Perfect for You (Short Story) (Fire and Icing)

Title Page

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Please enjoy this excerpt from Chapter One of SAVING YOU, by Jessie Evans, the fifth and final book in the Fire and Icing Series:

A Summerville Short Story

Fire and Icing Four

By Jessie Evans

Nothing is sweeter than a second chance…

When art teacher Dawn Fuller signed up for “Speed Dating with Doughnuts” in her new hometown of Atlanta, the most she hoped for was a night away from her empty apartment and a maple cruller—anything to distract her from the loneliness she has felt since her kids left for their first summer visitation with their father. But when the night arrives and Trent Baron, her former college nemesis, sits down across the Speed Dating table, Dawn realizes she may be getting more of a distraction than she bargained for.          
Trent Baron has come a long way from the backwards, small-minded college football player who used to argue with Dawn in Freshman Sociology. Now a devoted father and the owner of Atlanta’s most successful bike shop, divorced Trent is the kind of honest, supportive man that women dream about. But does he have what it takes to win the heart of his college crush?
Trent is determined to show Dawn that people can change, and that sometimes the perfect match comes along in an unexpected package.

Dedicated to Amber Presley Boyd,

thanks for the title and your enthusiasm for the books!

Other sexy, contemporary romances by Jessie Evans

The Summerville Novels

Always a Bridesmaid Series

BETTING ON YOU
(Always a Bridesmaid Book One)

KEEPING YOU
(Always a Bridesmaid Book Two)

WILD FOR YOU
(Always a Bridesmaid Book Three)

CATCHING YOU
(Always a Bridesmaid Four-Short Story)

TAKING YOU
(Always a Bridesmaid Five-Novella/Short Novel)

Fire and Icing Series

MELT WITH YOU
(Fire and Icing Book One)

HOT FOR YOU
(Fire and Icing Book Two)

SWEET TO YOU
(Fire and Icing Book Three)

PERFECT FOR YOU
(Fire and Icing Book Four-Short Story)

SAVING YOU
(Fire and Icing Book Five-Novella/Short Novel)

Cupid Island Novellas (Short Novels)

AUDITIONING YOU
(Cupid Island Two)

A Cupid Island Christmas Anthology
by Jessie Evans, Lila Ashe, and Ruby Laska

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ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

Copyright © 2014 Jessie D. Evans

This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the author. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously. Cover image by llaszlo for Shutterstock. Cover design by Bootstrap Designs. Editing by Edited Ever After Editorial.

Chapter One

Honk! Honk! Honk!
The antique car horn blared, signaling the end of the round and summoning a wave of laughter from the sixty or so singles gathered at The Atlanta Dough Company, the scene of Dawn Fuller’s most recent dating disaster.

She should have known better than to try Speed Dating with Doughnuts. Speed dating was speed dating. It was a miserable, dumb, embarrassing, mid-nineties way to spend a Saturday night, no matter how much fried dough and icing you added into the mix.

But she’d been so lonely after the kids left for their first four week summer visit with her ex that she’d allowed herself to be lured in by descriptions of new friendships formed over triple chocolate doughnut holes and maple glazed crullers with bacon crumble. She’d clicked the sign up link at the bottom of her
Atlanta Singles Weekly
email, and now, here she was, shifting tables, preparing to meet Weirdo Number Five.

Weirdo Number One had wiped his nose on his sleeve ten times in the five minutes they were allotted, Weirdo Number Two spent the entire time bragging about how much money he made, Weirdo Number Three smelled like sour milk and green onions and barely said a word except to ask Dawn if she was going to finish her slice of bear claw, and—after the server delivered cinnamon and chili pepper doughnut holes to table four—Weirdo Number Four had gone on and on about how cinnamon gave him a yeast infection in his mouth.

In his mouth.

To say her expectations were low would be an understatement.

Her expectations were down in the hull of a ship with a bad case of seasickness, huddled in a dark corner with their head under a blanket, praying for a quick end to the suffering.

And then her eyes met
his
—Weirdo Number Five—and her expectations let out a moan of anguish and hurled themselves out the porthole of the ship into the stormy sea, never to be heard from again.

For a moment, she dared to hope that she was mistaken, that this was simply a guy who looked like Trent Baron—a man with the same sky blue eyes and jaw hacked from a hunk of solid rock, but with more tattoos and piercings than her meathead nemesis from college.

But alas, the moment she slid into the seat across from him, the man’s eyes widened with recognition.

“Dawn Fuller?” He blinked several times, as if hoping that might make her disappear. “What are you doing here?”

Dawn was tempted to respond with a smartass remark—she and Trent hadn’t exchanged a civil word since Trent made the mistake of saying he thought feminist was another word for lesbian in their freshman Sociology class—but she couldn’t seem to muster up the energy.

Instead she let out a long sigh. “I honestly don’t know. Speed dating isn’t my thing. At all.”

Trent shook his head. “Mine either.” He waited for the server to finish dropping off their doughnut samples before adding beneath his breath, “This kind of stuff makes my skin crawl.”

“Ditto.” Dawn reached for her slice of doughnut, a raspberry truffle with mocha glaze that she hoped would dull the pain. “At least the doughnuts are good.”

“The doughnuts are great,” Trent agreed. “But so far the company…wasn’t what I was expecting, not in downtown Atlanta anyway.”

“Too many feminists?” Dawn asked, with a snort. “Women who talk too much and refuse to shave their legs?”

Trent’s lips curved wryly. “No, not too many feminists. The opposite, actually. I was hoping to meet a woman who had something on her mind aside from how much money I make, or whether I could bench press her weight at the gym, you know?”

“Is that right?” Dawn lifted one pierced brow, noticing that Trent had three piercings of his own, lined up in a row on the outer edge of his right eyebrow. Back in school, he’d made fun of Dawn’s piercings and tattoos, swearing she’d regret them by the time she was thirty. “Changed your mind about piercings, tattoos,
and
feminists then?”

Trent shrugged. “People do change after college, you know.”

“No, they don’t,” Dawn said, thinking of her ex-husband, who still enjoyed getting high and watching
SpongeBob SquarePants
as much as he had in high school, let alone college. “At least not most of the people I know.”

“Well, I’m not most people.” Trent crossed his thick forearms on top of the table, making it obvious he was every bit as beefy as he’d been in his early twenties. “Back then, I’d never been out of Harmony, Tennessee. I’d spent my entire life playing football with a bunch of good old boys and trying to impress my redneck father. It took some time for my mind to open up after all that, but it did…” He hesitated before adding in a cautious tone, “And I’ve always remembered you as one of the people who helped crack open the door.”

Now, it was Dawn’s turn to blink in surprise. “Really?”

“Really.” Trent’s grin softened his sharply angled face, making him look less like a warrior escaped from a military epic and more like one of those famous wrestlers who end up making Disney movies. “Thanks for taking the time to argue with me.”

“You’re…welcome,” Dawn said, hesitantly returning his smile, deciding maybe this night wasn’t a complete failure, after all.

It was nice to know she hadn’t been wasting her breath with Trent. It gave her hope that maybe some of the other times she’d insisted on speaking her truth—against her mother’s insistence that ladies don’t raise their voice, and it’s better to bite your tongue and look pretty than disagree with a man—might have been worthwhile.

If Trent had come around, almost anything seemed possible.

“So…I guess you and Dave split?” he asked, surprising her again.

“I can’t believe you remember his name,” Dawn said, brows drawing together. “I didn’t even realize you
knew
his name.”

“Of course I did.” Trent wiped the icing from his fingers with a napkin. “He picked you up after class every day.”

“He did, didn’t he…?” Dawn hummed thoughtfully, finding it hard to reconcile her memories of the college boyfriend who picked her up from class every day with the husband who preferred to eat his dinner in his home office instead of at the table with her and the kids.

She forced a smile. “Yeah, we split. Coming up on five years in August.”

“I’m sorry. Divorce sucks,” Trent said. “My ex and I split three years ago.”

Dawn sipped the coffee she’d been toting from table to table, wishing the conversation hadn’t gone down this road, though she was glad that she and Trent at least had something to say to each other.

“So do you do singles events often?” she asked, anything to change the subject.

He shook his head. “No, but in the past six months I’ve hit a brick wall with every woman I’ve tried to ask out. I figured I had to do something to turn things around. I’m starting to feel like a social leper.”

Dawn snorted. “Well, what are you saying to these women? Are you using cheesy pickup lines or something? Telling them their daddies stole the stars and put them in their eyes?”

“No, Dawn, I’m not in eighth grade,” Trent said, eyes narrowing, though a smile curved his full lips.

“Well you must be saying something wrong,” she said, brushing crumbs from the table. “There’s obviously nothing to complain about in the looks department.”

Trent’s eyes met hers and a spark of…something leapt between them, leaving Dawn feeling flustered. Trent had always been a good-looking guy—over six feet tall with dreamy blue eyes, chiseled features, and enough muscle to make sure the cheerleaders back in college fought for the chance to slobber all over him at parties—but he hadn’t been remotely her type.

He
still
wasn’t remotely her type. A few tattoos and piercings and a newly acquired appreciation for open-mindedness did not change that.

Did it?

“I’ve just been making conversation with them,” Trent said, clearing his throat as he reached for his own coffee. “I thought I was hitting it off with a couple of people, but every woman I talked to either left with another guy, had an emergency and had to jet before I could get her number, or vomited on my shoes.”

Dawn bit her lip to keep from laughing. “If you’ve had more than one woman vomit on your shoes, it sounds like you need to try hitting on women outside the bar. Way outside.”

“The vomiting on my shoes only happened once,” Trent said, smiling. “At a New Year’s Eve party. I don’t go to bars anymore. I’m too old.”

“You’re thirty-two,” Dawn said, rolling her eyes.

“So are you,” Trent countered. “When’s the last time you went to a bar? At night, to hang out and meet people, not a sports bar or a restaurant with drinks on the menu?”