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“How nice this is. How nice you are.” She peeked up as his smile lines deepened. Why did her fair skin always have to give away her thoughts? Not that her big mouth helped matters, either.
But Dan wassonice, with the best smile, and dimples, and laugh lines that always made her want to smile back. And he smelledsogood tonight. Not that he’d ever smelled bad—even sweaty he still smelled good. But tonight, when he’d leaned close to help seat her—perfect gentleman that he was—she’d caught a whiff of his enticing aftershave. He’d smelledreallygood. “Really, really nice.”
“I think I like the fact that you say what you think.”
She looked up to meet his eyes filled with amusement. Oh no. How much had she said aloud? Embarrassment simmered in hot waves from her skin. “Well, what you see is what you get with me. I’m not too good at pretending.”
He shifted forward and caught her hand, brown eyes intense. “I don’t like pretenders.”
She bit her lip, staring at him for a moment before glancing down to where he still held her hand, his thumb slowly caressing the thin skin on the back of her hand, each gentle brush sending her insides crazy. Had he noticed she wasn’t wearing Stephen’s ring tonight? Her fingers looked naked without the familiar glimmer, but it had just seemed wrong to be out on a date with Dan and still flaunting that ring. She’d left the ring at home for the first time ever today, but strangely, wasn’t too bothered by its absence.
* * *
What wasthe definition of the perfect date? Surely it had to involve good food, a good view, and good conversation with a good-looking woman. Dan smiled, mentally ticking the boxes: the food tasted delicious, the view was really pretty, the laughter hadn’t stopped, and Sarah…Sarah was gorgeous.
The table near the big window overlooked the lake, and the early evening light reflecting off the water seemed to bathe Sarah in a golden glow. Her ruddy hair gleamed and held those little curly tendrils he wanted to loop round his finger. The hue of her dress seemed to make her eyes greener, and he loved the creaminess of her skin. And the way she kept blushing, it was like her face couldn’t hide a thing—and so fun to watch.
“Hey, Sar.”
She glanced up from her plate of roast beef.
“I like your dress.”
“Oh! Thanks. I got it at the church’s op shop.”
“Op shop?”
“Oh, right, you don’t call them opportunity shops here. A goodwill store? A place where they sell secondhand clothes?”
“A thrift store.”
“That’s it. I really appreciate being given a second chance, and I bet the clothes do too.”
He stared at her as she swallowed another mouthful, his own plate barely touched.
“This is so delicious, Dan.” She tilted her head. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. It’s nice to be with someone who doesn’t care about the latest and greatest in fashion.” Like his mom. He couldn’t imagine her ever wearing anything hand-me-down, let alone admitting to it.
“Fashion?” Sarah laughed. “Clothes are clothes, aren’t they? If you like something and you look okay in it, why go buy something else?” She leaned forward. “You know it’s just part of a giant conspiracy to keep the world economy rolling.” She patted his hand with both of hers. “Just don’t buy into it.”
“Conspiracy theorist, eh?”
“No. But I like to think I’m doing my bit for the planet. Do you know how many clothes get thrown away each year? Or how many people work in slave-like conditions just to make cheap clothes for westerners? It’s actually way more environmentally and ethically responsible to wear recycled fashion.”
See? This was why he found her fascinating. She brought such a different perspective to his world.
“Am I boring you?” she asked, a pleat in her forehead.
“Not at all,” he assured.
“Oh, good. I know I can get on my personal high horse and ride far, far away. But I do care about these things.” She placed her fork and knife on her plate. “It’s actually quite refreshing to pick my own clothes. Back in Heartsong days we always had to wear a certain style, and let’s just say I’m more of a hippie than a rock chick kind of girl.”
However she liked to describe herself, she was definitely his kind of girl.
He glanced down at her hands. His heart tripped. She wasn’t wearing Stephen’s engagement ring. Surely that meant—
“So, there’s something I want to know, Mr. Walton.” Sarah leaned forward again, smiling that delicious smile at him.
