Page 67 of The Merry Matchmaker

Made reservations for six.

Well, he’d been confident. She supposed that was hardly surprising considering how she melted when he kissed her at the bar in Carol’s Place. He was probably sure that even though she’d been hiding from him, he’d get them past that.

But now she was sure he wouldn’t. When something didn’t feel right, it wasn’t right, and she needed to set the man free to go find someone else.

OK, she texted back, even as she wondered if she should just take him out for coffee. Or do the ultimate in tacky and say adios via text.

Let me pick you up, he texted.

That would really end up being awkward.Have to run some errands first, she lied.I’ll meet you there.

She got a sad-face emoticon in return. He’d probably be a lot sadder after they had their talk. But he was gorgeous and nice and would have no problem replacing her.

That thought was hardly an ego boost. True nonetheless.

Even though she was going to be ending things before they got any further down the love road, her pride demanded she go out looking good, and she still found herself spending more time than necessary deciding what she was going to wear. The red dress with the faux fur trim beckoned, but she told it no. It was too sexy and would say,Pay no attention to anything I’m saying. I don’t mean it. She settled for jeans and a white blouse, topped with a soft angora sweater, along with her favorite designer-knock-off black boots with the bows on the side. Festive yet casual, pretty but not sending anymelt me for Christmasmessages.

As if she’d have to ask. A huge helping of a man like Brock would melt a woman simply because he was breathing.

He arrived at the restaurant casually dressed in jeans and a plaid shirt, looking ready to model for the cover of a romance novel. Or star in a holiday movie:The Holiday Hunk.

He’d have to be someone else’s hunk.

He greeted her with a smile. “You look amazing.”

She deflected the flattery. “You’re easily amazed.”

“Our table’s not ready yet. Want to sit at the bar?”

Maybe she could end things at the bar, save him some money. She nodded.

He put a hand to her back as they made their way to a tall table. A man’s hand on her back felt so good.No melting, she commanded herself.

Once seated, he looked at the drink menu and pointed to one. “How about this, the Christmas Chameleon?” he suggested, showing her a picture. The drink sported several colors,thanks to our exotic butterfly pea flowers, said the description. Butterfly pea flowers—she was living large.

“Okay,” she said with a nod. She could stall the moment of truth by talking about their drinks. And then what? His life? Where he saw himself in ten years? Where he saw her in ten years? Starting to think about social security! She knew how fast ten years would go.

As soon as they ordered their drinks, he jumped right into it. “So, how come you’ve been avoiding me?”

“I’m sorry. I’ve been busy,” she said.

He cocked his head and studied her.

“I have.”

“You don’t have to be afraid of this,” he said. “Your husband would want you to get out and live.”

“I live,” she insisted. Okay, so her hormones were nearly in the graveyard, but that was beside the point.

Their server arrived with their drinks. They were so colorful. They saidparty. They were not even remotely a match for the conversation she and Brock were about to have.

He picked his up and held it toward her. “To the rest of our lives.”

She could drink to that, even though the rest of their lives wasn’t going to look like what he was envisioning.

This was ridiculous. She needed to quit stalling. Pull the bandage off with one rip. She took a fortifying gulp of her drink.

Then she heard it. Two twentysomething women, dressed in holiday finery and looking for fun, had just settled in at the table next to them. “Look, a cougar and her cub,” one said to the other in a stage whisper, and her friend giggled.

---