Page 46 of A Tempting Seduction

“That one was more spontaneous,” I said, smiling at the memory. “I was leaving work one afternoon, and there he was, waiting outside Java Jolt. He asked if I was hungry and took me to Pearl's for an early dinner.”

“Pearl's?” Little Grandma wrinkled her nose. “That's not very romantic.”

“Actually, it was perfect,” I said. “Casual and comfortable. We talked for hours about everything and nothing. Then afterward, he asked if I wanted to change clothes and go do something fun in Pigeon Forge.”

“What kind of fun?” Miss Gladiola asked, leaning forward with interest.

“Go-kart racing.”

Both women stared at me in silence for a long moment.

“Go-kart racing,” Little Grandma repeated slowly.

“It was amazing,” I said, the words tumbling out faster as I remembered. “I'd never done anything like it before. Ford helped me figure out how to work the pedals and the steering wheel, and then we spent two hours racing around this track like teenagers. I beat him in the third race, and he bought me a victory ice cream sundae.”

“That boy's got good instincts,” Miss Gladiola said with a satisfied nod. “Taking you somewhere fun instead of trying to impress you with expensive dinners.”

“Though expensive dinners have their place,” Little Grandma added diplomatically.

“What about the third date?” Miss Gladiola asked.

My enthusiasm dimmed slightly. “He took me to a Mexican restaurant in Pigeon Forge. It was nice enough, but the food was...” I paused, searching for a diplomatic way to phrase it.

“Terrible?” Little Grandma suggested.

“Marginal at best,” I admitted. “The salsa came from a jar, the guacamole was obviously store-bought, and don't get me started on what they called enchiladas.”

“Poor Ford,” Miss Gladiola said with sympathy. “He probably had no idea.”

“He did,” I winced. “He was so apologetic about it that I felt worse for him than I did about the bad food. Which leads me to tonight.”

I took a deep breath, trying to calm the butterflies that had been building in my stomach all day.

“I promised to cook him a Mexican feast that would knock his socks off. At my house. Tonight.”

The silence that followed my announcement was deafening. Little Grandma and Miss Gladiola exchanged a look that spoke volumes.

“At your house,” Miss Gladiola said finally.

“Cooking for him,” Little Grandma added.

“A Mexican feast,” Miss Gladiola continued.

“Tonight,” Little Grandma finished.

“Yes,” I said, feeling my anxiety ratchet up another notch. “And I'm nervous.”

The floodgates opened.

“What are you wearing?” Miss Gladiola demanded.

“Did you clean the house top to bottom?” Little Grandma wanted to know.

“What time is he coming over?”

“Do you have wine?”

“Sangria would be better,” Miss Gladiola declared. “Or better than that, margaritas!”