He sighed and studied the house. A flagstone path curved from the parking area to the Victorian’s front veranda, bisecting a velvety green lawn interrupted only by blue spruce trees and well-tended flower beds that displayed a riot of color, lending credibility to the saying that “April showers bring May flowers.” Only this was mountain country, where the nights could bring temperatures below freezing. It wasn’t easy to grow things here until June had a good foothold.

With a sigh, Blackie forced himself to man up. Julie was fixing him dinner. He had accepted the invitation. If he backed out now, he’d hate himself for a week and feel guilty. It wasn’t Julie’s fault there was something about her that got to him as no other woman ever had. It also wasn’t her fault she was two decades younger than he was and still had life goals that were the norm for people her age. He’d just enjoy dinner with her, be a gracious guest, and keep his eye on the end goal, going home as fast as his legs would carry him. Seeing her house told him things about her that he hadn’t been able to detect in other settings.

She was still in the nesting stage of her life.

Blackie climbed out of the car. Without bothering to lock it, he strode along the curved path. Once on the porch, he noticed tasteful wind chimes hanging from the porch eaves. Large porcelain pots filled with Wave petunias accented the white safety railing around the veranda. There was even a sitting area, appointed with Adirondack chairs and a two-person swing. He had to give Julie credit; she knew how to make a house into a home.

With a sigh of resignation, he stepped onto the doormat and reached sideways to ring the doorbell. Almost instantly, the front door opened to reveal Julie, who was all smiles of welcome. As always, she looked beautiful, with glossy, dark hair spilling down her back. She wore a pink top the same color as some of the petunias, one of those silky-looking things that had cutouts at each shoulder, a style that mystified Blackie. When he bought a shirt, he wanted all its parts to be present. He sure as hell wouldn’t let clothing manufacturers save money on fabric by convincing him it was the style to go around with sections of his arms naked.

“Blackie! I’m so pleased that you came!” As she stepped forward, her shin-length skirt shifted gracefully, the floral pattern sporting the same shade of pink as her half-there blouse. Her arms encircled his neck in what he was sure she intended to be a friendly hug, but when her slender body, so femininely soft in all the right places, pressed against his, he felt a lot more than friendship burgeoning between them, and he quickly put distance between their hips. “You’re just in time for before-dinner drinks and appetizers.”

She had already teased his appetite, only it wasn’t for food. Blackie followed her into a foyer with barnwood flooring in muted tones of gray and brown. The satin, no-gloss finish would stand up well to the patter of little feet, he noted. The snow-white walls, however, were a bad choice for kids, which she would regret when and if her yearning for a family was ever fulfilled.