suppose I have, Tess thought gloomily. It’s the only reason I could’ve been crazy enough to invite him for a homecooked meal. She pictured flickering candleligh­t, with a cordon bleu plate of whatever on the table and Richard’s rapturous in his appreciati­on of her cooking talents. Maybe if I just follow the recipe this time . . .

It didn’t work out like that. The evening before she’d found a recipe called Hunter’s Pot, marked with a star to show that even beginner cooks could handle it. Beef, baby onions, garlic and bacon, smothered in red wine and herbs – it sounded foolproof and delicious.

But she hadn’t noticed the last line: “Casserole slowly for three hours.”

Richard was very understand­ing about nibbling peanuts until nearly midnight.

“Okay,” Tess said, prodding the blackened bits of rubber in defeat. “My guilty secret. I can’t cook.”

He opened the windows to let out the smell of burning. “Casseroles need a very low heat. Don’t worry, there’s more to life than cooking.”

He was right. They’d had a most enjoyable evening.

The car maintenanc­e classes got better and better. Alfie had them strip down a carburetto­r, then they took turns assembling it again while he timed them with a stopwatch.

With no effort, Tess finished fastest and earned a grunt of approval from Alfie.

“Must be my small fingers,” she said apologetic­ally to Richard, who was a lot slower.

Tess felt quite smug at her grasp of things mechanical. After the third lesson she’d worked out the trouble with her own car – a blocked fuel pump. It had taken her 10 minutes to fix and Richard had been ridiculous­ly full of admiration.

THEY were hanging out at Richard’s place. “My turn to make supper tomorrow. How about Italian?” he offered. Bet he opens a can of sauce, Tess thought. But his starter with feta cheese and fresh basil was divine, and his tagliatell­e bake with olives, ricotta cheese and baby spinach was the best thing she’d ever tasted.

They ate off colourfull­y glazed plates he’d made himself the year before.

“I’ve always loved cooking,” he said, whipping two creamy zabaglione from the fridge.

“From now on you can do the cooking and I’ll do the washing up,” Tess quipped.

“That sounds like a good long-term strategy,” Richard said.

But they ended up on the sofa without washing up, and much later they made espresso to go with the delicious little biscuits called Italian kisses Richard had bought. At midnight he walked her to her car. “I’ll phone you tomorrow,” he said, although his lingering kiss invited her back upstairs.

She gave a little farewell toot, drove 10m and the engine cut out.

“I know what the problem is,” she said cheerfully. “My fuel pump’s blocked again. Have you any tools, Richard? I can fix it in a jiff with a screwdrive­r.” “Sorry, I don’t have any.” Strange, Tess thought, most men have a few basic tools.

He helped her push the car to the side of the road and said, “There’s a bus stop round the corner – I’ll walk you there.”

“How about a lift?” Tess asked. “Buses don’t run after midnight.” Richard shoved his hands in his pockets and said guiltily, “Okay, so you’ve discovered my guilty secret – I haven’t got a car. I don’t drive.”

“What?” She couldn’t believe it. “Why are you doing in car maintenanc­e then?”

“Because you’re there, actually,” he said simply. “I intended to try Russian History but when I saw you in the office I just decided to apply for whatever course you were doing.”

Tess was speechless with happiness. “You idiot!”

Richard hugged her tightly. “Actually, I almost didn’t. I was so sure someone as gorgeous as you wouldn’t look at me twice.”

Mechanical­ly challenged and not too bright. She could live with that.

“Do you think that if we were to get serious, you and me, that it would work?” Richard said carefully. “In a permanentl­y serious way, I mean. I could do the cooking and . . . ”

“And I’ll look after the car,” said Tess. “I think that could work very well.”

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