Page 1 of Just Can't Fall for the Enemy

One

I staredat the man sitting in front of me—all 150 pounds of high breeding and expensive tailored shirt of him. He didn’t stare back as he was currently too busy judging every inch of the restaurant with a frown. “So,” he began, “why did you want to meet here again?”

It’s the nicest restaurant in town.I didn’t say it and prided myself on not throwing the entire basket of garlic bread at his face, tugging at the sleeve of my nicest blouse instead. “It’s a good central meeting place. You’re staying at the hotel, right?”

“If you can call it that.” He sniffed. “What an . . .interestingplace to live.”

I felt my body tense and told myself to calm down. Huckleberry Creek, Montana, was the most charming small town in existence. The fact that he couldn’t see it only proved this entire night—and the earlier twenty minutes spent straightening my hair—would be a waste of time. “You don’t like small towns?”

He wrinkled his nose at a family with several children sitting nearby, all in worn yet clean clothes. “Let’s just say these aren’t my people. Obviously my mother has never set foot here, or she would have flown you to Chicago to meet me instead.” His fork hovered over his plate of pasta, drawing my eye to a pair of cuff links.Cuff links.

I wouldn’t have gone to Chicago for a date with a rich prince, let alone the whiny son of a senator. I’d only agreed to this blind date to make Grammy happy. Apparently, she and the senator lady were friends. Staring at this man and his permanent pout, I couldn’t imagine why. His collar fell slightly open, just casual enough for the occasion yet perfectly fitted like a politician’s speech outfit. Made sense, considering who his mother was. Everything about his appearance screamed, “Eligible and desirable man in search of a doting wife.”Why he assumed me a candidate was beyond me.

“So, anyway,” he said again. “Let’s get on with it. What do you think a wife’s role is in our society?”

I didn’t ask what we were getting onwith. He’d stared at his lap as he asked the question, just as with the last two oddly formal questions. He’d ordered for me against my insistence otherwise, claiming the online reviews praised this spaghetti. He forgot I’d grown up in this town. I knew every inch of it, including who probably made this and every detail about the server who brought it to our table. I’d even attended the opening of Alice’s Italy House, for goodness’ sake. The only reason a man would insist on ordering spaghetti for a woman was to test her breeding.

Well, two could play that game.

I shoveled a huge bite into my mouth, making sure one of the noodles hung over my bottom lip, and talked around the food. “Wives should live the same way as their husbands, doing whatever they want.” I slurped the noodle into my mouth as messily as possible.

He frowned. “Even a senator’s wife?”

“Especially a senator’s wife. Sounds like a very lonely place to be if you ask me.” I picked up the glass of ice water, brought it to my mouth, and slurped loudly.

He flinched and fixed his gaze on his lap again. “Uh, okay. Moving on. I wondered if you want children and, if so, how many?”

Yep. Definitely reading off a list. Now I was curious. Did he or his mother write it?

I took another bite, bigger this time. “Fourteen,” I said with a full mouth. “Two to do the yard work, ten to do the cooking, and three for laundry. Then I can watch more episodes ofAbandoned on an Island.Oh, and five dogs.”

His eyes positively bugged now. “I . . . fourteen?”

“And five dogs,” I repeated. “One pit bull, one Great Dane, one boxer, a poodle mix, and a Chihuahua.”

“But pit bulls are dangerous.”

A giggle nearly erupted from my cramping stomach—I hated spaghetti—but I contained it barely in time. “Not true. I have one, and he’s never tried to eat a child. He did take a chunk out of a date’s leg once, but we got him to the hospital in plenty of time. Oh, and I forgot the cats. I want to run a cat rescue with at least twenty.”

“Stray cats?”

“The strayest of all strays.”

I’d gone too far. His eyes narrowed in suspicion. “I want two children, a boy and a girl. No pets.”

“Good for you.” I also thought two was the perfect number, but I’d fake a heart attack before I admitted that to Mr. Perfect Teeth.

His mouth tightened in displeasure, and he looked down at his lap once more. “What instruments do you play?”

Seriously?

I shoved another bite in and chewed it with my mouth open, being sure to roll it around for good measure. His eyes widened as he stared at the pasta hanging half in, half out.

“I have a harmonica,” I said, though it didn’t sound like English. “Oh! And a recorder, from third grade.”

“Mm-hmm.” His shoulders lifted and fell again as if he heaved a great internal sigh. I wanted to pump my fists in victory.

“Have you ever been on TV?” he asked.

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