Page 16 of More Than a Helping Hand

I’m not a believer in love at first sight, but attraction is something else altogether. And I am seriously attracted to this woman. And every time she slaps back, that attraction grows.

Sarcasm is my love language.

But I’m also nervous.

Her hatchback pulls into a parking space, and I stand and walk toward her car. But I hang back when I get close because she’s looking into the rearview mirror and talking to herself. Unfortunately, I can’t make out what she’s saying.

When the door starts to open, I tap the back of the car. “Hey there.”

She blinks, which draws my attention to her perfect eye makeup. And then she pinches her lips, which are colored a muted red. After one more second, I’ll stop staring at her mouth.

“Hi.” With hesitant steps, she moves closer to me. “Thanks for meeting me.”

I might have winged insects dancing the hula in my gut, but my aim is that she doesn’t figure that out. I’m pretty sure she’s nervous enough for both of us, which oddly relaxes me a bit. “Darlin’, I’d meet you anywhere, anytime.”

She rubs her temples, then clutches her purse. “I am so not used to this.”

I shove my hands in my pockets. Taking her hand is ill-advised at the moment. Besides, I’d have to wrestle one of her hands free from where they’re gripping her purse strap.

We cross the parking lot, and I’m on the wrong side of her as I pull open the door. But thankfully, I’m tall so that she can walk right under my arm.

She does, but she also barely brushes against me as she walks inside. That’s a good sign. This may not be a date, but I’m starting to think part of her wishes it was. “Have any trouble finding this place?”

She shakes her head. “My map app gave good directions. You?”

“My sister lives a couple miles from here, so I’ve been around this area quite a bit in the last few months.” I’m not going to spill my heartfelt story on our first not-date. If Primrose is going to like me, I don’t want it to be because I stepped up to take care of my sister.

“Only one sister? Or do you have other siblings?” Her gaze meets mine, then slides down the front of me.

The subtle flare of her nostrils makes me think that this shirt and my pressed jeans were the right choice. Or maybe it means I smell. I’m not sure, and googling it now would be rude.

The hostess leads us to a booth in the corner, where the bench circles around the table rather than being on each side. So we get to sit beside each other rather than across from each other. But my excitement about the table is short lived because Primrose sits as far from me as possible.

Maybe I do smell bad.

“Only the one sister.” I pick up the menu but don’t look at it. “What about you? Any siblings besides Parker?”

“Two sisters. From oldest to youngest, it’s Priscilla, Paisley, Primrose, and Parker. My parents were all about interesting names.”

“And the letter P.”

She laughs. “Yeah. I think with Parker, they chose a name that could go either way because they didn’t believe the tech. After three girls, a boy didn’t seem possible.”

“That’s funny. I think I’ve heard Parker mention Paisley before. I just hadn’t put it all together.”

Primrose glances at the menu. “Paisley is Bluebonnet’s best friend. We were all shocked when she married Parker. Bluebonnet, not Paisley.”

“Of course, ’cause that would be weird.” I study her while she’s looking down at the menu.

Without missing a beat, she adds, “And illegal in forty-eight states.”

I chuckle.

A hint of a smile curves her lips, and she looks at me. “What’s good here?”

“I had pizza the first time I came and a burger the second. My sister said her salmon entrée was good. My burger was good, but I preferred the pizza.”

“I thought about that, but how big are they?”

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