Conner laughed. “Travis came to his senses. It’s on. I’m sure you’ll be getting an invitation. Did I tell you I’m going to be Travis’s best man?”

“Really? Well, if I get an invitation, I’ll look forward to seeing you in a tux—unless all the women mobbing you are blocking my view.”

“Ouch. The only woman I want mobbing me is you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said. “Where’s the ceremony going to be?”

“The Community Church. It’s the only traditional place with enough seating. Maggie’s got it reserved for December twenty-second, two days after the Christmas Ball.” He paused, giving her a sidelong glance. “I know you said you wouldn’t be going to the ball, but I keep hoping you’ll change your mind and be my date.”

“And spoil your chances with that sexy singer?” Megan shook her head. “Not on your life. I’ve got someplace else to be.”

Conner held back a sigh. Here they were, playing the same silly game. He was ready to end it. But if he called her bluff now, she might be too angry to have dinner with him—a sad waste of a lovely evening. Confession time would have to wait.

* * *

Darkness had fallen by the time they reached the restaurant, a rambling, rustic log structure with open beams overhead and a blazing stone fireplace in its center. Candles glowed on the tables. White lights twinkled on a small tree in one corner. Country Christmas music, turned low enough for quiet conversation, played in the background. The air smelled of pine, fresh bread, and sizzling steaks.

Megan had dined at more upscale spots in Nashville. But so far, at least, this place deserved high marks for coziness and taste. The young hostess showed them to the secluded booth Conner had reserved. He seated Megan before hanging their coats on a nearby rack.

By the time he returned, Megan was scanning the menu while a wine steward poured a sparkling cabernet into two goblets. “I hope you don’t mind my choosing the wine,” Conner said. “I took the liberty of ordering ahead to make sure they had it in stock.”

Megan took a sip. “It’s perfect,” she said. “You have excellent taste.” She’d almost forgotten that Conner was no simple cowboy. As a champion athlete and celebrity, he’d moved in wealthy circles and acquired some sophistication. He would be at home almost anywhere.

Conner glanced up at the steward with a word of thanks.

“You’re welcome, sir,” the young man said. “Your server will be with you in a moment to take your order.”

Megan studied the menu. “What’s good here?”

“Everything. But I like the rib eye.”