Diesel slid a look at me… like maybe he could cook if there was incentive.

"Jeez," Charlene said.

Diesel crossed the kitchen, poured himself a mug of coffee, and slouched against a counter. "There were a bunch of rejected men in your file," he said to Charlene. "Why did you reject them?"

"They rejected me. Too many cats. Too many kids. Too old. Too boring."

"So we need to find someone who likes kids," Diesel said. His attention wandered to a cat sleeping on the counter in front of the toaster. "And animals."

"Beyond that, what kind of man do you want?" I asked Charlene.

"Rich?"

"Would you settle for mildly successful?"

"Here's the thing," Charlene said. "I don't want to settle at all. I was serious yesterday when I said I don't have the time or energy for a man right now. I have soup stock cooking on the stove and a week's worth of laundry sitting in the basement next to the washing machine. I have two kids upstairs, listening to rap and figuring out how they can bypass the parental controls on the television. I have a pregnant cat that I know is in the house somewhere but haven't been able to find for two days. My deadbeat ex-husband is learning to surf and living on the beach in Santa Barbara and hasn't sent child support in over a year, so I'm working at the DMV instead of staying home and keeping my kids from turning into juvenile delinquents. I don't need a man. I need a housewife."

"We're counting down to Valentine's Day," I told Charlene. "Let's get the man taken care of first, and then maybe we can work on the housewife."

Charlene turned the flame up under the stockpot. "What would it take to make you go away?"

"A date," Diesel said. "We find you a man, you go out with him, and we leave."

"Is that a promise?" Charlene asked.

"Maybe," Diesel said.

"You have to give us some guidelines," I said to Charlene. "Be honest. What are you really looking for in a man?"

Charlene took a moment. "A good man," she said. "Someone who fits with me. Someone comfortable."

The cat got up, stretched on the counter, turned, and attempted to settle itself next to the stove. Its tail flicked into the open flame under the soup stock and instantly caught fire. The cat let out a yowl and jumped from the stove to the table. The black Lab that had been sleeping under the table lunged to its feet and went after the flaming cat.

We were all jumping around, trying to catch the cat, trying to avoid the flaming tail. The Lab slid into a table leg and yelped, Diesel grabbed the cat and dumped a quart of orange juice on him, and I slapped out a burning placemat.

"Hard to believe someone would think you were boring," Diesel said to Charlene.

"Somethings wrong with Blackie," the red-haired kid said, looking under the table at the Lab. "He's making whiny sounds and holding his leg funny."