The Love Series Complete Box Set (140 page)

“And I don’t mean by B.O.B. Anything requiring batteries doesn’t count.” She stares pointedly at me.

Knowing all too well that I definitely won’t be able to lie my way out of this one, I give in. “A long time . . . too long in fact.”

“So then let’s get on this.” She flicks the backside of the dating profile that I’m holding in my hands.

Nip it in the bud already, Lucy. She is your best friend, after all.

Taking a deep breath, more in preparation for her shock than my revelation, I brace myself and let the words tumble out of my mouth. “I’m seeing someone.”

“What!” she shrieks more than enthusiastically.

“Shhh. Calm down,” I chide sternly when a few heads pop out of their cubes.

“Tell me, now. I need to know everything. Who? What? When?” Bouncing in her seat, Linda can barely contain her excitement.

With more giddiness than I can contain, I lean forward and tell her everything about Evan. When I told her about the break-in, I left out his role in coming to my rescue, knowing that it would raise more questions than I cared to answer at the time. But now, I spill every last detail.

“I really like him. I mean, I just feel safe with him, comfortable. It’s like he’s always been there—always been somewhere in my life, but it’s just that now, he’s here in front of me too.”

Her eyes are glassy with happiness. “That’s freaking amazing. Why didn’t you tell me sooner, though?”

Clasping her hand in mine, I hope she can understand why. “Well, you were just so adamant about me meeting someone and I just didn’t know what was going to happen with me and Evan. But after going out with Aaron, I knew that I had to give Evan a chance. I had to let myself feel what I was feeling and see where it would take me.”

“So the credit is mine after all, huh?” She arches an eyebrow and grins impishly as I look at her with more than a little confusion.

Without even letting me ask the question she knows I’m about to, she says, “If
I
hadn’t set you up with Aaron,
you
never would have realized your feelings for Evan.” Pride colors her words, as does a touch of playfulness.

I swat the air in front of us, dismissing her silliness. Yet, I have to admit, she is right at least a little bit. Looking down at my watch, I realize I could use a break and another cup of coffee—and a little more girl talk about my date tonight with Evan wouldn’t hurt either.

“Wanna grab some coffee? Maybe give me a few pointers for my date tonight?”

Giddily, she pops up out of her chair and hugs me. “Absolutely! I’m so excited,” she squeals with girlish eagerness.

I stifle my laughter while inwardly bubbling over with joy at the prospect of what’s to come with Evan.

The rest of the workday passes by in a blur. Focusing on the charity fundraiser helps to distract me from thinking of Evan too much. Chloe really wants a ride to the ball with a real prince and princess and I made calls all day long trying to solicit a donation from a limo company. Sadly though, there aren’t many in the area that have any availability for the night. Upstate New York is also fresh out of princes and princesses. I’m not beat though. I will give this little girl the night she deserves.

So even though I was able to clear my brain of Evan for the day, for every single second of the drive home, he’s the only thought in my head.

Where are we going to go? What should I wear? What is he going to expect? What do I expect?

I shower quickly and blow out my hair, letting it fall softly in large curls. Standing in front of my closet, I realize my wardrobe could benefit from a few updates. Even though I texted Evan earlier asking about where we were going, he wouldn’t give me any details, saying he wanted it to be a surprise.

Can’t go wrong with a little black dress. With soft ruching that gathers at my hip under the sparkly clasp, and a to-the-knee flowy skirt, I feel feminine and sexy. There’s no snow on the ground so I go with shiny, patent leather stilettoes. A light touch of make-up, spritz of perfume and I’m ready for my date. Cue the swarm of butterflies.

At ten to eight, I flop back on the couch and stare blankly at nothing in particular. For all of my “I’m never dating again” and “I’m more than happy with being single” talk over the years, I guess I never saw how ridiculous I was being in denying myself the chance to feel this kind of excitement. The rush of not knowing what’s going to happen, the pull that draws you into someone you barely know, wanting to learn everything about them that you can, knowing, or at least hoping, they feel the same way about you—this is the stuff I’ve let myself go without.

Not anymore.

My confident, yet inward, declaration of self-proclaimed happiness coincides perfectly with the gentle knock at the front door. Standing, I smooth out my dress and take a deep breath, hoping for the best, feeling a change coming at me from the other side of that door.

Speech completely eludes me as I open the door and let the vision of Evan holding a bunch of flowers, leaning up against the doorframe sink in. In the few times we’ve seen each other, there was a casual normalcy to his appearance—jeans and a t-shirt, nothing over the top. Even his attitude was mellow and relaxed. But the man standing before me is transformed somehow.

More masculine.

More dominant.

More in control.

And so unbelievably sexy.

The soft leather of his jacket pulls across his broad chest and bunches in his arms as he extends the beautifully wrapped flowers to me.

“These are for you, sweetness,” he rasps in a gruff voice. “You look beautiful.” Pulling my shaking hand up to his lips, he kisses my knuckles, setting a fiery vibration there; one of which I likely won’t be able to rid myself for the rest of the night.

I take them from him and immediately bring them up to my nose. Inhaling their sweet scent, I honestly can’t remember the last time someone bought me flowers. It was more than likely Melanie when she was a little girl, picking bunches of bright yellow dandelions from the yard for me. “They’re stunning, Evan. Thank you so much. Come in.” As he strides past me, the fragrance of the flowers fades away behind the woodsy clean scent that is uniquely Evan.

“I didn’t know what kind you liked,” he tips his chin at the flowers, “so I got you one of everything.” Standing before me, he lowers his face to mine and gently brushes his lips against my cheek, the roughness of his stubble sending shivers across my skin.

It’s only when I lean into his kiss that I realize he’s got a picnic basket in his other hand. “It’s a little cold and pitch black to be going for a picnic, don’t you think?”

“Who says we’re going outside?” He grins, amused at my obvious misunderstanding. Reaching down for my hand, he laces our fingers together and pulls me into the living room. He tosses his jacket on the back of the desk chair revealing a pale grey, button-down dress shirt, which pairs nicely with his dark wash jeans. You know the kind that are loose in all the right places, but oh-so tight everywhere else. Then, he pulls a red-and-white checkered blanket out of the basket. Shaking it in the air, he straightens it out as he lays it down on the carpet. I watch, completely mesmerized by his kind thoughtfulness.

Now
this
is a date.

Wordlessly, he walks past me, grabs a few pillows from the couch and tosses them on the floor. “Sit,” he commands.

I laugh. “What am I? A dog or something?”

At least he has the good grace to smirk at himself. Shaking his head, he steps in front of me and runs his fingers down my arms. “You are most certainly not a dog. Please sit. I want you to be comfortable.” It’s difficult to resist him when his eyes twinkle the way they do. Some of the awkward tension that was there the first few times we spent time together has eased; it’s almost vanished completely.

As I get myself situated on a cushion, he makes quick work of unpacking the rest of the contents of the basket—a bottle of wine, a loaf of crusty bread, a few hunks of cheese and a bunch of grapes. Of course, he’s also packed all the plates, cups and utensils that we’ll need as well. He even remembered to bring back my travel coffee mug. I guess my plan was effective, after all. After everything is carefully laid out, he heads out to the garage.

He’s back quickly, logs for the fireplace in hand. “I saw these in there last week and I knew that there would be no better way to spend the night with you than in front of a fire, sharing a meal together. I hope that’s okay with you?” Cautiousness colors his words, and I melt for him even more, thinking about all of the effort he put in to tonight.

“It’s perfect,” I assure him.

He makes extremely quick work of starting the fire. Flames dance and twirl in the hearth, making the sparkle in his eyes more pronounced now. After he washes his hands, he comes back into the living room. He sits next to me and I hand him a glass of wine that I just poured.

He makes us up plates of food and we enjoy the simple peacefulness of eating together. The crackles and pops of the fire add to the romantic ambiance. The wine goes down smoothly—almost too smoothly, as I realize that in less than fifteen minutes, he’s already refilling my glass.

“Rough day at work or something?” he jokes as he tops off my glass.

“No. Actually it was terrific.” I go on to tell him all about the charity work I’ve just started and he follows intently, seemingly hanging on my every word.

“How was your day?” I ask when I’m done telling him about princesses and cancer patients.

“Nothing exciting. And definitely nothing as meaningful as your day.” When he pops a grape in his mouth, I notice how perfect his lips are − the soft curve of the upper bow and the plump fullness of his lower lip are hypnotic.

He catches me staring, but my desire quickly morphs to concern over the tone of his words.

“What do you mean ‘meaningful’?” I fold my legs and lean on my arm, angling toward him.

He takes a sip—or a gulp, depending on your definition—of his wine before he speaks. “I guess you could say I’m not really one for retirement. There’s not much to do all day.” A lamely shrugged shoulder accompanies his response.

“So what
do
you do with yourself all day? You don’t seem like one to sit around and watch TV.” I find myself absentmindedly tracing my fingers over his forearm, which is revealed from beneath the cuffed sleeve of his dress shirt.

“No, definitely not a huge TV watcher,” he chuckles dismissively. “I usually get up early and run a few miles and work out for a bit.” That explains his physique—broad and sculpted, muscular and smoking hot. “After that, I really don’t have a set plan.” Brushing his hand over his face, he seems uneasy about something.

“And it’s killing you to have nothing to do?” It’s clearly written on his face, but he nods nonetheless.

“I don’t know what I was thinking getting a condo. I mean the place is all finished, except for the painting, which I’ve managed to knock out in less than a week. Getting a fixer-upper would have been more my style. It definitely would have kept me busy.”

“This place could keep you busy,” I puff out a sad laugh as I scan the less-than-up-to-date state of the home I’ve always loved. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this, you know. We had so many dreams when we bought this place, but then ‘real life’ happened and here I am—a lonely forty-three-year-old widow.”

As I sip my wine, I feel his fingers lock together with mine. “Tell me about it. The ‘real life’ part is for shit.” His calloused thumbs traces roughly over the inside of my wrist and goose bumps dot my skin.

“Jimmy was an architect so he had so many plans to make this place into something really special. We were only living here for a few months before he died.”

He smiles sympathetically at me, not a trace of judgment or jealousy in his face as I talk about Jimmy.

“I could help you with some repairs.” He pauses, gauging my reaction. “I already said I don’t have much to do during the day, so it’s not like I don’t have the time.”

“Really?” Suddenly the prospect of doing some work around here seems a lot less daunting. When he nods, laughing softly at my happiness over his offer, I bounce in my seat a little. “That would be . . . I don’t know, like a dream come true. I’ve never known where to start around here and I feel like this house is the one area in my life where I’ve failed. Jimmy wouldn’t have let it get this way.” The tone of my last words holds more sadness than excitement.

“I’m sorry.” His face is twisted in emotion, true compassion for my loss rings out loud and clear. I can hear the anguish of his losses hanging heavily on his words, but I don’t push. I’m ready to open up now, but he might need some more time.

“Thank you. But it happened a long time ago and I’m okay with it now. I’ll never be over him; he’ll always be a part of me, but I guess recently I decided that I needed something that would make me happy.”

“Loss never leaves you, but I’m happy that you are ready to move on.” He cups my jaw and the thumb that was just passing over my wrist is now gently stroking my cheek. Leaning into his touch is impossible to resist—a true force of nature. Even though he hasn’t verbalized it, the look on his face screams that he’s also ready to move on.