Sara swallowed. Going out dancing was a bit different than having a meal at her house with her five-year-old. Dancing sounded like a real date. “Oh, uhhh…”
“Yes, go out. You never get to have any fun.” Rachel turned to Grant. “Sara loves dancing, and Miller’s Tavern is a blast on Friday evenings. I’m headed to Hailey’s Hair Hut for a haircut. I’ll tell Hailey and Kensie to expect you guys tonight at the tavern.”
Grant blinked at Rachel, clearly as caught off guard as Sara. “Well—”
“It’s settled. Sara, don’t worry about a thing.” Rachel started down the street. “I’ll call you tomorrow morning when Ben wakes up. Have a great time.”
Sara was sure her face was fire engine red. This brought humiliation to a whole new level. Her hand tightened on her coffee mug. “Okay, so my sister just blew in like a matchmaking hurricane.”
Grant chuckled. “Well, you were trying to dissuade the town busybodies from setting you up. Going out on a date with me—your fake boyfriend—would go a long way to making that happen.”
“So you…you want to go?”
He smiled. “I’ll put my dancing shoes on. Pick you up at seven?”
She nodded, not trusting her own voice. If Sara was having a hard time keeping her attraction to Grant within the flirting-friends boundary now, what would happen when they actually went out on a date?
She was in trouble. Deep trouble.
10 Grant
Grant nearly cancelled the date half a dozen times. He kept pulling his cell phone from his pocket and scrolling to Sara’s name, but he couldn’t bring himself to hit call.
He kept thinking about Sara’s touch on his face outside of the coffee shop. The brush of her thumb against his lip, the quickening of her breath, and the way she leaned in—just a touch, just enough to let him know she was thinking of kissing him. It replayed in his mind constantly.
He’d wanted to kiss her. But that line was a dangerous one to cross and not something he had a right to do. She hadn’t asked for anything more serious than some fun and flirtation. Sara was in the driver’s seat, not Grant.
But if she’d leaned in and kissed him, he wouldn’t have stopped her. Not for a second.
So instead of calling to cancel, Grant had gotten ready and driven to Sara’s house. The porch light was a welcome beacon. He killed the ignition and took a deep breath. “You can do this. Keep it light. Some fun, some dancing. That’s it.”
He climbed out of the SUV. The night was crisp, the faint scent of fall leaves and grass drifted on the wind. His boots thumped against the porch. Grant took another deep breath, cleared his throat, and rang the bell.
Light. Fun. Flirty. You’ve gone against the worst kinds of terrorists. You can do one date—
The door swung open, and any thought Grant had flittered away. His heart seemed to stop and then picked up speed like a race car.
Sara was dressed in a red, feminine, floaty dress that flirted with her gorgeous legs. She’d done something special with her eyes, and his gaze was drawn to them, then down to her deep red lips. A simple chain caressed the curve of her neck, slipping along her collar bone. His fingers twitched with the urge to adjust her necklace and discover if her skin was as soft as it appeared.
It would be. He knew it would be. This was Sara. Everything about her was…unbelievable. Fantastic. Gorgeous.
Sara shifted in her cowboy boots. Land’s sake, he’d never been one for cowboy boots, but she was changing his mind. No, not changing his mind. Changed his mind. He was officially pro-cowboy boots. Especially sexy black ones that gave Sara just enough height to reach his chin.
“Umm, should we go?” Sara asked.
Belatedly, Grant realized she’d said hello to him, and he’d said nothing, just stood on her front porch like a dummy. He sucked in a breath—yes, he’d been holding his breath—and somehow found his tongue. “You look nice.”
Nice? No, wrong word. He held up a hand. “I mean…you look great…stunning.”
Good grief, the woman had him tripping over himself, and she’d only opened the door and said hello.
Get it together, Edwards.
He took a deep breath. “You’re breathtaking. You have me tongue-tied.”
Sara smiled, a pink color rising in her cheeks. “Thanks. You look great too. I like that color on you.”
He was wearing a blue button-down. Grant filed that tidbit of information away, making a mental note to wear more blue around her.
Sara tugged a coat off a nearby stand and shrugged it on one arm. Grant stepped forward, grabbing the other side and holding it out for her. She slipped her arm in the sleeve. The back of Grant’s hand brushed the curve of her neck as he assisted her. A zap of electricity raced through him.
“Thanks.” Sara peeked at him over her shoulder, then quickly grabbed a small wallet and tucked it into the jacket pocket.
Grant stepped out and waited while she locked up. Then he placed a hand on the small of her back as they went down the walkway to his SUV. “Does Miller’s Tavern still host bands?”
“They do, but no one is playing tonight other than the DJ.” She shrugged. “Sometimes I think that’s better. We get all the best songs.”
“Sure.”
He opened the passenger side door, and she climbed in. Her springtime fragrance teased his senses. Grant breathed it in.
One night. It was one night of pretend. He could allow himself that much. For one night, it could be just him and Sara. One date, without any of the baggage or worries. The fact that she was his late best friend’s wife, that his mother still refused to discuss treatment, his
