“She likes my tattoos and great hair,” I say to Miguel as I use a roller to coat yellow paint over the walls of the diner’s main room. I think Gwen’s going to love it.

Miguel chuckles and turns his baseball cap backward. He and I are the only ones working today. I know he’s got a good heart and he wants to help out, but I’m pretty sure he actually came here because he wants the goods on my date with Gwen. Little does he know that I’m not going to tell him everything, like how much she had to drink or about innocently sharing a bed with me or about that sweet little kiss she barely planted on me before she passed out. Big Ears ain’t getting any of that.

He picks up a roller and dips it into a tray of paint as he inspects me. “You don’t have the look of a man who got some tail. You seem a little tense, like your cock is going to explode after a night of trying to beat back a case of blue balls. But, gee, as long as she likes your tats and hair …”

“Stop fishing around for details. Gwen and I had fun, and that’s the end of it.”

“When’re you taking her out again?”

I dip my roller, then concentrate on painting.

“Did she tell you to get lost?” Miguel hoots. “Brother, it must be Groundhog Day for your poor, aching dick.”

I only smile. It’s true Gwen denied me on the phone when I asked for a second date. She even hung up on me. But the fact remains that she admitted she likes my tats and hair. Oh, and one more minor thing — she fucking kissed me. Sure, she didn’t know what she was doing at the time, but I’d say a kiss means that I’ve made inroads. I’m going to get all the way under that cool skin of hers if it’s the last thing I do, and that means not calling her or pushing her to go out with me again, because Gwen clearly works on her own time. I’ll just let things simmer, then dangle something fun and shiny in front of her until she feels the compulsion to grab at it. I’ll win her over … at least for as long as I’m around town.

“The thing about Gwen,” I say as I keep painting, “is that she has single-mom syndrome.”

“What?” Miguel looks dismayed. “She’s got a baby? As if she wasn’t difficult enough.”

“No, man, she just has too much to do, too many people to take care of, and nobody to take care of her. I grew up with that, so I see the signs.”

“Ah. I know where this is going.” He’s frowning now, and I know he’s thinking of the women in my past, the ones I just had to rescue.

“It’s not the same,” I say.

We paint with only the jukebox playing some soft Miranda Lambert in the background. I’m not going to repeat the mistakes of my past, because even though Gwen tweaks my savior button, she’s not like the others, especially Debra — women from the same troubled background I was. Gwen has pulled her way out of the dirt, even if life still isn’t easy for her.

Miguel and I paint over a lot of area in a short time, and it’s only when the door opens that both of us pull our focus from the job. When I see Gwen walk in wearing a pair of Levi’s and one of her henleys, lust chops through me. I carefully set down my roller before I drop it. She doesn’t look as tired as I thought she might, what with all that wine she imbibed. Fuck, she looks great with that new, relaxed hairstyle and that long, lean body.

She shoves her hands into her front pockets, hunching her shoulders a bit, nodding at me, then at Miguel. I send a slow look to my friend, and he puts down his roller and walks toward the door.

“Good time for a break,” he says much too loudly. “I’m taking a nice afternoon walk, Bossman.”

“Make it a long one, Miguel.”

And that leaves me alone with the music on the jukebox and the ice queen.

I loosely cross my arms over my chest. “You don’t look hungover.” Hell, couldn’t I have found something a little more charismatic to open with?

She doesn’t seem to mind. “Grace finally picked me up when I was halfway home, and after that, I slept like the dead.”

“Did she give you a hard time for staying out all night with me?”

She laughs and then flushes, and the same kind of red heat tears into my gut, mixing me up something fierce.

She strolls toward me. “I set Grace straight and told her the only thing that went on last night was me falling face first into a vat of wine.”

“So you told her nothing happened?” I grin. “I seem to remember a little something going on just before you passed out.”

I don’t know why I said that either. Somehow she’s got me running in circles, chasing the right thing to say but never catching it.

She blushes even more. I shouldn’t have mentioned that tiny kiss she planted on me, but, damn me, I actually want to know if she remembers it. She obviously does, and while I wait for her to admit to doing it, my skin prickles. Then I realize that this guarded woman is really embarrassed.

“Don’t worry about it, Gwen,” I finally say. “You were well and truly sauced at the time.”

“Yeah. I …” She’s about to add something, but then she only nods toward the paint job and changes the subject. “That looks great.”

Maybe she’ll tell me what she was about to say if I draw her out. “Glad you like it.”

“I just feel bad that you and Miguel are out here working on a Saturday.”

“I don’t mind.”

She looks at the wall some more, then seems to make a decision. When she goes for Miguel’s roller, I hold up my hand.

“Hey, now. Why don’t you just kick back and enjoy your staycation?”

“You shouldn’t be doing all the work. Besides, I want to help.” She sends me a just-watch-me-do-this smile and coats her roller in paint. When she starts coloring the wall with smooth strokes, her hips move with the motion. I’m dying like a motherfucker here, and even though the plan was to play it smooth, I go stand right behind her.

She hesitates with the roller against the wall, then slowly starts up again.

“Missed a spot.” And that’s a load of bullshit, too, but it gives me an excuse to slide my hand onto her arm and guide her a bit to the right. I can feel how warm and soft she is even through her shirt. I can feel her muscles tighten and hear how she isn’t breathing now. I feel the same strained awareness running through me, and I’m not used to holding my breath like this at all.

Cool it or get another plan, I think.

I get another plan, because I’m running too hot. Hotter.

“I’ll tell you what.” I guide her arm down, and the hiss of paint on wood seems to whisper through the room. “I’ll let you work on one condition.”

She lets out a long, wobbly breath. I’m so close that she must feel my chest heating her back, even though I’m still an inch away from her. My skin vibrates, and the smell of her hair makes me drunk now.

“You have another condition?” she asks. “That sounds familiar.”

As she moves the roller up the wall, I slow down her arm. We both pause.

Then I say, “I’ll let you help if you let me take you out again.”

I don’t know if letting her paint a wall is quite the shiny object I meant to dangle in front of her, but there it is.

She hesitates some more, and that probably means I should take my hand away from her arm, but I let it rest there. She doesn’t make a move to distance herself.

“No wine will be involved this time,” I say. “I promise.”

She hasn’t shut me down yet. In fact, I think it’s still an effort for her to breathe. I feel the same way, just like oxygen is suddenly in short supply in this room. I gather enough of it up to talk again.

“I know a couple places in Marloe to take a girl who needs some fun and relaxation.” I lower my voice. “There’s even a great used bookstore there.”

She turns her head slightly, not enough to look at me, but enough for me to know that something bright and lovely caught her attention.

Just a little bit more, and I’ll have her. “And here’s another promise: I won’t lay a finger on you all night.” As if to prove my good intentions, I lift my hand from her arm, then go back to my own pan, coating the roller with paint and starting to work again as if any answer she gives me is fine. I am so casual that I could tutor George Fucking Clooney in cool.

She starts to paint again, then finally says, “So there’s a bookstore involved?”

“With first editions, mahogany shelves, and huge, comfortable reading chairs. So I hear.”

I slide her another grin. She’s got the hint of a smile on her face as she goes back to work.

“All right, let’s give it a whirl. But only because I need some books.”

Yeah, she probably needs more books like she needs lessons in denial, but I don’t push my luck by teasing her.

I only start planning for this second chance to defrost her.