Wyoming Sweethearts by Jillian Hart

involved with being regional manager.” He repeated the title, as if simplyto hear himself say it. “After that, I could go after the sectional manager position. I have a lot of advancement opportunities, unlike you. That’s the problem with thinking small. You have to find a job with room to move.”
    “Clearly.” Yes, that was her problem. She rolled her eyes. She thought too small. Glad she’d met George so she could learn that. She took a bite of grilled chicken and resisted the urge to glance at the clock on the wall behind her. How was it possible that time could move this slowly? Surely the evening was almost over—and the date.
    But no, George went right on talking.
    “I have a ten-year plan.” He precisely speared a perfectly cubed piece of steak with his fork.
    “A ten-year plan to be sectional manager?” She tried to listen, she really did, but Sean’s magnetism pulled at her attention like he was a black hole sucking up all the gravity in the room. It was his fault, not hers, her gaze slipped just a few inches to the left to bring the farthest booth into her peripheral vision.
    Sean. Her hand tingled as she remembered the comfort he’d given her today. She hadn’t planned to open up to him or to anyone. She would rather keep the truth behind her breakup with Gerald bottled inside where it was easier to deny. Hearing herself tell part of the story to Sean had helped and she felt better. He’d been easy to talk to.
    “No, ten years to realize my plan of being the manager of the entire western half of the country.” George chewed exactly twenty-two times before continuing. “I have a deep understanding of paper products and I want to bring that to the world.”
    “Good for you.” She set down her fork, truly able tosay she was no longer hungry.
Lord, please let this date come to an end.
    “Oh, a spill. Here, let me.” He scooped up his napkin, reached across the table and dabbed at the base of her water glass. He swiped away the few drops of perspiration that had trickled onto the faded Formica as if it were the Ebola virus needing to be eradicated. He wasn’t pleased until he had used a handful of paper napkins from the dispenser to dry off every streak. Once he was satisfied he had decontaminated the site thoroughly, he gave a nod and continued. “I’ll be right on schedule if I land the regional position. The key to success is to set short achievable goals that lead you to the end goal.”
    The waitress must have spotted her distress because she padded over, sneakers squeaking on the tile, and dropped the check on the edge of the table. “Hey, there, Eloise. Do you two need anything else?”
    “No, absolutely not,” she answered before George could debate the dessert options. It had taken him over twenty minutes to decide on the original meal. The sooner this experience was over, the better. “Thanks, Connie.”
    She wasn’t surprised when George lifted his knife to check his hair in the blade’s reflection. He finger-combed a few locks and reached into his pocket.
    “You won’t mind if we go Dutch, will you?” He tossed her what he probably thought was a charming grin, but it fell far short of the caliber of charm she was used to. He shrugged. “I mean, you understand.”
    Gladly, she opened her purse and tugged out enough bills to cover her portion and a generous tip. She was just happy the torture was over. “It was interesting meeting you, George.”
    “So I’ve been told.” He apparently took everything as a compliment. He squinted at the bill, stopped to do the math in his head and reached into his pocket for coins. He left exact change and no tip. He stood and as he watched her do the same, he couldn’t quite hide the distaste when his gaze landed on her cane. “Nice meeting you, Eloise.”
    She clutched her cane’s grip, waiting to move until he was safely away from her. From the moment he’d spotted her cane leaning against the window sill, the date had come to a