“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.”

“Stop it,” Mo admonishes, her voice cracking via Bluetooth through the speaker of my car. “He’s nice.”

Monroe Gallagher has been my best friend for as long as I can remember. She’s seen me through every up, down, twist, and turn life has thrown my way, and I love her to pieces, which is why I don’t strangle her every time she tries to set me up with some guy.

“He’s your accountant, Mo. This is so cliché.”

“And he’s a damn good accountant. Plus, he’s cute, and nothing about this is cliché.”

“What if he has some weird foot fetish you don’t know about?”

“He’s not weird—although the foot fetish is entirely possible. I did notice him paying extra attention to my shoes during our last meeting.”

“I’m calling him to cancel.”

“I’m joking.” She laughs. “You’re not canceling. Come on, Claire, trust me. I wouldn’t set you up with a weirdo. Joseph is a nice, stable guy.”

Joseph Berry. Twenty-seven. Accountant. Never married. No kids. And I let Mo talk me into going on a date with him. It’s the fourth date I’ve been on in four months—with a different guy every time. Each one has been better than the last, but still no one with potential longevity.

I guess this is what happens when you’re pushing thirty and your best friend decides to settle down; she suddenly feels the need to play matchmaker.

I think back on all the guys I’ve dated over the years. Each one was dependable, with a steady, safe job that would ensure he came home every night, and enough social politeness to get along with my group of friends. What more could a girl ask for? Except maybe some wild, hot sex and orgasms that aren’t self-delivered. Unfortunately, those relationships failed due to lack of attraction. Mostly on my part, but whatever.

Maybe Joseph will be different.

Oh hell, who am I kidding? He’s the same type of guy I always go after; there’s no way he’s going to be different—suit pants perfectly pressed, hair coifed with just enough gel to leave you wondering if he used any, and a bright smile. How do I know this? Instagram. Yup, that’s right. I stalked him before agreeing to this date, and the only thing I could find wrong was an overabundance of pictures of him and his mother.

But that’s not always a bad thing, right?

Shit. I haven’t even met Joseph, and I already know things with him will fall into the same boring category as they do with every other guy I meet. My love life is absolutely pathetic.

Maybe it’s time I step out of my box. With each date I tell myself this, yet nothing has changed.

“Maybe I don’t want nice or stable,” I announce, unsure if I’m trying to convince myself or Mo.

I can practically hear her roll her eyes through the phone. “Come on, Claire. We all know that other than the teeny-tiny crush you’ve had on Trevor, you’ve never had a thing for anyone who doesn’t fit into your neat, perfect box.”

Trevor Allen. Twenty-five. Firefighter. Ladies’ man. Little brother to two of my best friends—Cooper and Rhett Allen—and he’s been in my life for years. Most people wouldn’t find anything wrong with Trevor’s statistics. In fact, he’s one of Heaven’s hottest bachelors, but to me they read more like this: Trevor Allen. Four years younger than me. Unsafe job that doesn’t guarantee he’ll come home at night. Afraid to commit. And to top it off, he also works at his dad’s ranch, and I’ll have you know ranching is listed as one of the top-ten most dangerous jobs in America.

I never thought of Trevor as anything more than my friends’ little brother. I thought he was cute in a scrawny sort of way—until I moved back after college. I’ll never forget walking out of the grocery store and running into him. Literally. My fruit went flying, along with my brain cells when I looked up and up into his bright blue eyes. That puny kid had turned into a chiseled hunk of man. Square jaw, straight nose, thick black lashes, and a smile made to drop panties.

I haven’t quite been the same since.

I frown. Putting on my blinker, I make a left turn. “There is no neat, perfect box.”

“Bullshit. What about Hot Cop? Remember him?”

How could I forget? Phillip Rodriguez—also known as Hot Cop—pulled me over for speeding. With a sexy smile that probably ensured he got whatever the hell he wanted, he offered me a date or a citation. Much to Mo’s dismay, I graciously accepted the ticket and vowed never to speed again.

“And what about Dean Weathers?”

Sigh. Dreamy Dean. He was three years older than us. After high school, he went off to become a professional race car driver—and succeeded. Everyone in town worships him, proudly supporting his #2 car on their hats and T-shirts. I even jump on the bandwagon from time to time. I’ve tuned in to a few of his races. Anyway, Dean came home last year for his grandmother’s funeral. We met up at the coffee shop, had a delightful conversation, and when he asked me out, I politely declined. I could see that relationship speeding down the wrong track from a mile away.

No pun intended.

“Blake Mathews,” Mo says, ticking off another name on the long list of Opportunities Missed by Claire.

Beautiful Blake. Typical surfer. With long blond hair most women would swoon over, he practically invented the man-bun, long before it ever became a thing. Tall, broad shoulders, blue eyes, and a perfect sun-kissed tan, he is every woman’s fantasy—mine included, until he went off and became a pilot.

“Tucker Adams.”

“Okay, okay, I get it. You can stop with names.”

I realize I’ve been a tad irrational, but I’ve also seen what the death of a spouse looks like. My father was a firefighter. Thirteen years ago, his crew responded to a school up in flames. He saved several children’s lives that day and was killed when the building collapsed. His death left a gaping hole in my life—and my mother’s.

For years I lay in bed at night and listened to my mother cry. She cried for hours until her sobs turned into hiccups, and she’d eventually cry herself to sleep. A few times I snuck into her room afterward to find her clutching a picture of them on their wedding day.

I was constantly reminded of how much she lost. I lost my father—a man who had been a solid presence in my life for sixteen beautiful years. But Mom lost so much more than her husband. She lost her best friend, her confidant. She lost the person she ran to every time something good or bad happened in her life. They had twenty years of marriage between them and ten years of dating on top of that.

He was her hero—still is.

He’s also a town hero, a household name around these parts, and I miss him every single day. He looked out for Mom and me like we were the most precious beings in the world. I can still hear my father’s voice in my head telling me to be safe. It didn’t matter if I was going to school, outside to play, or the movies with friends.

Just be safe, Claire Bear. Whatever you do, use a level head and be safe.

I’ve carried those words with me, and somewhere along the way they morphed into so much more than a memory. They’ve become the golden rule in my life—one I try to live by every single day.

I could never survive that sort of loss and pain again—and I want to make my father proud—which is why I’ve made a conscious effort to follow his advice, even when it comes to dating. That’s why I date men whose jobs lean away from hazardous and more toward pencil pusher.

“Are you sure?” she says, laughing. “Because I’ve got several more I can throw out there.”

“Yes, I’m sure. I don’t need you to remind me of all the gorgeous men I’ve let slip away. But just because I prefer to date guys with nine-to-five desk jobs doesn’t mean I have a perfect little box.”

I’ve never been one to discriminate. I like men of all shapes, colors, and sizes as long as they have a job on my approved-occupation list.

“Fine, you don’t have a box.”

“Thank you. Now, I have to go because I’m almost to the restaurant.”

“Wait. You’re meeting him there? He didn’t come pick you up? Asshole. Just wait until I—”

“Whoa there, Fido. Calm down. He offered to pick me up, but I felt more comfortable meeting him since it’s our first date and all. You know him, but I don’t, and I’ll feel much safer knowing my car is in the parking lot if something goes wrong.”

“Good call. Although I don’t think anything will go wrong. Where are you guys eating?”

Oh boy. “Dirty Dicks.”

“What?” she screeches. I cringe, her voice piercing through the speakers. “Are you kidding me? He’s taking you to Dirty Dicks?”

“What’s wrong with Dirty Dicks?”

Not only does our best friend, Cooper, own the local tavern, he’s also the twin brother of Mo’s boyfriend, Rhett. The four of us were inseparable growing up, and while Mo and Rhett eventually ended up together romantically, Cooper and I did not. I couldn’t be happier for the lovebirds, except for the fact that now they think I need to be just as deliriously in love as they are.

“It’s a bar.”

“It’s a restaurant.” My argument is weak, but Mo is ruthless, and I’ll take what I can get.

“It’s a tavern, Claire. There will be drunk people everywhere, a DJ set up in the corner, and ten different sports playing across the TVs. That is not a good location for a first date. He should’ve taken you somewhere romantic, with low lighting and a corner booth.”

“I picked Dirty Dicks.”

There’s a pause. A long pause.

I look at my phone to make sure the call didn’t disconnect, and then Mo speaks.

“Of course you did,” she says, flatly.

I blow out a harsh breath as I pull into the parking lot. Putting the car in park, I shut off the engine and rest my head against the headrest. “I don’t like those stuffy restaurants for a first date. They hold too many expectations when I all I want to do is have fun and talk.”

“Coop will be there,” she says, probably trying to deter me.

“I figured he would be.”

“Probably Rhett and Trevor too. Maybe Rhett’s buddy Lincoln.”

My skin prickles at the thought of seeing Trevor. My only hope is he’s not there with a woman. It sure would suck to be stuck on a boring date and watch him having fun from afar.

See? I already know Joseph is going to be boring. Damn it. I should’ve backed out when I had the chance.

“Good. I’ll know there are four strapping men to protect me if something goes awry.”

“Jesus, Claire. He’s an accountant. What could possibly go awry?”

“You’d be surprised,” I mumble, remembering my date with Chad O’Reilly and his obsession with smelling my hair. I thought things were going well until I found him picking loose strands off of my coat and shoving them in his pocket. The memory makes me cringe, and I pray to any god that will listen that Joseph isn’t like Chad.

“Just promise me you’ll try. Give him a real shot.”

“Fine. I will. As long as you make me a promise.”

There’s another pause.

“What?” she asks.

“If things don’t work out with Joseph, I want you to back off. No more blind dates, and no more bugging me about my love life.”

Mo huffs. “I don’t bug you about your love life, and if I do it’s only because I want you to be happy.”

“I am happy, Mo. I love teaching first grade and volunteering at Bright Start, and I love helping you at Animal Haven. What I don’t love is constantly stressing over the fact that I’m almost thirty and single, and you make that stress worse.”

“I’m sorry,” she says, her voice much softer than before. “I’m not trying to stress you out.”

“I know you’re not, and I appreciate your valiant effort, but promise me, no more.”

“I promise.”

“Thank you. Now, speaking of Animal Haven, do you need my help tomorrow morning?”

Animal Haven is a local no-kill shelter Monroe inherited from her father, and since I don’t have much of a social life outside of work and Mo, I volunteer a lot of my free time there. Plus, who doesn’t love animals?

“Well, I guess that will depend on how tonight goes, won’t it?” she says with a little too much pep. “If things go well with Joseph and you know…you end up taking him home, then don’t worry about coming in. I can handle it.”

“You’re a slut.”

She barks out a short laugh because everyone in town knows that before Mo and Rhett found their way back to each other, she was never a slut. Far from it. In fact, some of us wondered if she’d ever date again.

“Only for Rhett,” she purrs.

Lovesick fool. “I’ll be in tomorrow morning as planned.”

“Fine. I’ll be there. I might even stay the night tonight. I’ve got a horse getting ready to deliver, and I need to be there when she does.”

“If you need me sooner, let me know.”

“I won’t need you sooner. Go, enjoy your date, have fun, and I want all the details.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I end the call, stuff my phone in my purse along with my keys, and step out of my car.

Here goes nothing.