Chapter 2

Nicole

With my fork, I pushed the linguine around on my plate, searching for the other succulent, this-date-wasn’t-a-complete-waste-of-time scallop. There had to be another one—just had to be.

I lifted a forkful of pasta, unearthing the desired prize, and speared the tender morsel, vaguely aware of my date droning on. Before I’d tuned him out and focused on my food, he’d been blabbing nonstop about taxes, the excitement in his voice too over-the-top for his topic of choice.

I popped the scallop in my mouth. “Mmm.”

Carl’s eyes widened and his gaze dropped to my lips. It was only then that I figured out why. The scallops should’ve come with a warning: “The restaurant isn’t legally responsible for all erotic noises you might make while ingesting the food.” Oops.

“Heidi said you’re a florist.” Carl took a bite of his steak.

“Not a florist. That’s Heidi.” Whom I was personally going to kill for this dud of a date. Yes, Carl was good-looking and he fit my criteria for a future husband—especially the part about him being a professional with a steady job—but none of that made up for him being boring as hell. Correction: even hell would be more interesting than him.

“I’m part owner of Blooming Love with Heidi, but she’s the florist. I focus on the business side of things.” Thanks to my business degree.

His eyes brightened, and he whipped out a business card from his wallet and handed the nondescript card to me. “Do you have an accountant?”

My business card stayed firmly locked away in my purse. Not that it mattered. He knew where to find me. “I do the bookkeeping.”

“What about at tax time? Do you use an accountant for that?”

I nodded, fighting back a yawn, and shoved a forkful of linguine in my mouth. I had to just endure dinner, then I could go home and drown my bad-date sorrows in a carton of triple-fudge almond ice cream while watching Bruce Willis save his wife from Alan Rickman. Die Hard…the perfect end to a lousy night.

I sighed, the sound too soft to be heard over the restaurant chatter, the laughter, and the clinking of cutlery against ceramic. “Did you go anywhere this summer?” Always a safe question in situations like this.

“Yes. I spent a few days in San Francisco for a tax conference. It was a great write-off.”

“I bet.” In my head, a voice reminded me it didn’t matter if he was boring; maybe he might be interested in moving this date to the bedroom, and the evening wouldn’t be a total bust. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had sex. The drought had been that long. Heidi blamed it on my workaholic personality. It was hard to get laid when you were always working.

Another sigh slipped from between my lips, and I sipped my wine. Ice cream and Die Hard wouldn’t be enough to make up for tonight. I might have to add another glass of wine to the mix.

I finished my pasta while Carl explained something earth-shattering (his words, not mine) that had happened at the conference. “What kind of music do you enjoy?” I blurted out once he paused long enough to take a breath.

“Classical music and classic rock. What about you?”

“Country music.” I also liked some pop music, but mostly listened to country. This further proved that Carl and I were not fated to be together. We didn’t even like the same music.

I finished the final bite of my pasta and willed the waitress to return with our bill. Clearly I didn’t will hard enough. Several painfully long minutes ticked past before she came back to remove our empty plates.

“Would you like to order dessert?” she asked us.

“No, I’m good,” I said, faster than a rabbit being chased by a mountain lion, and counted down the seconds until Bruce Willis, the triple-fudge almond ice cream, and I could hang out together. Please don’t order anything else, I silently pleaded to Carl.

“Maybe you’d like to share something?” he asked.

I patted my flat stomach, hidden under my sexy black dress. The sexy black dress that Heidi had insisted I wear tonight. “I’m full.”

He winced, possibly understanding what I really meant, and asked for the bill. He paid for our food and drove me home, the entire time quizzing me on the store’s accounting strategy.

Forget another glass of wine. I needed a bottle of my finest ten-dollar-a-bottle white.

“I had a great time,” he said, walking me to my front door.

“Me too.” I sneaked a glance at the cloudless dark sky, with stars speckled across it. No lightning bolts appeared. I let out a relieved breath. “Well, it was nice meeting you.”

“You too.” Before I could take a step back, he leaned in to kiss me. I moved my head at the last second, and his lips missed mine and landed on my cheek. “I’ll call you.”

I translated that as “Don’t expect to hear from me again,” or maybe that was just wishful thinking. “Okay.”

His footsteps receded down the sidewalk as I unlocked the front door and turned the doorknob. Without looking back to see if he was watching, I pushed the door open. Or tried to. As usual, it refused to budge.

I’d been meaning to fix the problem for the past few months. And I would…as soon as I figured out how. In the meantime, I stuck with the proven method for opening the door. With a solid shove of my shoulder against the dark-stained wood, I pushed the door open.

Rubbing my shoulder with my fingers, I slipped inside the house.

After tonight, I didn’t care what Heidi said; there would be no more blind dates. Same deal with Cindy’s attempts to set me up. Before tonight, the last lame date, with a guy whose name currently eluded me, had been Cindy’s contribution to their goal of finding me a boyfriend who fit my criteria of the perfect man. Too bad the perfect man sounded a lot better on paper than he was proving to be in reality.

I flipped on the light switch. Darkness continued to embrace me. Great. The lightbulb had burned out last night, which I’d forgotten about. Fumbling around in the dark, I kicked off the black stilettos Heidi had also suggested I wear tonight.

Fortunately, the light on the stairs was still working. I walked upstairs to my bedroom and grabbed my pajama bottoms with the cute pandas on them, as well as the white tank top with a matching panda on the front. Perfect post-bad-date clothing. In the bathroom I changed out of my dress, washed my face, and pulled my hair back into a messy ponytail.

My phone rang from where I was charging it in my bedroom. I ignored it, figuring it was Heidi wondering how the date had gone. I didn’t have the energy to tell her. Instead, I entered the kitchen and headed for the freezer—and my date for the remainder of the night.

The doorbell rang, and for a second I considered ignoring it. But even with the hallway light not working, whoever was outside could tell someone was home. And if it was one of my neighbors, I didn’t want to be rude.

I walked down the hallway, the only illumination coming from the kitchen behind me, and yanked the front door open, using my body weight to help me. Beatrice, my sixty-five-year-old neighbor, was standing in the glow of the porch light. She was the same sixty-five-year-old widow who had baked me cookies the day I’d moved into the tiny old house. The same sixty-five-year-old widow who had shared on more than one occasion her dating wisdom. Too bad for me it originated from the 1800s…or close enough.

“Hello, my dear,” she said. “I saw that your gentleman friend dropped you off, and I wanted to talk to you before you went to bed. Is this a good time?”

I could practically hear the ice cream groan from the freezer. “Sure, it’s fine.” I stepped away from the door to let her in. “Sorry, the hallway light doesn’t work.”

She peered up at the porch light, where tiny gray moths were going berserk, fluttering around it. “That’s all right. We can talk out here. I won’t be long. I just wanted to tell you that my medical appointment in L.A. was moved up to tomorrow, and I was wondering if you could look after Bernie while I’m away.” Bernie was her dog. “I’ll be back in five days.”

“That’s fine. I love spending time with him.” At least he would be a more enjoyable “date” than the guys I’d gone out with lately. And at the rate I was going, he was the closest thing so far to my goal of a husband, two-point-four kids, a dog, and a cat.

“And he loves spending time with you,” she said. “I’m leaving at seven-fifteen tomorrow morning, but I won’t have time to take him for his daily walk.”

“I’ll take him.”

“You’re such a dear. I don’t know what I would do without you. So, tell me…how did the date go?” At my grimace, she chuckled and patted my shoulder. “Don’t worry, Nicole. You’re a sweet and beautiful woman. You’ll find your Prince Charming one day soon.”

Forget Prince Charming. I just wanted a man who wasn’t anything like my father. Hence my list of what I was looking for in a man, the top four traits being that he was a professional with a good steady job, didn’t have any bad habits or addictions, was kind, and had a good sense of humor. Heidi had added the requirement that his life not revolve around his job. She’d spoken from experience when it came to her own father.

Beatrice left and I closed the door. As I was heading back to the kitchen, my doorbell rang again. Figuring she’d remembered some instructions she’d forgotten to tell me, I returned to the door and yanked it open…then blinked.

Instead of my neighbor, a man who was easily six inches taller than me stood on the porch. Even in the poor lighting, his skin was a gorgeous warm brown. Shaved-short black hair peeked from under a gray beanie, something I could’ve guaranteed tonight’s date from hell wouldn’t have been caught dead wearing. Too bad for him. There was a slight chance I had a thing for men in beanies.

Okay, make that a big chance.

The stranger’s T-shirt stretched across his defined chest and shoulder muscles and revealed strong, tattooed arms. With his lush, sexy lips and chocolate-brown eyes, he was sex-on-a-stick and then some.

Except sex-on-a-stick looked very familiar.

“Mason?” That was all the Rolodex in my brain could come up with when it came to his name. But that was because I didn’t think Zack had ever told me his last name. Mason had hung out at our place from time to time. Not enough so that we became good friends or anything. But enough to know that he was funny and a nice guy.

A nice guy who had a thing for cookies. Whenever I used to bake them, I swear he’d eat at least a dozen in a single sitting.

Mason gave me the once-over in a non-sleazy way, as if evaluating me for signs of injury. Once the appraisal was complete, his lips curled up to one side, possibly due to my panda pajamas. “Cute PJs.”

“I think so.” I grinned while several questions in my head battled it out—the number one being what Zack’s friend was doing here. As far as I knew, he didn’t live in Desert Springs. “If you’re looking for Zack, he’s off on another mission in Europe.” Being in the navy, he’d seen a lot more of the world than I had.

“Zack actually sent me to check up on you. He was worried about you. He’s been texting you, but you haven’t been responding.”

“I accidentally dropped my cellphone and apparently it didn’t appreciate the sidewalk making nice with it. I didn’t have a chance to get it fixed for several days, and only got it back today after work. I haven’t had a chance to read the messages yet.”

The smirk was back on his face. “That would do it.”

“You don’t live here now, do you?”

“No. L.A.”

“So you drove all this way from L.A. just to see if I was okay?” That sounded like the Mason I remembered. In high school, he had driven across the city to rescue Zack after his truck broke down while on a date.

“That’s right.”

And because of that, my next words came without a second thought. “I’m about to eat ice cream and watch Die Hard. You’re more than welcome to join me if you want.”