Fake date or not, it was smart to stay on this man’s good side. The man who was giving him that look again. The look that accused Cole of imagining his daughter naked.

Guilty as charged, sir.

“You get my daughter home safely, Cole.”

Yep, Cole heard the and say good night at the door while you’re at it buried in his tone.

“Will do, Mr. Lowell.” But not because you told me to.

A few more minutes and a couple of goodbyes later and they were on their way, out of the ballroom, across the marble-floored lobby, and into the temperate October night.

Hale Street was a lively, block-long street not far from the heart of downtown Nashville that had gone from deteriorating, mostly deserted buildings to a thriving neighborhood in the past couple of years. Businesses lined the ground floor—a boot store, dress shop, music store, bakery, and more—and the second and third floors contained newly remodeled apartments. Historical details had been preserved from one end to the other, including the old-time streetlamps and the brick sidewalks.

Sierra lived on the second floor above Bliss, the type of spa place that was a mystery to most men, Cole included. They wandered past the green space on the Wentworth side of the spa. He noticed some of the leaves had started to change, and there was an edge to the breeze tonight that said colder weather was on the way.

As they walked, Sierra seemed to blow off steam by chattering on about all the details of the wedding and the reception and her sister’s dress and the people who’d showed up… Cole found if he replied with an mm-hmm whenever she paused, she was happy, and that worked for him because he was swept away by the lilt of her voice.

When they reached the staircase to her place, he followed her up, held the door for her as she stepped into the hall that had a single apartment on each side, waited while she fished out her key from her sequined evening bag.

He followed her inside, more than a little curious to see the place she called home.

To the left of the door was an open kitchen and dining area with white cabinets, butcher-block countertops, and a large farmhouse sink below the window at the opposite end. He could tell, at a glance, that Sierra had had a hand in choosing the historically appropriate finishes that gave the place the feel of a 1940s kitchen—the era of the original building—but brand-new.

On the right was the living area, with the narrow-planked wood floor carried in from the kitchen, a gray sectional with a chaise on one end with a dozen or so turquoise, white, and dark gray throw pillows, and a door on the wall on the Hale Street side that he would bet led to a wrought-iron balcony.