Andrew listened to the conversation.

While he went to the other room, Rachel gathered up the cards they were playing with his daughter. “Maybe we should play Candy Land next time,” he heard her say to Maura. “I’m pretty good at that game.”

“You really like Candy Land?” the girl asked.

“It was one of my favorite games when I was a kid.”

“I didn’t know it was that old,” Maura said so solemnly that Rachel had to laugh.

“Even my mother played it when she was a little girl,” she told the child.

“My mommy’s dead,” Maura told her.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Maybe someday I could get a new mommy. But she’ll have to be someone my daddy likes.”

“That would probably help,” Rachel agreed.

“Daddy likes you,” Maura said.

And that was Andrew’s cue. He stepped back into the room before his daughter proposed right there and then.

* * *

Those Engaging Garretts!

The Carolina Cousins

The Single Dad’s Second Chance

Brenda Harlen

www.millsandboon.co.uk

BRENDA HARLEN is a former family law attorney turned work-at-home mom and national bestselling author who has written more than twenty books for Mills & Boon. Her work has been validated by industry awards (including an RWA Golden Heart® Award and the RT Book Reviews Reviewers’ Choice Award) and by the fact that her kids think it’s cool that she’s “a real author.”

Brenda lives in southern Ontario with her husband and two sons. When she isn’t at the computer working on her next book, she can probably be found at the arena, watching a hockey game. Keep up-to-date with Brenda on Facebook, follow her on Twitter at @BrendaHarlen, or send her an e-mail at brendaharlen@yahoo.com.

To all of the readers who asked for more “Garretts”—

thanks for welcoming my characters

into your lives and your hearts.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue

Extract

Chapter One

Rachel Ellis hated Valentine’s Day.

Not that she’d ever admit as much to any of the customers who had formed an almost-steady stream of traffic through the door of Buds & Blooms since about 11:00 a.m., but she had expressed the sentiment—more than a few times already today—to her best friend and business partner, Holly Kendrick.

“Can you tell me,” Rachel asked, when she went to the back during a rare quiet moment in the shop, “why so many men seem surprised to realize it’s Valentine’s Day when it falls on February 14 every single year?”

“Because they’re men,” Holly said simply.

“And is that why they also wait until the absolute last minute to buy flowers for their wives or girlfriends?”

“Yep.”

“Next year we should offer discounts for advance orders.” They had taken some, but those represented a small percentage of the sales already processed that day.

“It won’t matter,” Holly told her.

Rachel knew her friend was probably right. She sank down into a chair by the worktable. “I’m just going to take ten minutes to rest my feet before the next rush.”

She only managed about half of that before the bell rang, indicating another customer had entered the shop.

Trish, a local college student who helped out part-time, showed up at two o’clock so that Holly could go home to get ready for her date with Shane—her on-again, off-again boyfriend of the past two years. Rachel, who had no plans, would stay until closing time at six o’clock.

It was quarter to the hour now, and there were only a couple of customers left in the shop. Her cheeks hurt from the smile she’d kept firmly plastered on her face as she boxed or wrapped order after order throughout the afternoon, and she was looking forward to the day being over.

But when Andrew Garrett walked through the door, just a few minutes before closing time, she didn’t have to force the smile. He was a regular if not frequent customer, coming into Buds & Blooms three times a year without fail—Valentine’s Day, August 10 and November 22. She didn’t really know him. In fact, she only knew his name because it was on the credit card that he used to pay for his purchases. But for some inexplicable reason, her heart always beat just a little bit faster when he was around.

Or maybe it wasn’t so inexplicable. After all, the man was a certified hunk. He stood about six-three with broad shoulders, narrow hips and long legs. His dark hair was neatly trimmed, and moss-green eyes looked out beneath straight brows. His jaw was cleanly shaven, his mouth was deliciously shaped, and when he’d smiled at her the first day he came into the shop, her knees had actually gone weak.

Then she’d dropped her gaze and noticed the well-worn gold band that circled the third finger of his left hand. She should have expected as much—the only time gorgeous single men ever walked through the door of Buds & Blooms was Mother’s Day.

February 14 had fallen on a Sunday that year, and he’d been one of the first customers through the door. He’d wanted a dozen white roses, and she’d laid the creamy white flowers out on top of a fan of ferns, added some baby’s breath, then wrapped the arrangement in silver paper and clear cellophane and tied it together with white raffia. Even after three years, she remembered those details, and she wondered if that was evidence of the customer service she prided herself on or proof that she was pathetically infatuated with a handsome—and married—stranger.

“A dozen white roses?” she asked.

He smiled, and her heart did a funny little turn in her chest. “Good memory.”

She went to the back to retrieve the flowers, then added the accent foliage and wrapped the arrangement. “Can I get you anything else today?”

He shook his head. “No, that’s all.”

She rang up the purchase and reached for the credit card he held out to her. Their fingers touched—briefly—in the transfer, but she felt a jolt at the unexpected contact.

Married, she reminded herself sternly.

And even if he wasn’t, she’d made too many mistakes where the male gender was concerned to want to risk another one.

She processed the transaction and returned his card along with a receipt and his flowers.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. And Happy Valentine’s Day.”

She kept the smile on her face until he’d walked out the door, then flipped the lock and wondered, Why are the good ones always taken?

* * *

As a single woman, Rachel really did hate Valentine’s Day. But as a business owner counting the receipts, she had to love it. They’d sold more flowers in just ten hours today than they would in the rest of the month, and while Trish cleaned up the work counters in the back, Rachel restocked the display cases at the front of the store and made notes on what she would have to add to her orders this week.

“Do you want to go somewhere to grab a bite?” she asked Trish. Because of the thick gloves she wore in deference to the frigid temperature, she fumbled a little with the key as she locked up.

“Oh, um, that sounds great, but—”

“But you’ve got a date,” Rachel guessed.

Her employee nodded.

“You should have said something—I could have finished up by myself.”

“Doug had to work until eight tonight, anyway.”

“Doug? The advertising guy?”

“Marketing,” Trish clarified.

“I thought you dumped him.”

“I did.” She shrugged. “And then I missed him.”

Rachel didn’t know Doug, aside from what Trish had told her, so she bit her tongue. She wasn’t so far past twenty that she didn’t remember how it felt to be young and in love—or at least want to believe that she was. It had taken her a while, but she’d finally realized that being lonely in a relationship was worse than being alone.

She hadn’t given up on the idea of finding someone to share her life with, but she’d stopped looking for her elusive soul mate around every corner.

“But I’ll be in at seven tomorrow to help with the deliveries,” Trish said now.

“I can handle the deliveries—if you can be here by ten, that’s soon enough.”

“Really?” The young woman looked as if Rachel had given her the moon instead of just three extra hours.

“Really,” she confirmed.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Rachel couldn’t help but smile at her exuberance. “Have a good time tonight.”

“We will,” Trish assured her.

Rachel waited until her employee got into her car and waved as she drove off. Because she lived only a couple of blocks from the shop, she walked to and from work. And usually she enjoyed the walk, but tonight, she was tired and hungry and just wanted to be home so she could snuggle on the couch with a bowl of popcorn to watch Criminal Minds.

Except that the way her stomach was growling, she knew popcorn was not going to suffice. When she got home, she exchanged her skirt and blouse for a favorite pair of jeans and a winter-white V-neck sweater, then slipped her feet into low-heeled boots and shrugged back into her coat. She burrowed her chin deeper into the collar when she stepped outside again and tried to ignore the cold as she headed toward Valentino’s. Thankfully, the restaurant offered takeout because, even if she wanted to sit down and eat, she knew there was no way she’d get a table tonight.

Pulling open the door, she was immediately greeted by the mouthwatering scents of tomato, garlic and basil. Her stomach growled again. The woman behind the counter looked up and smiled. “Rachel, hi. Just let me put this order in to the kitchen and I’ll tell Gemma that you’re here.”

“Don’t...” Her protest trailed off as Maria had already disappeared into the kitchen.

Two minutes later, Gemma Palermo came through from the dining room.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, bella.” She kissed both of Rachel’s cheeks, then looked past her friend and frowned. “You are alone?”

“I usually am,” Rachel reminded her.

“But it’s Valentine’s Day,” her friend said again.

“I know. And I didn’t mean to take you away from your customers. I just wanted to get some pasta to take home—”

“Where you can eat alone?”

Rachel couldn’t help but smile at the distress in Gemma’s tone. “It’s not illegal, you know.”

“Maybe it should be.”

But eating alone was Rachel’s status quo, and she liked it that way. She was a smart, successful woman. She didn’t need a man to make her life complete. She firmly and honestly believed that—most of the time. But she couldn’t deny that the prospect of sitting alone in her empty condo eating penne with sausage and peppers from a plastic take-out container on Valentine’s Day made her feel just a little bit pathetic.

“I’ve been on my feet all day,” Rachel told her friend. “I just want—”

“To sit down,” Gemma interrupted again. “Yes, you should sit down and have a nice glass of wine.”

She nodded. “Actually, a glass of wine would be nice.”

“Long day?”

“The longest.”

Her friend nodded her understanding. “Tony refused to book any reservations past nine o’clock—otherwise, we’d be here all night.”

“I guess you don’t get to go out for dinner on Valentine’s Day, either.”

Her friend blushed. “We celebrated earlier. He made me breakfast in bed, and then... Well, let’s just say we were almost late for work.”

“Good thing he’s the boss,” Rachel noted.

“Only at the restaurant,” Gemma said.

Rachel had to laugh. She’d gone to high school with both Gemma Battaglia and Tony Palermo. Tony’s grandparents—Salvatore and Caterina Valentino—were the original owners of the restaurant when it first opened its doors almost fifty years earlier. It was, and continued to be, a family restaurant.

Tony had started bussing tables and washing dishes when he was ten years old, then he’d moved up to serving customers and helping with kitchen prep. Now he was the proprietor and head chef. Gemma had worked as a waitress in high school and for several years after, then she became a hostess and was now married to Tony. And so blissfully happy that she wanted all of her friends to be the same.

“Marco is working the bar tonight,” Gemma said, referring to her youngest brother-in-law. “You tell him what you want to drink while I put your order in. Penne with sausage and peppers?”

She nodded, and her friend hurried off.

Rachel took a seat at the bar and requested a glass of valpolicella. She unbuttoned her coat as Marco poured the wine and set the glass on a napkin in front of her.

“How did you get stuck working Valentine’s Day?” she asked.

“I volunteered,” Marco admitted.

She raised her brows. “No plans with Tammy?”

“We broke up.”

“I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “How about you? Why are you here instead of dancing the night away—and maybe getting lucky—with a handsome man who’s not nearly good enough for you?”

“I’ll consider it lucky if my feet will take me home again.”

“If they won’t—” he lifted her hand, touched his lips to the back of it “—I will.”

She smiled at the twenty-two-year-old. “You better be careful, Marco, or one of these days, I just might take you up on that offer.”

“I keep hoping.”

Rachel knew him too well to take him seriously, but she couldn’t deny that his casual flirtation was a nice boost to her ego.

“I should be out of here by ten,” he said now. “We could go back to my place and—”

“Stop flirting with my friend,” Gemma, back from the kitchen, chastised her brother-in-law.

His gaze didn’t shift away from Rachel. “Why?”

“Because she’ll break your heart.”

“She does every single time I see her.”

Gemma shook her head at him and said to Rachel, “I’ve got some counter space for you in the kitchen.”

“It would be easier if you just let me take it home.”

“It will taste better if you’re among friends,” Gemma insisted.

Rachel took the second glass of wine Marco poured for her and followed the hostess to the kitchen.

A stool was waiting at the end of a stainless steel workstation that was covered with a linen cloth and set up to replicate the tables in the dining room, complete with a lit candle inside a hurricane shade.

“Okay, this is better than eating out of a take-out container,” Rachel admitted.

“Of course it is,” Gemma agreed, as the pantry chef set a plate of salad and a small basket of artisan breads in front of Rachel. “I need to check on the dining room, but I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

As the kitchen staff continued with their rhythms and routines, Rachel dug into her salad. She was about halfway through the appetizer when Gemma returned to the kitchen.

“We can squeeze another chair in here,” she was saying. “I’m sure Rachel would enjoy having some company.”

“I appreciate the offer, but—”

“Then you won’t insult me by turning it down,” Gemma said.

The male voice sounded somewhat familiar, but Rachel couldn’t place it—until she lowered her fork and looked up, into Andrew Garrett’s green eyes.

* * *

Andrew appreciated that Gemma had the best of intentions and a good heart, but he really just wanted to take some pasta home and be alone. Or so he thought until he saw the pretty brunette from the flower shop seated at a makeshift table in the kitchen.

When she glanced up, the widening of her deep blue eyes reflected a surprise that mirrored his own. “Oh, um, hi.”

He smiled. “Hi, yourself.”

The hostess’s gaze shifted from one to the other. “You know each other?”

“Sort of,” he said.

At the same time the florist responded, “Not really.”

“Well, that clears everything up,” Gemma said drily.

“Mr. Garrett’s been in to Buds & Blooms a few times,” she explained.

“Andrew,” he told her, and, realizing that they’d never been formally introduced, offered his hand.

“Rachel Ellis,” she replied.

“Why are you eating in the kitchen?” he asked her.

“Because no one wants to be alone on Valentine’s Day,” the hostess answered.

Rachel’s cheeks flushed. “Because Gemma refused to let me take my food home.”

“There seems to be a lot of that going around,” Andrew noted.

“We have a couple paying their bill and no one waiting for their table, if you wanted to move into the dining room,” Gemma suggested.

Rachel shook her head, immediately and vehemently. “I’m good here.”

His instinctive response was the same. If they dined together in the kitchen, they could share pasta and casual conversation. But if they ate in the dining room, with soft lighting and romantic music, it would take on a whole different ambience—almost like a date.

“Looks like a pretty good setup,” he said to Rachel. “Do you mind if I join you?”

“Of course not,” she said.

The words were barely out of her mouth before a waiter was at the table, setting another place. One of the chefs immediately put a salad on the table for him.

“I almost think there’s better service here than in the dining room,” he teased Gemma.

“Now I’m thinking that I should put your pasta in a take-out container and send you home,” she countered.

He was tempted to say “please,” but given a choice between sharing a meal with the florist and eating alone, he had to go with the florist.

“The truth is,” he said instead, “the culinary genius of the chef is second only to the beauty of the restaurant’s hostess.”

Gemma laughed. “Flattery will get you anywhere you want to go in my restaurant, but now I must go back to work.”

When she’d exited the kitchen, Andrew picked up his fork and stabbed a piece of lettuce. He and Rachel ate in silence for a few minutes, and though his dinner companion said nothing, he could imagine the questions that were running through her mind.

“I’m impressed,” he said, when he’d finished his appetizer.

She sipped her wine. “By the salad?”

“By your restraint.”

She didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “It’s not any of my business.”

“But you’re wondering why I’m not having dinner with the woman I bought the flowers for,” he guessed.

“The thought did cross my mind.”

“The flowers were for my wife,” he told her. “But she died three years ago.”

“I’m sorry,” she said sincerely. “How long were you married?”

“Five years.”

One of the kitchen assistants cleared away their salad plates and another immediately set bowls of steaming pasta on the table. He looked from his to hers, noticed they were the same.

Rachel speared a chunk of spicy sausage with her fork, popped it into her mouth.

“What about you?” he asked. “Why are you alone tonight?”

“I’m on a dating hiatus,” she admitted.

“Why?”

She shrugged. “I made a lot of bad choices with respect to relationships, so I decided to take a break from men.”

“How long have you been on this break?” he wondered.

“Sixteen months.”

“You haven’t been on a date in more than a year?”

“No,” she admitted. “But even when I was dating, I never liked dating on Valentine’s Day.”

“Why not?”

“There’s too much pressure to make a simple date into something more on February 14, too many expectations on both parties.” She nibbled on her penne. “Did you know that ten percent of all marriage proposals take place on Valentine’s Day?”

He shook his head.

“It makes me wonder—is the popularity of proposals on that day a result of romance in the air or a consequence of the pressure to celebrate in a big way?”

“The Valentine’s Day chicken and egg,” he mused.

She nodded. “And then there are the Valentine’s Day weddings, which seem to me the lazy man’s way of ensuring he’ll remember his anniversary.”

Andrew waited a beat before he said, “Nina and I were married on Valentine’s Day.”

Chapter Two

Rachel pushed her plate aside as her cheeks filled with color. “I don’t think I can finish this with my foot in my mouth.”

Andrew smiled and nudged her plate back to her. “We were actually married the twenty-second of November.”

“Since I tend to speak without thinking, I’ll forgive you for that,” she said, picking up her fork again.

Gemma bustled into the kitchen, her eyes sparkling and her cheeks flushed with excitement. “Look at this,” she said, holding her hand out to show off the princess-cut diamond solitaire on the tip of her finger. “Isn’t it stunning?”

“It’s beautiful,” Rachel agreed. “But you’re already married.”

The hostess rolled her eyes. “It’s not for me, obviously. One of our customers is going to propose to his girlfriend, right here, tonight.

“He told me the story when he called to make the reservation. They met on a blind date in our dining room, and he said the minute he first saw her, he knew she was the one. Now, eight months later, he’s ready to ask her to share his life.”

“So why do you have the ring?” Rachel wondered.

“Oh. Right.” She turned to call out to the pastry chef. “Edouard—I need a tiramisu.” Then she continued her explanation: “That’s what she had for dessert that first night.”

“You’re not going to bury the ring in the cake, are you?” Andrew asked.

“No, I’m going to put it on top,” Gemma explained. “The dark chocolate will really make the gold shine and the diamond sparkle.”

“And the band sticky so she can’t get it off her finger if she changes her mind,” Rachel mused.

He grinned; the hostess scowled.

“You don’t appreciate romance,” she scolded Rachel.

“I do appreciate romance,” his dinner companion insisted. “I’ve even done bouquets with engagement rings tied to the ribbon. But I think that words spoken from the heart make a more memorable proposal than the staged presentation of a ring.”

“What about a ‘will you marry me?’ spelled out on the big screen at a sporting event?” Andrew asked.

Rachel opened her mouth to respond, then snapped it shut again and eyed him warily. “Is that how you proposed?”

He chuckled. “No.”

“Should we make a wager on what her response will be?” Andrew asked, as Gemma left the kitchen with the dessert.

Rachel shook her head. “I might not be a fan of public proposals, but I hope she accepts. He obviously put a lot of thought into his plans tonight, bringing her back to the restaurant where they first met, remembering the dessert she had on that first date.

“And I don’t think he’d pop the question in this kind of venue if he wasn’t sure of the answer,” she noted, before asking him, “How did you propose?”

“Oh.” He pushed his now-empty bowl aside. “It wasn’t very well planned out at all.”

Her lips curved, making him suspect that the tips of his ears had gone red as they sometimes did when he was embarrassed.

“Impulsive...and in bed,” she guessed.

Since he couldn’t deny it, he only said, “She said yes.”

Her smile widened, and he couldn’t help noticing the way it lit up her whole face. She was an attractive woman—he could acknowledge that fact without being attracted to her. But looking at her now, he felt the stirring of something low in his belly that he suspected might be attraction.

“Did you at least have a ring?” Rachel asked, as she dipped her fork into the slice of chocolate-raspberry cake that had been set in front of her.

“No. We went to get one the next day.” He realized, as he shared the details with Rachel, that it no longer hurt so much to remember the special moments he and Nina had spent together. He’d grieved for his wife for a long time after her quick and unexpected death, but he’d finally accepted that she was gone—that it was time to move on with his life without her.

“I hate being alone on Valentine’s Day,” Rachel admitted. “But it must be even harder for you—to have found the one person you expected to share your life with, and then lose her.”

He shrugged. “Being alone on Valentine’s Day isn’t really any different from the other three hundred and sixty-four days of the year.”

She considered this as she took another sip of her wine, then shook her head. “Logically, I know that’s true. And I’m generally satisfied with my own company. But somehow, on February 14, being single is suddenly spelled A-L-O-N-E, all in capital letters.

“I blame the greeting card companies,” she continued. “And the jewelers and chocolate shops—”

“And the florists,” he interjected dryly.

She smiled again. “I’m well aware of the hypocrisy. I’m also grateful that the shop keeps me busy so I don’t have a lot of time to think about it. But when I lock the door behind the last customer, there’s a strange sense of emptiness.” She shook her head, as if to shake off the negative thought. “And I just filled that emptiness with too much pasta and bread.”

“So let’s do something,” Andrew suggested impulsively.

She blinked. “What?”

“That was the advice my mother always gave me,” he told her. “Don’t stew, do.”

“Sounds like good advice.”

“Are you up for it?” he challenged.

She eyed him with a combination of curiosity and wariness. “I guess that depends on what ‘it’ is.”

He just smiled and called for the check.

* * *

Rachel wasn’t in the habit of getting into a car with a man she barely knew, especially not heading off to a destination unknown. But Andrew insisted that he wanted to surprise her, and she figured she was safe with him because Gemma and Tony knew him and they knew she was leaving the restaurant with him.

A development that had Gemma’s brows rising in silent question when she told her of the plan. Rachel had answered with a shake of her head, warning her friend not to make a big deal out of something that wasn’t. She only hoped that she could follow the same advice.

But as he drove toward Ridgemount, she couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that Andrew Garrett—aka Sexy White Roses Guy—was no longer married. And while she understood that his legal status had changed, the fact that he continued to wear his wedding band on his finger confirmed he was still emotionally unavailable.

And that was okay, because she wasn’t looking for a relationship. She had no intention of ending her sixteen-month dating hiatus simply because she was in the company of a really hot guy who made her heart pound and her blood hum.

Because somewhere along the line—no doubt when her heart was still bruised over her breakup with Eric—she’d developed a bit of a crush on Andrew Garrett. Her feelings had been fueled, at least in part, by his obvious love for and commitment to his wife. Every time he’d come into the shop, she’d looked at him as proof that there really were good guys in the world. And because she’d believed he was married, she’d been confident that the attraction she felt would never be anything more than an innocent infatuation.

Now that she knew he was widowed, she was afraid that crush might develop into something more. She wasn’t looking for anything more, and yet she’d accepted his cryptic challenge. After a brief tussle over the bill—which Gemma settled by refusing to take money from either one of them—she’d chosen to spend time with him rather than go home alone. And after a ten-hour day that left her mentally and physically exhausted, she was a little worried about what that meant.

“Here we are,” he said.

Rachel stared at the blinking neon that spelled out Ridgemount Lanes with two crossed pins and a ball between the words.

Apparently “it” was bowling.

He pulled into a parking space and unfastened his seat belt. She didn’t move.

“I’m not sure this is a good idea,” she told him.

“Why not?”

“Because I can’t remember the last time I was bowling.” She considered for a minute, her brow furrowed. “Actually, I think it might have been way back in high school.”

“How far back is ‘way back’?”

“I graduated ten years ago.”

“Which means that you’re about...twenty-eight?”

Her gaze narrowed. “And you’re sneaky.”

“Am I right?”

“I’ll be twenty-eight at the end of July,” she admitted. “How long ago did you graduate high school?”

His smile was wry. “Before you started.”

“Another reason we should reconsider this,” Rachel told him. “The physical activity might be too strenuous for a man of such advanced age.”

“I can handle it if you can,” he assured her.

She unfastened her belt.

Before she could reach for the handle of her door, he was there, opening it for her. She followed him through sliding glass panels that parted automatically in response to their approach and was immediately assaulted by unfamiliar noises and scents. The thunk of heavy balls dropping onto wood; the crash of pins knocking against each other and toppling over, punctuated by an occasional whoop or muttered curse; the smell of lemon polish and French fry grease with a hint of stale sweat.

There were thirty-two lanes, and Rachel was surprised to note that almost half of them were occupied. There were several teams in coordinated shirts that identified them as part of a league, a few groups of teens and several older couples. But the bigger surprise was the discovery of Valentine’s decorations hanging from the ceiling: cutouts of cupids’ silhouettes and foil hearts, and bouquets of helium-filled heart-shaped balloons at every scoring console.

“So much for forgetting it’s February 14,” Rachel noted, as she followed Andrew to the counter.

His only response was to ask, “Shoe size?”

“Eight.”

The man behind the counter—whose name tag identified him as Grover—had three days’ growth of beard, red-rimmed eyes and wore a T-shirt that barely stretched to cover his protruding belly with the inscription: Real Bowlers Play With Their Own Balls. The image effectively killed any romantic ambience and made Rachel feel a lot better about this outing.

“Welcome to Ridgemount Lanes,” he said, his voice showcasing slightly more enthusiasm than his tired expression.

“We’re going to need a men’s twelve, a women’s eight and a lane.”

“Number Six is available,” Grover said. “And just like the Stay Inn, we rent by the hour so you can play as much as you want.” He relayed this information with a lewd smile and an exaggerated wink.

Andrew looked at his watch. “There’s still two-and-a-half hours of Valentine’s Day left,” he told Rachel. “Do you want to do two hours?”

She had no idea how much bowling it would take to fill two hours, but since it wouldn’t be much of a hardship to spend the time in his company, she said, “Sounds good.”

Grover plunked two pairs of shoes down on the counter then punched some buttons on the cash register.

Rachel looked at the battered shoes that were half red and half blue with threadbare black laces, her expression of such horror, Andrew couldn’t help but laugh. She picked them up gingerly and held them at arm’s length.

She slipped her feet out of the low-heeled boots she was wearing and eased them into the rented footwear. She wiggled her toes then fastened the laces. He programmed their names into the computer, while she took a few steps, testing the shoes.

“Ugly but surprisingly comfortable,” she decided.

“You’re up first,” he told her.

“Why?”

“Because my father taught me that ladies go first.”

“But I don’t know what I’m doing,” she reminded him.

“Take a few practice throws.”

She surveyed the selection of balls in the return, finally choosing a pink one. She studied the holes for a minute before sliding her fingers and thumb inside. She took her position on the approach and glanced toward lane ten, where a sixty-something woman strode toward the lane and let her ball fly. It thunked on the wood, dangerously close to the gutter, then hooked back toward the middle and crashed into the pins, taking seven of them down.

Andrew watched Rachel square her shoulders, no doubt confident that if the blue-haired lady could do this, she could, too. She took a few tentative steps toward the foul line then bent to release the ball. As she did so, he couldn’t help noticing what a nicely shaped derriere she had.

His eyes skimmed downward, appreciating the long, sexy legs encased in snug denim. His gaze moved up again, admiring her distinctly feminine curves, and he felt that stir of something low in his belly again.

When she turned back, her brow was furrowed. She picked up another ball—a blue one this time—and flung it toward the pins. He forced himself to watch the ball rather than her back end and noticed that the blue orb made it about halfway toward the pins before it veered off and into the gutter.

“What am I doing wrong?” she demanded.

“You’re turning your wrist.”

“No, I’m not.”

He shrugged. “Okay, try another one.”

She picked up the pink ball again, watched it roll into the gutter, and sighed. “Okay, maybe I am.”

“Maybe?”

“But I’m not doing it on purpose.”

He stood behind her and wrapped his fingers around her wrist to immobilize it. He felt her pulse racing beneath his fingers and realized that his own heart was beating a little bit faster than usual, too. And when she moved to release the ball, the sweet curve of her bottom brushed against his groin, causing a jolt of lust to spear low in his belly and spread through his veins.

Three pins fell down. She turned around, and the smile that curved her lips illuminated her whole face. “I did it.”

“Now do it again.”

She picked up the ball with more enthusiasm this time.

“Concentrate on keeping your wrist straight,” he told her.

She did so, and knocked down two more pins.

“I think I like this game now,” she said, and made him chuckle.

“Ready to get started?” he asked.

“Absolutely,” she agreed.

Her enthusiasm waned quickly as she watched Andrew knock down pins with seemingly little effort. But she got a little bit better as the game progressed, although she continued to throw occasional gutter balls. It was near the end of the second game, right after he’d thrown back-to-back strikes, that she eyed him suspiciously.

“Why don’t you use any ball except that green one?”

“Because it’s the right weight for me.”

“Can I try it?”

His brows lifted. “You want to play with my ball?”

Her cheeks flushed. “I want to see if I can knock down more pins with the green ball,” she said carefully.

“It’s heavier than the one you’ve been using,” he warned.

“You don’t think I can handle your ball?” she said, tossing his innuendo back at him.

He handed it to her. “You’re welcome to try.”

She did—and though she didn’t move the ball with much speed, she did manage to knock down six pins. And then she went back to the pink ball.

Andrew didn’t comment on her choice. Although he enjoyed the flirtatious banter, he wasn’t sure that either of them was ready to follow where a continuation of the conversation might lead.

As the final score was noted, he caught Rachel stifling a yawn. “Sorry,” she apologized. “I didn’t realize how late it was.”

“Did I keep you out past your curfew?” he teased.

She shook her head. “No curfew, but I do have to be at the shop for my flower delivery in the morning.”

“What time?”

“Seven.”

He winced. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not,” she told him. “I had a good time tonight.”

“Well, let’s turn in those snazzy shoes and get you home.”

“You don’t have to take me home,” she protested. “I can call a cab.”

“It’s almost midnight—I’m not sending you home in a cab.”

“I don’t want you to go out of your way.” She slipped on her own footwear and picked up the bowling shoes to return them to Grover.

“I won’t know if it’s out of my way if you won’t tell me where you live,” he said logically.

“Two-twelve Parkside, just past Queen Street.”

He nodded. “I know the area.”

They chatted amicably on the drive back to her apartment. When he approached the building, she suggested that he could just drop her off in front. Instead, he parked in an empty spot designated for visitors and walked her to the door.

He didn’t follow her into the building, because that might seem too pushy—and too much like a date. Instead, he waited until she’d unlocked the exterior door and said, “Well, I guess I’ll see you around.”

“Thanks. For a few hours, I actually managed to forget that it was Valentine’s Day.” Then she impulsively touched her lips to his cheek.

He stood on the step as she went inside and realized that, for the few hours that he’d been with Rachel, he’d forgotten a lot of things—including that holidays without his daughter usually left him feeling sad and lonely and alone. Because he’d felt none of those things with Rachel tonight.

Now he needed to decide whether or not that was a good thing.

* * *

Morning came early, but Rachel didn’t mind. More than three years after Buds & Blooms had first opened, she still experienced a thrill every time she unlocked the doors, and she still felt like a kid in a candy shop when a delivery of flowers arrived. Today’s delivery would be a big one to replenish the stock sold the day before. She was cataloging and sorting various blooms and an assortment of greenery when Holly wandered in at eight—a full two hours before she was scheduled.

Her friend immediately started to prioritize the day’s orders then began to gather the necessary containers and flowers.

Rachel let her get organized before she said, “I have to admit that your early arrival today has me wondering about your date last night.”

Holly cut a block of floral foam, stuffed it into a decorative watering can. “It was a disaster.”

They worked in silence for a few minutes, until Rachel couldn’t take it anymore. “You have to give me more information than that,” she protested.

“He made me dinner at his place, with candles and music and wine, and then he asked me to marry him.” Her friend cut the stems of a trio of candy-pink gerberas. “Usually I can read guys pretty well, but I did not see that one coming.”

Rachel’s gaze shifted to Holly’s bare left hand. “You turned him down.”

“I’m not ready to get married.” Holly pushed the stems into the floral foam, then added some pale pink carnations. “And even if I was, I’m not planning to marry someone like Shane.”

“So why do you keep dating guys like Shane?”

Her friend sighed. “Because I know I’m not in any danger of falling in love with guys like Shane.”

“Too bad Shane didn’t know that.” And though she knew her friend had done the right thing by turning down his proposal, Rachel couldn’t help but feel sorry for the guy.

“But he should have,” Holly insisted. “I mean, who proposes marriage to a woman who has carefully avoided any use of the L-word?”

“You’ve been together almost two years—obviously he thought it was implied.”

“Except that he’s not in love with me, either. He just thought it was the next logical step in our relationship.”

“This is why I don’t date,” Rachel told her. “Because a few dates eventually lead to a relationship and one party or another ends up with a broken heart.”

“I should have come over to your place last night for the Criminal Minds marathon.”

“Actually, I wasn’t home last night.”

Her friend pushed the finished watering can arrangement aside. “Where were you?”

“Bowling.”

“By yourself?”

“No.” She plucked the wilted blooms out of a container and tossed them into the garbage. “With Andrew Garrett.”

Holly frowned. “Sexy White Roses Guy?”

Rachel nodded.

“The one with the wedding ring on his finger?” her friend pressed.

“He’s widowed.”

“Oh.” Holly considered for a minute. “How long?”

“Three years.”

“And he still wears the ring?”

Rachel shrugged.

Holly counted out eight white lilies. “I didn’t know you bowled.”

“I don’t.”

“So how did this come about?”

“We were both at Valentino’s for eat-in takeout, and the next thing I knew, I was wearing ugly shoes.”

“That’s probably why you don’t bowl,” Holly noted. “The shoes offend your impeccable sense of style.”

“And yet, I had a good time.”

“Because you enjoyed the game—or because you enjoyed being with Sexy White Roses Guy?”

“He is sexy,” Rachel acknowledged. “And charming and interesting and funny.”

“Uh-oh.”

She frowned. “Uh-oh—what?”

“One date and you’re falling for him already.”

“It wasn’t a date and I’m not falling for him.”

Holly didn’t look convinced. “I’m all for you finally ending your ridiculous dating hiatus, but I don’t want you getting hung up on somebody else who isn’t available.”

“I’m not hung up on him.”

“You went bowling with him—and you don’t bowl.”

Rachel sighed. “Our options were limited.”

“Did he kiss you?”

“It wasn’t a date.”

“That wouldn’t stop most guys I know from making a move,” her friend noted. “Then again, most guys I know don’t wear wedding bands—even the ones who are married.”

Rachel waited until her friend finished then she said, “Actually, I kissed him.”

“What?”

“It was a thank-you,” she explained. “An impulse.”

“Was there tongue?”

She rolled her eyes. “I touched my lips to his cheek.”

“Oh.” Holly sounded disappointed. “I’m not sure that even counts as a kiss.”

“Then I guess I didn’t kiss him.”

“When you kissed him, did you feel those little flutters in your belly?”

“Make up your mind—did I kiss him or not?”

“That depends on whether or not there were flutters.”

There had been definite flutters, and her heart had raced and her knees had gone weak. But she wasn’t prepared to admit any of that to her friend.

“Customer,” she said, when the bell over the door jangled.

“We’re not done with this conversation,” Holly warned.

But more customers kept her busy in the front of the shop so that Holly was unable to continue her interrogation. And when Rachel left work at two o’clock, she was confident that she’d kept the truth about her feelings for Andrew Garrett to herself.

Chapter Three

Saturday afternoon, Andrew was in his home workshop assembling a sideboard when his middle brother stopped by.

Nathan walked around the piece, giving it a thorough examination. “Nice—but not your usual style.”

“It’s for Ed and Carol’s dining room.” The Wakefields were his in-laws—or maybe they were former in-laws. Andrew wasn’t sure if the death of his wife changed the relationship between himself and her parents. Either way, they were still his daughter’s grandparents.

“Don’t they know that you’re the VP of Product Research and Design for a multibillion-dollar furniture company now and not just a carpenter?”

“I’m still a carpenter,” Andrew insisted. “A fancy title doesn’t change that.”

“And a damn good one,” Nate agreed, continuing his inspection of the work. “Is this an original design?”

He nodded. “Ed wanted something special for Carol, for their fortieth anniversary.”

“When’s that?”

“Not until October. But I had the time now, so I figured I’d get started.”

“Mom and Dad’s fortieth is in May,” Nathan reminded him. “And Mom wants a party.”

“She always wants a party. Do you remember Maura’s first birthday? She invited sixty people.”

“It was a kick-ass first birthday,” his brother agreed.

“I can only imagine how many people she’ll invite to a fortieth wedding anniversary.”

“Apparently we’re supposed to do the inviting.”

“Huh?”

Nate nodded. “She said that proper etiquette requires the party be hosted by someone other than the anniversary couple. Preferably the couple’s children.”

“Not if she wants it done right,” Andrew noted.

“Daniel suggested we hire an event planner.”

“Not a bad idea,” he admitted. “And since it was his idea, he should look into that.”

Nate went to the mini-fridge and took out a couple of beers. He twisted the caps off both, then handed one to his brother. “Speaking of anniversaries—I stopped by last night.”

Andrew tipped the bottle to his lips. “So...today is the twenty-four-hour anniversary of your visit?”

“Okay, I guess that wasn’t a very good segue.”

“What are you trying to segue into?”

“Asking where you were last night.”

“Did we have plans that I forgot about?”

“No—but it was Valentine’s Day.”

Andrew slapped his hand to his forehead. “And I didn’t even get you a card.”

“You’re a funny guy,” Nate said, his tone devoid of amusement.

“Yes, it was Valentine’s Day,” he agreed. “And Maura was with the Wakefields and I was hungry, so I went to Valentino’s to grab a bite to eat. I ran into someone I know, so we had dinner together and then went bowling.”

“I assume this ‘someone’ you know is female?”

“Yes, she’s female. No, it wasn’t a date.”

“You’ve grieved long enough,” Nathan told him.

“I’m not still grieving,” Andrew told him. “Yeah, I still miss Nina sometimes—” which was a vast improvement over the “all the time” that he’d missed her and looked for her in the first year after her death. “But it’s not like I’ve put my life on hold.”

“It’s exactly like you’ve put your life on hold,” his brother countered. “Or is there another explanation for the fact that you haven’t had a relationship with anyone else since Nina died?”

“I’ve been on dates,” he protested, although they both knew that he’d only been out a handful of times since his wife’s death—the first being only about six months ago.

“A few first dates and not a single second date.”

He shrugged. “I haven’t met anyone that I wanted to go out with more than once.”

Even as Andrew said the words, a carousel of images played through his mind—and all of them were Rachel. Behind the counter of the flower shop, a small smile on her face as she wrapped a bouquet; in the kitchen at Valentino’s, a hint of sadness clouding her gorgeous blue eyes when she mentioned her dating hiatus; at the bowling alley, a brilliant smile illuminating her face after she’d knocked down her first pins; outside her apartment building at the end of the night, her eyes soft and warm, as her lips touched his cheek.

“What about Bridget?”

He pushed the memories of Rachel to the back of his mind. “Bridget was serious stalker material.”

“What did she do—call you the day after your date?”

“She called. She texted. She emailed. And then she showed up at the house—and I never told her where I lived.”

“Okay, that’s a little obsessive,” Nathan allowed.

“And when I made the mistake of inviting her to come inside for a drink—because I didn’t know how else to respond to her presence on my doorstep—she immediately started making decorating suggestions.”

“Well, she is an interior designer.”

“Who walked through the house until she found my bedroom and then told me the feng shui wasn’t conducive to getting naked and sweaty.”

Nate winced. “Okay—forget Bridget. Tell me about this girl you went bowling with last night—how did you meet her?”

“She works at a flower shop downtown.”

“Please don’t tell me you were in there buying flowers to take to the cemetery.”

“Okay, I won’t tell you.”

Nathan groaned. “That’s pathetic.”

“Why does it matter where I met her? We’re just...friends,” he decided, because acquaintances seemed overly vague a description for a woman who had played a starring role in the sexual dreams that plagued his sleep the previous evening. Of course, he wasn’t going to share that with his brother.

“Is she coyote ugly?”

He choked on his beer. “Jeez, Nate. No. She’s not ugly at all.”

“Then what does she look like?”

He could picture her clearly: the silky brown hair that she kept tied back when she was working but had brushed out so that it hung loose to her shoulders last night; the deep blue eyes that reminded him of clear summer skies; the light dusting of freckles over the bridge of her pert nose; the tiny mole at the corner of her temptingly shaped mouth; the graceful slope of her shoulders; the unmistakably feminine curves.

But he couldn’t mention any one of those things, because he knew that if he did, his brother would somehow sense everything that he wasn’t saying. Most notably that Rachel Ellis was the first woman who had stuck in his mind—and stirred his body—in a very long time.

“She’s...attractive,” he finally said. “In a girl-next-door kind of way.”

Nathan’s brows lifted. “So if you’re really not interested, maybe you’ll introduce her to me.”

“No.” His response was immediate and unequivocal.

“Why not?”

“Because she’s...sweet.”

“I like sweet.”

“Said the wolf to Red Riding Hood,” Andrew noted drily.

His brother grinned.

“Besides, I thought you were dating some flight attendant.”

“Yeah, but since she picked up the San Francisco to Tokyo route, I hardly see her,” he admitted.

“I guess that would explain why you were alone on Valentine’s Day.”

“And most other days that end with a y,” Nate grumbled.

Before Andrew could respond to that, his brother’s pocket started ringing. Nate pulled out his cell phone and smiled when he saw the name on the display. Andrew started to clear up his tools while his brother answered the call.

“That was Mallory,” he said, tucking his phone away again. “She’s got four days off and is just about to get on a plane headed home.”

“I guess you’re not going to be alone tonight,” he noted.

His brother grinned. “Do you know where I can pick up some flowers?”

* * *

Maura didn’t understand why they had to go outside for recess. Mrs. Patterson, her first grade teacher, insisted that fresh air was good for them. But by the time they all got their boots and hats and coats on, recess was half-over.

Sometimes they played grounders on the climber, but today she was just hanging out on the swings with her best friend, Kristy. Not even swinging, just sitting on the cold plastic seats and waiting for the bell to ring again so they could go back inside.

“I saw Simon put a Valentine in your box on Friday.”

“He gave Valentines to everyone,” Maura said. “It’s like a rule.”

“But he gave you the biggest one,” Kristy said. “I think he likes you.”

Maura just shrugged. Kristy thought it was a big deal to know which boys liked which girls, but she didn’t really care.

“Boys give you things when they like you—especially on Valentine’s Day,” Kristy told her. “My mom’s boyfriend gave her a ring and now they’re going to get married and Greg’s going to be my new dad.”

“But you already have a dad.”

“Yeah, but my mom says he’s a deadbeat and Greg will be a better one.”

Maura frowned. It didn’t seem fair that Kristy was getting another dad when she already had one. Not that Maura wanted another dad—she already had the best dad in the world. But she thought it would be kinda cool if she could get a new mom, ’cuz the one she’d had died when Maura was little.

“And I get to be a flower girl in the wedding,” Kristy said. “But Tiffany gets to be a bridesmaid, ’cuz she’s older and ’cuz she got to be a flower girl at our mom’s last wedding. We’re gonna have matching dresses, though. Probably pink.”

Maura thought it would be fun to be in a wedding. Before Christmas, her dad had taken her out of school for a couple of days so they could go to Uncle Jack’s wedding. Her cousin, Ava, was a bridesmaid, and she got to walk down the aisle of the church just like the bride.

Knowing that Kristy was going to be in a wedding, Maura felt something curl in her belly. It was what her daddy called a green-eyed monster. She knew it wasn’t really a monster, but the bad feeling she got when she wanted what someone else had. She should be happy that Kristy was going to be in a wedding, but she wished she could be in a wedding, too.

And it really wasn’t fair that Kristy was gonna have two dads and she didn’t even have one mom.

* * *

Rachel flipped the page on the calendar when she opened up the shop Saturday morning. It was March 1st—two weeks after Valentine’s Day. And in that time, she hadn’t seen or heard from Andrew Garrett again. Which wasn’t at all unusual. In fact, if he stuck to his usual pattern, she wouldn’t see him again until August.

So while it wasn’t surprising that he hadn’t come by the shop, it was disappointing. She’d thought—hoped—that the time they’d spent together on Valentine’s Day might have meant something to him. Because it had meant something to her. The fact that he hadn’t made any effort to contact her since suggested otherwise.

She’d tried to put the events of that evening out of her mind as completely as he’d apparently done. But sometimes her thoughts would wander and she’d remember the surprising camaraderie they’d shared for a few hours—and the even more surprising tug of attraction.

There was something about the man that really appealed to her—and turned on parts of her that had been turned off for a very long time. Unfortunately, the attraction she felt was obviously one-sided. As Holly had pointed out, date or no date, if a guy was interested, he made a move. Andrew hadn’t made a move—he hadn’t even responded to her move.

If, that is, kissing a guy on the cheek could be considered a move and not just an impulse to express her gratitude for a fun evening. And maybe, subconsciously, she’d also been testing the waters a little.

The combination of his enticing masculine scent and the faint shadow of stubble on his jaw had been as intoxicating as the wine she’d enjoyed with her dinner. And when her lips had brushed his raspy cheek, she’d felt the tingles all the way down to her toes.

Sixteen months was a long time to go without dating—and everything else it entailed. The brief contact had her suddenly yearning for that everything else, and tempted her to dive right in. Andrew, on the other hand, had given no indication that he even wanted to get his feet wet.

She tried to put him out of her mind. It was ridiculous to spend so much time thinking about a man she barely knew. A man who, as Holly had pointed out, was probably still in love with and grieving for his deceased wife. Unfortunately that knowledge didn’t change the fact that, two weeks after their Valentine’s Day non-date, she hadn’t stopped thinking about him.

On the plus side, two weeks after Holly’s Valentine’s Day breakup, she wasn’t yet dating anyone new, so she and Rachel were hanging out more often. In fact, today Trish was coming in at lunch to manage the shop so they could head to Raleigh to catch an afternoon basketball game. But first they had to finish up the last of the centerpieces for Holly’s grandmother’s ninetieth birthday party the following day.

They were on the last one—Rachel cutting and Holly arranging—when Holly’s phone chimed to indicate a text message. She frowned at the screen.

“Problem?” Rachel asked.

“I don’t know—it’s a cryptic bunch of letters and numbers from Gary.”

Gary was Holly’s brother, currently in England to finish up a Master’s Degree at the London School of Economics. “Letters and numbers?”

“‘BA5521 15:40 can u pick up?’” As she read the message out loud, Holly’s eyes widened. “Ohmygod. It’s flight information.”

“He’s coming home for your grandmother’s birthday party,” Rachel guessed.

Her friend’s eyes filled with tears as she typed a reply. “He didn’t come home for Christmas. I haven’t seen him since August.”

Rachel passed her a tissue. “You’ll see him this afternoon.”

“I’ll see him this afternoon.” Her lips curved in anticipation of the reunion, then her smile slipped. “Oh, Rachel, I’m sorry.”

She shook her head. “Don’t you dare apologize.”

“But you already bought the tickets.”

“So I’ll find someone else to go with me—or I won’t. It’s not a big deal.”

“Are you sure? Because I could ask one of my cousins to—”

“I’m sure,” Rachel interjected. “Your brother coming home is a big deal—you need to be there.”

Holly nodded her thanks.

Rachel started transferring the finished centerpieces to the fridge while her friend swept the cuttings from the table. When the front door chimed, Rachel’s hands were full of flowers and Trish wasn’t in yet, so Holly went to the front of the shop to assist the customer. Thirty seconds later, she was back again and nudging her business partner toward the showroom.

Though Rachel was puzzled by her friend’s odd behavior, she didn’t ask any questions. It wouldn’t be the first time Holly had chosen to hide out in the back rather than face an ex-boyfriend who had ventured into the shop. With her polite smile in place, she moved out past the counter—and found herself face-to-face with Andrew Garrett.

“Mr. Garrett. Hi.”

He smiled, and her already wildly pounding heart kicked it up another notch.

“I thought we were on a first-name basis now,” he said to her.

Were they? She didn’t know what to think, why he was there. But she couldn’t deny that she was really glad to see him. “Andrew,” she amended. “How can I help you today?”

“What kind of flowers would you recommend to express a heartfelt and sincere apology?”

She felt a smile tug at the corners of her mouth. “How badly did you screw up?”

“You tell me.”

“Sorry?”

“That’s supposed to be my line,” he said. “And I am sorry.”

“Why?” she asked cautiously.

“Because I couldn’t decide whether or not I should call, and when I finally admitted to myself that I wanted to call, I realized I didn’t have your number. By then, a whole week had passed so I figured there was no point in tracking you down because you’d probably already written me off. And now it’s two weeks later, but I haven’t stopped thinking about you, so here I am anyway.”

“You’re here to see me?”

He nodded. “Obviously you’re working right now, but if you don’t object to giving me your number, maybe I can call you sometime and we could make plans to do something again?”

She took one of the business cards from the holder by the cash register and was scribbling her home number on it when Holly came through from the back with a spring assortment to set in the display case.

“I’m sorry for reneging on our plans this afternoon,” Holly said to Rachel. And then, as if she’d only now realized that Andrew was there, “Oh—I didn’t realize you were with a customer.”

Rachel rolled her eyes in response to the blatant fib. “Holly, this is Andrew Garrett. Andrew, my friend and business partner, Holly Kendrick.”

“I apologize for interrupting,” Holly said to him. “I just got a message that my brother’s coming into town so I have to pick him up from the airport, but I feel terrible about abandoning Rachel with two tickets to a Wolfpack game on a Saturday afternoon.”

“Shouldn’t you be on your way to the airport now?” Rachel suggested.

“You’re right,” Holly agreed. “It was nice meeting you, Andrew. See you tomorrow, Rachel.” Then she disappeared into the back again and—hopefully—out the back door.

“Was that your friend’s not-so-subtle way of letting me know that you don’t have any plans today?” Andrew asked when Holly had gone.

“Actually that was subtle, at least for Holly. And I do have plans.”

“The basketball game.”

She nodded.

“I like basketball,” he said. “If you wanted to sell the extra ticket to me, I’d go with you.”

“I’m not selling the ticket to you,” she told him. “But I will let you buy the popcorn.”

He smiled. “Sounds fair. What time’s the game?”

“Four o’clock.”

“I’ll pick you up at two-thirty.”

* * *

Andrew pressed the code to buzz Rachel’s apartment at precisely two-thirty. After he identified himself over the intercom, she told him “apartment 704” and released the lock.

He stepped into the lobby and took a moment to look around while he waited for the elevator. He’d never lived in an apartment and wasn’t sure he could do so without feeling claustrophobic, but he had to admit that this building had ambience. There were watercolors on the walls, fresh flowers strategically placed around the room and leather seating around a gas fireplace.

A quiet ding indicated the elevator’s arrival and, a minute later, he was at Rachel’s door. She responded promptly to his knock.

“I just need to grab my purse,” she said, and stepped back so that he could enter.

He didn’t glance around her apartment because his gaze was riveted on her. She’d changed from her work clothes into a pair of black jeans that molded to her narrow hips and a soft pink sweater that hugged her curves and somehow made her eyes seem even bluer. She’d brushed her hair out, so that it spilled over her shoulders in a silky cloud. On her feet she wore black boots with heels that looked more fashionable than practical.

He felt a distinctive tug low in his groin and couldn’t deny it was attraction. And his body’s instinctive response to Rachel Ellis worried him, because he sensed that there was something more going on here than basic chemistry. Lust was simple enough, but what he felt for Rachel wasn’t simple. There was something more mixed with the desire he felt, and he was concerned that he could—maybe already did—actually like her.

She picked up her purse off the console, double-checked that she had the tickets, then grabbed her coat from the closet. “Okay,” she told him.

When he didn’t shift from his position in front of the door, she looked up at him. He watched her eyes darken as puzzlement changed to awareness, and the pulse at the base of her throat quickened as awareness gave way to desire. It had been a long time since he’d had to read a woman’s signals, but he was confident that the attraction he felt was reciprocated.

She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. “Are you, uh, ready?”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “There’s just one thing I think we should get out of the way before we go.”

And then he kissed her.

Chapter Four

Oh. My. God.

He was kissing her.

And this wasn’t a casual brush of the lips. It was immediate and full mouth-on-mouth contact. Not in a way that could be considered aggressive or pushy, just direct and sure, and there was something incredibly sexy about his self-confidence.

In the space of a heartbeat, those masterful lips took Rachel from casually intrigued to completely aroused. About three seconds later, she decided that if levels of expertise could be assessed like in the martial arts, he was a black-belt grand master of kissing. Two seconds after that, she was incapable of forming any other coherent thoughts.

Kissing Andrew Garrett was simply...bliss.

He lifted a hand to cup the nape of her neck, his thumb gently brushing over the racing pulse point below her jaw. His other arm curled around her back, drawing her closer. She went willingly, eagerly. Her lips parted beneath the pressure of his, and when his tongue slipped between them, she felt the surge of heat through her veins, igniting flames of desire.

And still he continued to kiss her, savoring the taste and texture of her mouth without pressing for anything more. His lips nibbled, his tongue teased and everything inside of her quivered with want, need. He wanted her, too—there was no mistaking the desire she tasted in his kiss—but it was tempered by patience, balanced by caution.

Because she had her own reasons for being careful, she appreciated his restraint. But she was still disappointed when he finally lifted his mouth from hers.

She was twenty-seven years old. She’d had boyfriends, relationships, heartbreaks. She’d shared her body and her bed with other men, but never had any other man kissed her with the focused intensity Andrew demonstrated. Even now, he kept his arm around her, as if he wasn’t quite ready to let her go.

“I’ve been thinking about that since Valentine’s Day,” he told her.

“Oh. Um.” The power of conversation had completely deserted her along with the ability to form coherent thoughts.

He smiled. “Yeah, I know the feeling.”

“I wasn’t— I’m not—” She blew out a breath. “I’m on a dating hiatus.”

“You mentioned that.”

“And we’re supposed to be going to the basketball game.”

“That’s why I’m here.”

“I’m a really big Wolfpack fan.”

“Okay,” he agreed.

“But now I’m thinking...that I might want to not see the game even more.”

The glint of humor in his green eyes faded; the arm around her waist tightened. “Rachel.”

“I’m not usually the impulsive type, and I don’t even really know you. Or maybe it’s just that sixteen months is a really long time to go without having sex. Except that I didn’t even think about it for most of that time, and all you did was kiss me, but I’m definitely thinking about it now.”

“I’m thinking about it, too,” he admitted.

“But we had a deal,” she reminded him.

“We did?”

She nodded. “You’re buying the popcorn.”

“Popcorn. Right.” He finally released her and took a step back. “Then I guess we should be going.”

She felt a little bit steadier as they waited for the elevator. Although there was no one else in the hall, she was confident that she had enough self-restraint to refrain from tearing his clothes off in a public place. And when the doors of the elevator closed behind them, she was sure the moment of insanity had passed.

The blast of cold air that greeted her when they exited the building quickly cooled her heated skin. In fact, she’d only taken a few steps before she was wishing that she’d grabbed a hat and gloves. Instead, she stuffed her hands into the pockets of her jacket and tucked her chin deeper into the collar to combat the unseasonably cold weather. When her heel caught a patch of ice, she would have fallen onto her butt if Andrew hadn’t managed to catch her elbow and hold her up.

“I was right,” he murmured.

“About what?”

“Your boots are more stylish than practical.”

“I wear the practical ones every day,” she told him. “I like to dress up a little when I go out.”

“Did I mention how nice you look?”

“Not in so many words, but I thought the kiss might have been an indicator.”

“I’m usually pretty good with words, but it’s been a long time since I’ve done the dating thing,” he said apologetically, as he walked around to the passenger door of his car.

She had no complaints about his communication skills, but she didn’t dare say so in case he interpreted her response as an invitation to kiss her again. Not that she would object if he did so, she just wasn’t sure she could handle another one of his kisses right now.

“I should have said that you look nice—beautiful, actually.”

It wasn’t the smoothest compliment she’d ever received, but she could tell that he meant it, and despite the fact that her teeth were close to chattering, she felt her cheeks heat.

He opened the door for her.

She lowered herself onto the leather seat and reached for the belt. Andrew slid in behind the steering wheel and started the car, immediately turning up the temperature. Before he had pulled out of the parking lot, she could feel the warm air on her frigid feet.

As the heat permeated the vehicle and thawed her extremities, she became aware of other things: the wide-palmed hands wrapped around the steering wheel, the breadth of his shoulders beneath his leather jacket, the strong line of his jaw darkened with just the slightest hint of stubble and the clean, masculine scent of him that filled her nostrils every time she drew a breath. She definitely wasn’t feeling cold anymore, not with all of the heat churning inside of her.

She unfastened the top two buttons of her coat, and he automatically reached for the button to adjust the climate control. She mentally added courteous to his already-impressive list of attributes that included handsome, charming, loyal—and a fabulous kisser.

In fact, her head was still reeling from that kiss. Ordinarily such a bold move would have put her off. But it was hard to be annoyed when every long-dormant nerve ending in her body was standing at attention and begging for more.

“So how did you become a Wolfpack fan?” he asked her.

“My brother played college basketball.”

“At NC State?”

She nodded. “Did you ever play?”

“No, my game was football. At Duke.”

She might have guessed football, because of those shoulders. But he was tall enough that basketball wouldn’t have been out of the question. The school, however, surprised her. “Both Holly and I went to Duke.”

He smiled. “I think we’ve already established that I would have been there a lot of years before you.”

“Unless it took you a long time to graduate,” she teased.

He laughed. “I got the standard four-year degree in four years.”

She had a lot more questions, but he turned the focus back to her. “Did you meet Holly at college?”

“No, we go way back to the second grade when Holly’s parents split up and she and her brother came to Charisma to live with her grandmother. We first decided we would go into business together when we were in fifth grade, but we didn’t know the business was going to be flowers.”

“How did that come about?”

“We both majored in business, but Holly liked to try a lot of different things and occasionally took courses just for fun. One of those was a floral-design class offered on Saturday mornings, and she fell in love with it.”

“So you’re the ‘Buds’ of Buds & Blooms,” he realized. “Clever.”

“We thought so,” she agreed. “Most people assume ‘Buds’ is a reference to undeveloped flowers—and it is. But we liked that it was also an abbreviation of buddies.”

And since she’d already told him far more than she intended, she said, “So tell me about you—what do you do?”

“Nothing very exciting,” he warned.

“You mean you’re not a NASA astronaut or government spy?”

He chuckled. “Unfortunately, no. I’m a carpenter.”

Which explained his strong and confident hands. “What kind of carpentry do you do?

“Mostly finish work and cabinetry.”

“So you’re a detail man,” she surmised.

“I guess that’s a fair assessment.” He turned into the parking lot of PNC Arena.

“Do you like your work?”

“Most days.”

“Then you’re doing the right thing.”

The parking lot was rapidly filling up, so he drove directly to the gate. “Why don’t you get out here and I’ll meet you inside after I’ve parked the car?”

“Okay,” she agreed, and added chivalrous to the ever-growing list she was compiling. Obviously his mother had raised him to treat a girl right—and this girl’s heart was already starting to go pitter-patter.

It’s just a basketball game, she reminded herself. Not a date. He was only there with her because Holly had bailed and Rachel happened to have an extra ticket. And she might almost have believed this was just an impromptu outing between casual acquaintances, except for that kiss.

She had to stop thinking about that kiss.

Because every minute that she spent with him, she found him more attractive and appealing, and she wasn’t looking for any kind of romantic involvement at this point in her life. She wasn’t ready to end her dating hiatus just yet. She didn’t want to feel all the feelings he stirred up inside her. In fact, she almost hoped that he would shove popcorn into his mouth by the handful or slurp on his soda or send text messages throughout the game so that she could focus on some annoying behavior and stop thinking about the feel of his mouth on hers.

* * *

He shouldn’t have kissed her.

Not that Andrew regretted the off-the-charts lip-lock they’d shared, but he knew it would have been smarter to resist the impulse that urged him to sample the taste and texture of her temptingly curved mouth. Because now he couldn’t think about anything but the softness of her lips, the sweet flavor of her and the surprising passion in her response.

And no matter how many times he told himself that what he’d shared with Rachel was just a kiss, he wasn’t reassured. Because now he wanted to kiss her again and again, and he wanted those kisses to lead to more. A lot more.

He spotted her immediately when he walked through the doors. She was standing just inside, waiting for him. He wondered how it was that he’d been into her shop more than half a dozen times over the past few years, had several conversations with her and never noticed how truly beautiful she was.

Sure, he’d felt a subtle buzz, but until their paths had crossed at Valentino’s two weeks ago, he’d never seen her as anything other than the woman who worked at the flower shop. Maybe, prior to that day, he hadn’t been ready to see her as anything more.

Her lips curved when she spotted him, and his gaze automatically dipped to the soft, sweet mouth. There was no doubt he was feeling the attraction now.

“Popcorn?” he asked.

“Absolutely,” she agreed.

He bought a large popcorn and a couple of drinks, then they went to find their seats.

The last time he’d been at the arena was with Maura. A guy at work had a couple of tickets to a Hurricanes game that he couldn’t use, so he gave them to Andrew. And they were great seats, too.

His daughter, unfortunately, had been less than thrilled with the close-up view of players ruthlessly crushed against the glass. And when a little bit of jostling ended with the gloves dropping and fists pumping, she’d started to cry. They’d left before the end of the second period.

Thinking about Maura at that game reminded him that he hadn’t mentioned his daughter to Rachel.

He wasn’t deliberately keeping the existence of his child a secret from her—he just hadn’t yet found a way to bring her name into the conversation. Maybe he hadn’t tried too hard, but, truthfully, he was enjoying talking about other things for a change. The basic getting-to-know-one-another conversations always seemed to take on a different tone whenever he revealed that he was a single father.

Some women weren’t interested in playing mommy to another woman’s child, but in Andrew’s recent and admittedly limited dating experience, most of them tried to use the existence of his motherless child to worm their way into his affections.

He didn’t disagree that a child needed a mother, and he felt fortunate that both his mother and his former mother-in-law were close to Maura. He also had three female cousins who doted on his little girl, so she had plenty of women in her life. And although a couple of his dates had expressed an interest in meeting his daughter, none of them had ever done so.

It was too early to decide whether or not Rachel would be the first, but if he planned to see her again after tonight, he knew that he had to tell her about Maura. Not now—not in the midst of a crowded arena only minutes before the game was scheduled to start, but definitely before their relationship progressed further than a few kisses.

As the players continued their warm-ups, he glanced over at Rachel and discovered that the low V-neckline of her soft pink sweater afforded him a tempting view of pale skin and a hint of shadowy cleavage.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The initial attraction to Rachel had been nothing more than a mild curiosity, a subtle stirring in his blood. Then they’d had dinner together on Valentine’s Day, and they’d talked and laughed and he’d realized he actually liked her. That, combined with the attraction, changed everything for him. Or maybe it was the first kiss—the impulsive touch of her lips to his cheek. But somewhere along the line, what had started as a subtle stirring in his blood had escalated to a raging hunger, so that he actually ached with wanting her.

Was it simply a matter of timing? Was he finally ready to move on with his life? Or was it Rachel? Was there something about this specific woman that got to him?

He reached for more popcorn, and his fingers brushed over the back of her hand. The casual touch sent heat coursing through his veins, and the little catch in her breath confirmed that she’d felt something, too. Her gaze lifted to his, her blue eyes wide, aware. Her slightly parted lips glistened with butter, tempting him to lick it away.

The sound of a buzzer made both of them jump, and he forced his attention back to the court.

* * *

Two hours later, as they merged with the crowd exiting the arena, Andrew wasn’t ready to take Rachel home. His house was always so empty and quiet when Maura was gone, and he wasn’t eager to get back to it. Not that either empty or quiet had ever bothered him too much before—he was usually content with his own company. But today he was enjoying being with Rachel a lot more.

“Are you hungry?” he asked. “Did you want to go somewhere to grab a bite to eat?”

“I should say I’m not after all of that popcorn, but it would be a lie.”

“You burned off a lot of calories in that game,” he said, teasing her about her inability to sit still while watching the action.

“No one’s ever accused me of being passive,” she admitted.

It was an innocent remark, but that didn’t prevent his imagination from running with it and wondering if she would demonstrate the same energy in the bedroom.

“So—” he cleared his throat “—you up for O’Reilly’s?”

It would probably be smarter to decline his invitation. Sitting beside him at the arena, Rachel had been so hyperaware of every brush of his thigh and touch of his hand that she’d found it difficult to concentrate on what was happening in the game. Apparently sixteen months without sex had turned her into a mass of quivering hormones, and she was afraid that spending more time with him might be too much temptation for her to resist.

And she had reason to be wary. She didn’t know very much about him aside from the fact that her heart pounded a little bit faster whenever he was near. And despite the kiss they’d shared—all she had to do was think about that kiss and her blood started to heat—she didn’t want to get involved with a man who was still in love with his late wife.

His devotion to the woman he’d married was admirable, and she respected that. But Rachel also knew that, for her, the same loyalty and commitment could mean heartbreak. Of course, he’d only asked her if she wanted to get some food, not to move in with him, so she nodded.

“Sounds good.”

The blast of cold air that hit her when they exited the building made her shiver, and he slid his arm across her shoulders, tucking her close to his body to share his warmth. The action immediately succeeded. Every place that their bodies were in contact—even through several layers of clothes—she felt heat.

The intensity of the attraction she felt for this man was more than a little unnerving. She wasn’t looking to get involved right now. Although business was doing well, Buds & Blooms took most of her time and attention. More than once, Holly had accused Rachel of burying herself in work to avoid heartbreak, and she couldn’t deny that there was probably some truth to that claim.

The end of her relationship with Eric had left scars that she wasn’t sure were completely healed. She’d been in love and believed that they were planning a life and a future together. But he’d already found the one woman he would love forever, and it had taken Rachel a long time to realize that woman wasn’t her. His daughter was just one more factor in the already-complicated equation that centered around his ex-wife.

When she’d finally figured things out and walked away, he’d tried to change her mind. But he’d been unwilling to make any changes in his life. Wendy still called the shots and, because he was still in love with her, he let her. And that made their relationship a little too crowded for Rachel’s liking.

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