He was wearing a dark brown button-down oxford shirt to match his eyes with the sleeves casually rolled up, jeans that looked like he’d ironed them, and he smelled like fresh-cut grass and a hint of lime. Heavenly.

“Hi, you,” he flashed the knee-melting smile and held out a bouquet of sunflowers. “You look great. Let’s put these,” he edged by me toward the kitchen, “into a vase and get going. I’m starving.”

“They’re so pretty, Rick, thank you. I love sunflowers, but you probably knew that. You seem to know more about me than you should.”

“Sunflower sticker on your car’s rear window. Keen police brain,” he replied, tapping his temple with an index finger.

“Very impressive.” I took out a clear plastic pitcher. “This is the best vase I have for those.”

“Perfect. Vases are too fussy for sunflowers, anyway.” He was looking around the apartment, and I was wishing I’d rounded up a few more dust bunnies.

I put the flowers on my little kitchen table and turned to him, surprised by how much he towered over me. Tall, dark, handsome, funny...a grown-up man with history. He was gorgeous. What was he doing with me on a Saturday night?

“Something wrong?” He cocked one eyebrow.

“Oh, no. I was just wondering...”

“I’m turning forty next month.” He leaned back against my kitchen counter and crossed his arms. “I have an ex-wife and two sons. They live in Tuscaloosa with their stepdaddy, a big, fat sloppy professor at Alabama. She found him ‘sophisticated’,” Rick spat the words. “Left me for all the sophistication in his bank account two and a half years ago. He’s an overpaid professional noxious gasbag with a constant assortment of condiment stains on his baggy shirts.” He fired a finger gun at the ceiling. “War Damn Eagle.” He was quiet for a minute, then added, “I was born in Birmingham and grew up in Gadsden. Joined the Marines at eighteen. Got out as soon as I could and chose the patrol because I like to drive fast. I love Jesus but I like beer a lot. I’m a neat freak. I have a weakness for old dogs, children...”

“...and watermelon wine,” I finished. “I’ve heard that old song. My mom and dad were classic country music fans. Some of it’s not bad.”

“French wine, actually, but I’m glad you have good musical taste. Still want to go out with me, Miss Johnson?” He held out his arm. “I promise you won’t have to help me across the street or wipe my chin.”

“Very funny. You are a newborn babe compared to the people I spend time with every day.”

“That’s what I was hoping you’d think. Contrast can be helpful to my cause.”

“Your cause?”