Page 5 of Falling for Keeps

Her smile reveals straight white teeth and slightly squinty eyes. “Careful, or I might think you’re trying to run into me.”

“Caught. I definitely just did that.”

She laughs, somewhat disbelieving.

“Carson,” I tell her, putting my hand out to shake.

She eyes my hand, then slides her eyes up to my face. “Emma.”

“It’s nice to meet you.”

She shakes my hand. I don’t let go, instead tightening my fingers on hers. Pink bleeds into her cheeks, making her look charming. With her extra tall heels, she’s not that much shorter than me, and her legs look amazing.

She’s not pulling away, and I’m soaking in her brown eyes. It’s probably a combination of the fact that this woman doesn’t know anything about my tragic last few years and she’s got the market cornered on sweetness. In every way possible, Emma is the opposite of Jen. Add that she can’t pity me or be curious, because she doesn’t know my wife left me or my daughter is relying on me to be the sole parent when I don’t feel qualified, and I’ve found the perfect woman.

“Can I get you a drink?” I offer.

“I’m not drinking tonight.” She points at her friends. “Designated driver, remember?”

“But you’re leaving them?” I click my tongue.

“I was heading to the bathroom.”

Well, I overshot that. “I can get you a Shirley Temple.”

She laughs. “I haven’t had one of those in years. They’re actually pretty good.”

“I know. My daught—” I cough, but she’s caught me.

“Your daughter loves them?” she guesses, no weight or heaviness to her words.

“She’s partial to the cherries.”

“So am I.”

Why did that send a bolt of heat through me? I squeeze her fingers, then release her hand. “One Shirley Temple, coming right up.”

Emma’s laugh is musical while she slips away from me. Too forward? Maybe. But I can’t seem to care. I want to ask what she’s reading and how she knows the bride and why she didn’t pull away when I held her hand.

Instead, I watch her walk away before I order our drinks. When Emma meets me at the end of the bar again, I slide over a tall clear glass full of pinkish-red soda and floating cherries.

She leans forward and sips from the straw, and I can’t help watching her lips. Man, it’s been way too long since I’ve kissed anyone. Almost a decade since I’ve looked at a woman besides Jen. Emma is innocent in all this, and I shouldn’t string her along, but the attraction humming between us is as real and potent as it is foreign.

She slides onto the empty stool beside me and crosses her legs, then leans forward to take another sip. “Thanks.”

“Tell me about your book.”

“My book?” She raises an eyebrow, but when I keep waiting, she continues. “It’s a classic Agatha Christie.” When my face remains blank, she continues. “Murder mystery.”

I lean against the bar, ignoring the other stool, and stand close to her. Who am I? This is how sixteen-year-old Carson would act. Not thirty-one-and-washed-up Carson. “Perfect for a night out, then.”

Emma laughs. “I told you already, it’s a work thing.”

“My point stands. What do you do?”

“Librarian.”

“Ah. The sashes are starting to make sense.”