Page 10 of One Night Flame

It was a good smile. Damn him.

Confident. Easy. Like he didn’t have a care in the world. And maybe he didn’t, because why would he? He was tall, handsome, built like a calendar model, and freshly auctioned off for a thousand dollars.

To my grandmother.

For me.

I tugged at the hem of my dress—too short. Too tight. Toonot mom—and felt the sharp edge of a snack wrapper in my purse. Without thinking, I reached in, hoping it was gum and not?—

Goldfish crackers.

Of course.

I closed the bag fast and shoved it deeper, hoping he hadn’t seen.

But when I looked up, Cord’s eyes were on me—not mocking, not amused. Just soft. Curious, even.

He didn’t laugh. Didn’t smirk. Instead, his smile changed, gentling at the edges, like I wasn’t just part of the spectacle. Like he saw me.

And it threw me more than the thousand-dollar bid ever could.

“Cord,” Grandma said, her voice smooth as pie filling, “I’d like you to meet my granddaughter, Lucy Sullivan.”

She said it like we were meeting over quiche at Sunday brunch instead of after she’d purchased him like a particularly well-muscled loaf of artisan bread.

And suddenly I had a mental image of him kneading bread dough, that painted-on T-shirt spattered in flour as he kneaded and smiled and showed off all the capabilities of those big, strong hands, and… what were we talking about again?

Cord turned to me, smile still warm but somehow less showy now. “Lucy,” he repeated, and my name sounded better than it had in a long time. He extended a hand. “Nice to meet you.”

I stared at it for half a second too long, like I’d forgotten how hands worked. Then I took it.

Warm. Solid. Callused in a way that said he actually used those muscles for something other than show. And when ourpalms touched, something zinged up my arm, sharp and surprising.

I blinked. He didn’t let go right away, but he didn’t overplay it either.

“Oh,” I said, then instantly regretted it. “You’re… tall.”

His smile tipped sideways, amused but not mocking. “Guilty.”

“Sorry,” I added quickly. “I mean—you know that. Obviously. It’s just—I didn’t expect…”

Cord’s laugh was low and easy, and the tension in my shoulders dropped a notch. Not because I was suddenly less mortified, but because he wasn’t making me feel worse about it. He wasn’t laughing at me.

Just with me.

Which, somehow, was worse. Because I didn’t know what to do with a man who looked like that and wasn’t a jerk. A man who stood in the center of a room full of women who wanted him, and looked at me like I was the one to impress.

He hadn’t let go of my hand too fast. He hadn’t winked, made a joke, or looked past me like I was someone’s plus-one.

He was still smiling. Still standing there.

And I was still unraveling.

I have a kid.

I’m divorced.

I haven’t shaved above the knee since last May.

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