Page 4 of A Gingerbread Romance

Jonathan studied the beautiful woman across from him as she talked about her work and asked for his opinions and input. She was delightful, honestly. A rare creature. And to think he’d assumed this date would be like all the others he went on back in the city.

He’d balked when his brother, Wade and his sister-in-law, Jocelyn, had insisted he go on a few dates while he was staying in town. They’d said Christmas was coming, and mistletoe and cuddling in front of a fire and long walks under the lights required company.

And that, at thirty-four, he was no spring chicken anymore. Jonathan guessed that meant he’d better get back in the game, at least as far as they were concerned.

But—what for? He’d be wrapped up in his work all season, and he didn’t need a distraction. This was a major real estate deal, for which he was representing his agency back in Baltimore. They’d sent him out since he was one of only a few at the office who were licensed in multiple states.

Besides, dating women at Christmastime tended to speed things up more quickly than at other times of the year, which could catapult a guy into a suddenly serious relationship.

Jonathan definitely wasn’t looking for that. He hadn’t been looking for anything serious for three years, in fact. Ever since Carla had called off their wedding only two weeks before the big day, announcing she was in love with another man. It had torn Jonathan into pieces, and since then, he’d thrown himself into his work and buried himself there.

So, a relationship? No, he’d had more than enough of those to last him years.

Of course, bachelorhood had its perks. There was no one to bother him about staying up too late or working himself too hard, no one to complain when he left the seat up, no dishes to wash but his own.

But when Wade and Jocelyn had pressed him about his stay here in New Haven Falls and found Greta on the app, he’d finally agreed to humor them. If for no other reason than to get them off his back.

One date. One chance. That was it.

Of course, it hadn’t hurt that, at least in her profile, she’d appeared to be tall and slender with long, dark blond hair, enormous green eyes, and plump, pink lips.

Andfortunately, as it turned out, she looked exactly like the woman in the profile picture. Gorgeous.

Unfortunately, she was also turning out to be a sweet girl-next-door sort of woman. Spunky, but not devilish. Conversational, but not too flirtatious. The kind of woman you marry.

Sonot what he was looking for right now.

If ever.

A server arrived and dropped off the drinks they’d ordered. Jonathan sipped from his pint glass of beer with its perfect foam, watching as Greta brought her lime daiquiri to her lips.

She took a sip. “Delicious.”

He smiled obligingly.

He wished she were less engaging and attentive, though, maybe even boring. He really did. Because then he wouldn’t be thinking about asking her out again, and he could say goodnight and be done with it. He’d have satisfied Wade and Jocelyn, and he could get back to his work, sans the distraction.

But she wasn’t boring. He sighed inwardly. She wasn’t full of herself, spoiled, or insecure, either. She was…

Delightful. Andreal.

She reminded him of his best friend, Tim’s wife, Trista, or the women his brothers had married. Humble, interesting, accomplished, and altogether lovely.

Someone he could kick back with and shoot the breeze. The way he’d been doing for the past twenty minutes.

Someone with whom he could imagine a future.

If he wanted that.

But he didn’t, did he?

He studied her, barely aware of the din of conversation in the lively pub or the music playing softly in the background.

Greta was, in fact, the type of woman heusedto be interested in. Before Carla had sullied his outlook.

He tore his gaze away, hoping he wasn’t giving her the wrong idea. But he had a rule that any woman he went out with should feel like a million bucks while he was out with her—the most important person in the room. And even now, he wasn’t about to break that rule.

Especially now, in fact.

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