Page 11 of Dining for Love

“Because you…never mind. Here’s what I’m wearing.” She pans the bed, and I see a summer yellow sundress. It’ll be perfect on Goldie, with her tan skin and thick blond hair.

“Cute.”

She turns the phone back on her face. “Exactly. And you need to look cute, too.”

“This is your date, Goldie. Not mine.”

“Then please, please,pleasewear something different. Show me what you’ve got.”

Sighing, I heave myself up from my extremely comfortable couch and pad into my bedroom. I prop the phone on the dresser and open up a drawer.

“Pull out whatever’s in there,” Goldie prods. “No blind rummaging. I know you.”

Damn. She really does. I pull all the contents of the drawer out and hold each item up for her inspection. Finally, a grueling fifteen minutes later, I have an outfit that meets with my sister’s approval: cut-off jean shorts that I’ve had since high school andan emerald-green, unstained T-shirt that she’s deemed acceptable.

She brings her phone close to her face and glares. “You better wear those.”

I give the screen a mock salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

Her left eye twitches, but she disconnects without another word.

I get dressed and shove my feet into my trusty Birkenstocks, then appraise myself in the mirror. I look fine. Hair is up in its customary ponytail, and hell, I’ll even put some lip gloss on for Goldie. Done.

Then it’s time to meet Reid outside. I take some centering breaths. This is all for my sister. I can definitely do this. The man is so handsome it nearly hurts to look at him, but for Goldie, I’ll do it.

She owes me.

Big time.

Taking one last breath, I step out of my cottage and head around Agatha’s to wait in her front yard. I don’t know what to do with myself. We didn’t talk aboutwhereto meet. Sure, technically the man lives next door, but am I supposed to go to his house and knock? I livebehindAgatha’s house. Was Reid supposed to leave his back door, cross the lawn and come to my place?

Crap. Maybe that’s what was supposed to happen. But this isn’t a date. Not for me, anyway. Not even close.

No, I was right to be out here.

I think.

I hate this.

I swivel on my heel, seconds from fleeing to the safety of my cottage, when I hear Reid’s voice.

“Willa.”

I jerk my head in his direction.

Oh, God.

I…I should never have agreed to this. Really glad I didn’t shave my legs, because the sight of Reid is giving me goosebumps, never mind that it’s ninety-five degrees in the shade and, dear lord in heaven, today may be the day I’m leaving this mortal realm.

Because Reid is…well. He looks every bit the fancy man from Miami with his dark hair held back by a pair of sunglasses, a white collared button down fluttering over a fitted sky-blue tank that is definitely painted on, and white shorts that are just a smidge shorter than what I’m used to seeing on a man.

Goddamn.He is scrumptious. He’s tomato pie and sweet iced tea on the porch with the ocean breeze ruffling your hair. He’s Big Mama’s banana pudding. He’s the juiciest steak served perfectly off the grill.

Give me strength.

He smiles.

And my legs go weak. Again.

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