Satisfied the bedroom would pass, he went downstairs, picked up a few things on the way through. He wasn’t a slob, he told himself. And he had Betts, his cleaning lady, in every other week. But between work and his time with Hope, things had gotten a little messy.

He wound through to the kitchen and tossed what he’d picked up into the utility room to be dealt with later. No problem with the kitchen, he mused. He kept that squared away because if his mother dropped by—and she did—she wouldn’t say a word. Oh no. She didn’t have to when she had that look if he had piles of dirty dishes or trash and recyclables around.

He got out the bottle of Cab he’d picked up, dug up a wineglass. Then muttering again, got out another. He didn’t mind wine, and drinking it with her was more sociable.

He knew the damn rules.

He had a clean house, pretty much. He had wine and decent glasses for it. He had a couple of steaks. He didn’t cook. He grilled and he nuked. So he’d grill the steak, nuke the potatoes, and dump the salad mix he’d picked up into a bowl.

If she didn’t like it, she should go to some other guy’s house for dinner.

Why was he acting nervous? He wasn’t nervous. That was ridiculous. He’d had women in his place before. Usually it was after they’d gone out somewhere, but he’d done the grill-and-nuke for women before.

They were fine with it. She’d be fine with it.

He dumped the bag of salad in a bowl and considered it a job well done. He scrubbed a couple of potatoes, opened the wine. He caught himself fiddling—turning on music, letting the dog out, letting the dog in.

Relief flooded when he heard the knock on the front door. He was better at doing than thinking about doing.

She looked amazing. Every time he saw her was another kick in the gut. “You cut your hair.”

“Yeah.” She lifted her hand to the short cap with long, spiky bangs. “I had some time, and it was driving me crazy. What do you think?”

“It looks good on you.” Everything did. It set off those smoky eyes that matched the smoky voice. She wore a dress, the kind that made him wish summer would never end. It bared her shoulders, and a lot of leg, and when she stepped in, he noted it bared a lot of back.

“Here you go.”

He hadn’t even noticed the flowers in her hand, and now just frowned down at them.

“Hasn’t anyone ever brought you flowers?”

“Can’t say they have.”

“Let me be the first. And I picked this up at the bakery. Have you had their brookies?”

“No. What are they?”

“Orgasmic.”