I’d cleaned the house twice. I wanted it to be perfect. You deserved perfect.

I had wine. A red like you’d ordered at O’Malley’s. Just a glass or two for you. No one likes a lush; still, it’s nice to loosen up.

As soft music played on the sound system, I studied some of the pictures I’d bought today. They were different types of photography and meant to impress you. I nudged the edge of the frame up a smidge, then coaxed it back down. Needed to be straight. The glass gleamed.

The doorbell rang, and I rolled my shoulders back, glanced toward a mirror hanging in the foyer. Clean, pulled together, but not so obsessive that it looked like I was weird. Which I was not.

Clearing my throat, I moved toward the door at a steady, even pace and then opened it. You looked up, pink faced from the cold, long red hair streaming around your shoulders. God, but I loved your hair. You were wearing a dark faux-fur-trimmed jacket, an olive-green turtleneck, jeans, and lace-up boots. You rocked the artsy vibe, and I was growing hard just looking at you.

You held up a bouquet of yellow daisies. Where you’d found them in the winter was beyond me, but I appreciated you for finding them.

“Flowers?” I asked.

“For you.”

“No one’s ever brought me flowers before.”

You grinned and held them out for me. “Then it’s about time.”

When I took them, my fingertips brushed your hand, and the skin-to-skin contact rippled electricity through me. You had a power over me. Clearing my throat, I held them up and inhaled. Of course, there was no scent. “Beautiful.”

“You said not to bring anything, but I hate to show up empty-handed.”

I stepped aside, extended my arm in invitation. As you passed, I caught the faint hint of a perfume I couldn’t identify. It was spicy, exotic.

You looked around, curious about the space, likely wondering what it said about me. Clean, organized, with a modern, sleek Scandinavian style. “This place is terrific.”

“It’s a work in progress.” Daisies clutched in my hand, I followed.

“How long have you been here?”

“A few months. I lived in Northern Virginia for a while but then decided it was time for a change. Back to Richmond and my roots.” None of that was true, but it sounded better than the truth.

“I don’t hear an accent.”

“The Richmond accent fades north of Fredericksburg. But I’m picking up a drawl again. I hear it in the vowels.”

You took off your jacket, and I noticed your breasts immediately. So beautiful.

Clearing my throat, I turned toward the galley-style kitchen. “Let me put these in water. There’s a hook in the entry hallway for your jacket.”