Her rushed speech and the fact she was nervous made Sam feel a shitload better. They were both thrown for a loop, it seemed. “This whole thing is new ground for you, huh?”
“Very new. Like brand-spanking new. So new it’s still sealed in cellophane.”
He chuckled. “How about we leave the decision up to me, then?”
She bit her lip. “What do you mean?”
He planted his fist against the doorjamb a
nd asked, “May I come in for a cup of coffee, Miss Rose?”
Her gaze narrowed. “First, Miss Rose makes me sound like a sad, old woman with thirty cats to keep her company. Second, just coffee?”
“Unless you have lemon merengue pie to go with it.” He tapped her on the nose. “Do you?”
He watched as all the nervousness seemed to evaporate. “No pie, but I do have some chocolate chip cookies.”
“Sounds good to me.” She nodded and smiled finally, much to Sam’s relief, then opened the door. Sam followed her into the condo and shut the door behind him.
After their dinner, which Sam had found to be an exercise in self-control, they’d shared a slow dance on the restaurant’s small dance floor. He’d enjoyed holding her close. Her curves fit him as if made for him. Together they’d walked out to his SUV, hand in hand, without speaking to each other.
The drive back to her place had been quiet. For some reason, Sam hadn’t wanted to say anything to screw it up, like he usually did. Christ, it wasn’t as if he hadn’t dated. He’d dated plenty of pretty women, but none of them had ever had him on his toes quite the way Julie did. The whole night seemed special somehow.
“Not to sound corny, but I am so slipping into something slightly more comfy.” She took off her coat and tossed it onto the couch. “This dress is adorable and these shoes were definitely worth every penny, but I’m in need of something that doesn’t itch and pinch.”
Sam frowned as he watched her finger one of the straps of the dress. “Please tell me you weren’t miserable all night.”
“Not until the end of the evening,” she replied. “I think this dress has a time limit. Wear it too long and it turns into an itchy burlap sack.”
“Well, let me be the first to say that you look great in burlap.” A light blush filled her cheeks, and Sam found it cute as hell.
“Uh, I’ll be right back.”
“Take your time.”
As she left the room, Sam took a moment to shed his coat and take in his surroundings. When he’d picked her up for their date, he’d been too busy taking her in; her furniture could’ve been made out of cardboard for all he’d noticed.
Julie had a nice place, not too girly but definitely warm and inviting. The tan suede couch and recliner were nice, and they went well with the white oak end table and coffee table. None of it appeared particularly lived-in. When she’d said she’d started fresh after her grandmother’s death, she hadn’t been kidding.
Sam spied a framed photo on the coffee table and crossed the room to get a better look. It was a picture of a teenage version of Julie with an older woman. Her grandmother, no doubt. They resembled each other. And it was easy to see the love in her grandmother’s eyes. Then again, who wouldn’t love Julie? She simply had a way of getting under a person’s skin. He started to sit on the couch when he spied a CD on the end table. Curious about her taste in music, Sam picked it up, then grinned as he read the name of the band.
“If you laugh at my Styx, I’m kicking you out.”
He turned around and came to an abrupt halt. She stood on the other side of the room in a pair of black sweats and a gray hoodie big enough to fit three average-sized adults. “Lady,” Sam began singing, doing his best to imitate Styx’s lead singer, Dennis DeYoung, “when you’re with me, I’m smiling.”
She covered her mouth in an attempt to stifle a laugh. “Wow,” she finally managed, “that was…awesome.”
“Yeah, I can’t sing for crap, and we both know it.” He looked her over and winked. “I have to say, you dress up real nice, sweetheart, but this does feel more like the real you.”
She shrugged. “That’s because it is. I only bought the dress and heels tonight.”
“You went shopping for our date?” The notion pleased the shit out of him, and he wasn’t sure why.
She started toward the kitchen. “You implied I couldn’t do classy,” she tossed over her shoulder. “I had to prove you wrong, didn’t I?”
He put the CD back down on the table; then her words hit him. “Wait, when in hell did I say that?”
She headed straight for the coffee pot. “At the diner,” she answered with her back to him. “It was in the way you looked at me in the waitress uniform. Felt like a challenge, that’s all.”