just go home with the excuse that he’d given her the wrong address.
Buoyed by this optimistic thought, she reached up to knock on the door. Only it swung wide-open at that moment, leaving her fist flailing in thin air.
“Hello, Rachel.”
Her hopes fell as she gazed up into a pair of incredible blue eyes. “Oh. It’s you.”
He braced one hand against the door frame, his mouth crooked up in a half smile. “Try not to sound so disappointed.”
“I’m not disappointed,” she lied, as he ushered her into the house.
“I thought we could have a drink together before our mystery date,” he said, taking her coat and hanging it on an oak hall tree. “Something to take the chill off.”
“Sure,” Rachel said, noting how handsome he looked in a pair of tan Dockers and a light blue oxford shirt. At least he hadn’t made any disparaging comments about her sweatshirt. Although, after all they’d been through together, a few well-aimed insults might make her feel more comfortable.
“I’ll be right back,” he promised as he headed toward the kitchen.
“Take your time,” she called after him. Take all the time in the world. Unfortunately she knew he’d be back eventually. She really didn’t want to sit in front of his blazing fireplace, drinking cognac. It seemed too cozy. Too intimate. Especially since she wanted to get this date over with as soon as possible.
Previous experience had taught her the less time she spent with Drew, the better. Especially since their meetings always led to disaster. She shuddered to think what catastrophe lay ahead for them this evening. Maybe she should revise her plans and make their date at the nearest bomb shelter.
Drew returned to the living room holding two steaming mugs. “I hope you like hot apple cider.”
So much for cognac in front of the fire. Maybe she was making too much of this date. Maybe she’d made way too much of that kiss. Maybe neither one meant anything to him.
“Yes, thank you,” she said, as she took the cup out of his hands. Then she looked around his spacious living room, hoping some polite conversation might loosen her up. “This house is so unique. I wasn’t sure I had the right address. It seems like an old spinster lady should live here.”
He smiled. “Don’t let my mother hear you say that. She’s only fifty-five.”
“She lives here?” Rachel asked, noticing for the first time the light, feminine touches around the room. The gingham throw pillows. The scented candles. The blue satin garter belt on the floor in the corner.
“No, but she owns the house. She’s a Realtor and buys gems like these herself when they go on the market. I’m just leasing it from her.”
“Well, you’ve done a great job of decorating,” she said, stirring her cider with a cinnamon stick.
“Thanks, but I don’t deserve all the credit. Sheila did most of it. She’s an interior designer.”
“Sheila?”
“An old girlfriend.” He took a sip of apple cider. “She decorated all the rooms. Even took pictures to use in her portfolio.”
“I’m impressed,” Rachel said honestly, then noticed a framed photograph of the house at sunset, hanging on the far wall. “Wow, great picture. Did she take that one, too?”
Drew followed her gaze. “Carmen took that one. She’s a free-lance photographer.”
Rachel looked back at Drew. “Carmen?”
He cleared his throat. “Another old girlfriend.”
“Before, during, or after Sheila?” she asked, feeling a totally inappropriate prick of jealousy.
“After,” he said firmly. Then he picked up a red, heart-shaped box of candy off the coffee table. “Chocolate?”
Rachel smiled sweetly. “Thanks, but I gave it up for Valentine’s Day.”
He put down the box, shaking his head. “Rachel, this boycott is just plain nuts. You have to know that. I mean, you’re a therapist. Doesn’t boycotting an international holiday seem a little extreme?”
“Not when you live in Love, Michigan, where the
Buoyed by this optimistic thought, she reached up to knock on the door. Only it swung wide-open at that moment, leaving her fist flailing in thin air.
“Hello, Rachel.”
Her hopes fell as she gazed up into a pair of incredible blue eyes. “Oh. It’s you.”
He braced one hand against the door frame, his mouth crooked up in a half smile. “Try not to sound so disappointed.”
“I’m not disappointed,” she lied, as he ushered her into the house.
“I thought we could have a drink together before our mystery date,” he said, taking her coat and hanging it on an oak hall tree. “Something to take the chill off.”
“Sure,” Rachel said, noting how handsome he looked in a pair of tan Dockers and a light blue oxford shirt. At least he hadn’t made any disparaging comments about her sweatshirt. Although, after all they’d been through together, a few well-aimed insults might make her feel more comfortable.
“I’ll be right back,” he promised as he headed toward the kitchen.
“Take your time,” she called after him. Take all the time in the world. Unfortunately she knew he’d be back eventually. She really didn’t want to sit in front of his blazing fireplace, drinking cognac. It seemed too cozy. Too intimate. Especially since she wanted to get this date over with as soon as possible.
Previous experience had taught her the less time she spent with Drew, the better. Especially since their meetings always led to disaster. She shuddered to think what catastrophe lay ahead for them this evening. Maybe she should revise her plans and make their date at the nearest bomb shelter.
Drew returned to the living room holding two steaming mugs. “I hope you like hot apple cider.”
So much for cognac in front of the fire. Maybe she was making too much of this date. Maybe she’d made way too much of that kiss. Maybe neither one meant anything to him.
“Yes, thank you,” she said, as she took the cup out of his hands. Then she looked around his spacious living room, hoping some polite conversation might loosen her up. “This house is so unique. I wasn’t sure I had the right address. It seems like an old spinster lady should live here.”
He smiled. “Don’t let my mother hear you say that. She’s only fifty-five.”
“She lives here?” Rachel asked, noticing for the first time the light, feminine touches around the room. The gingham throw pillows. The scented candles. The blue satin garter belt on the floor in the corner.
“No, but she owns the house. She’s a Realtor and buys gems like these herself when they go on the market. I’m just leasing it from her.”
“Well, you’ve done a great job of decorating,” she said, stirring her cider with a cinnamon stick.
“Thanks, but I don’t deserve all the credit. Sheila did most of it. She’s an interior designer.”
“Sheila?”
“An old girlfriend.” He took a sip of apple cider. “She decorated all the rooms. Even took pictures to use in her portfolio.”
“I’m impressed,” Rachel said honestly, then noticed a framed photograph of the house at sunset, hanging on the far wall. “Wow, great picture. Did she take that one, too?”
Drew followed her gaze. “Carmen took that one. She’s a free-lance photographer.”
Rachel looked back at Drew. “Carmen?”
He cleared his throat. “Another old girlfriend.”
“Before, during, or after Sheila?” she asked, feeling a totally inappropriate prick of jealousy.
“After,” he said firmly. Then he picked up a red, heart-shaped box of candy off the coffee table. “Chocolate?”
Rachel smiled sweetly. “Thanks, but I gave it up for Valentine’s Day.”
He put down the box, shaking his head. “Rachel, this boycott is just plain nuts. You have to know that. I mean, you’re a therapist. Doesn’t boycotting an international holiday seem a little extreme?”
“Not when you live in Love, Michigan, where the
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