I send Jules a picture captioned How about this?  I’ve paired khaki capris with a flirty black top. It says “I’m fun,” but in a reserved way.

Absolutely not, she sends back. Are you going to a luncheon?

That’s the problem, I type. I don’t know where I’m going.

It’s true. All I know is I need to be ready at seven o’clock and I’m running out of time.

I wish I could be there to help, she sends. Damn job. Let me see your dresses.

I sigh and head over to the closet. I have two sundresses, both of which Jules talked me into buying the first week I was here. One is sky blue with a lace overlay, thin straps, and a sweetheart neckline. I would say it’s beach wedding appropriate. The other is a deep red and gold paisley print, more bohemian, with a halter top and deep V-neck. Both dresses fall just above my knee and show off plenty of leg. I take a picture of each and send them to Jules.

#2!!  She responds almost immediately. There’s some jewelry in the bedroom. See if my bangle bracelets are there.

I walk across the hall to Pete’s room and find a jewelry box on the dresser. I pull out several bracelets, try them on, and decide on an intertwined set that looks like hammered brass. As I put everything back in its place, I’m grateful for Jules. Without her I’d be wearing shorts and flip flops tonight.

I pause to consider the thought. Maybe that’s what I should be wearing. I mean, does a flirty dress send the right message?  I have no idea what Latson hopes to gain from this date, aside from the obvious. Hell, I don’t know what I’m looking for, either. What I do know is it never crossed my mind to back out. Whether I’m seeing him to tease him or for something more, I’m not sure. But, whatever it is, it makes me happy.

Cardinal rule.

About an hour later, and not a second after seven, there’s a knock on the door.

“Punctual, isn’t he?” My brother glowers over his glass. Of course he would make it back from the gym in time to harass me.

“You said you were okay with this,” I huff as I walk past him. “I thought we were making progress.” After last night’s party, Pete conceded Latson and I do have something in common – music.

He finishes his protein shake. “That was before I saw what you’re wearing.”

I make a face. God forbid you ever have a daughter, I think. “I’m wearing perfectly acceptable date attire,” I say. Sure, I’m not wearing a bra because my dress ties around my neck and has no back, but it’s tight enough to keep everything in check. Other than that, I’m wearing Juliana’s bracelets, strappy sandals, and my hair in loose curls. It’s not over the top by any means.

When I get to the door, I compose my expression and pull it open. I expect to see Latson in all his cocky, t-shirt-wearing glory. Maybe he decided on one of those fake tuxedo tees to dress things up, or maybe he chose a plain white one to get me going.

I’m wrong on both counts.

Standing in front of me is one of the most handsome men I’ve ever seen.

Latson is wearing a lethal combination. Dark jeans. A fitted black tee beneath a black sport coat. Just trimmed, styled hair that looks like I ran my fingers through the front of it.

And his signature sexy smile.

He looks like he stepped off the pages of an Abercrombie catalog.

“Hi.” His eyes drink me in. “Did you wear that dress just for me?”

“No,” I tease him to calm my pulse. “This is how I always look on a Monday night.” I glance over my shoulder. “Right, Pete?”

“Don’t involve me in this,” he warns from the living room.

I turn back to Latson. “Yes, I wore it for you.”

His eyes darken and he loses a bit of his playful attitude.

“ ... and any other guys we happen to come across tonight,” I add. “I figure why not?  Maybe I’ll meet a hot waiter.”

“I heard that!” my brother yells.

I smile innocently as Latson shakes his head.

It’s probably not wise to stress Pete out with my comments, so I step into the hallway. “Bye!”  I wave before shutting the door. I check the handle to see if it’s locked and when I move to the side, Latson’s hand brushes along the small of my back and lands on my hip. I try not to react as he ushers me toward the elevator. “Where are we headed?” I ask.

“To a restaurant I think you’ll like.” He pushes the button for the ground level. While we wait, he leaves his arm around my waist and runs his thumb over the bare skin just above my dress. He leans in close. “Unless the place has hot waiters,” he whispers. “Then we’re leaving.”

I look at him out of the corner of my eye and try to breathe normally.

We make it to the parking garage where he opens his car door for me. “I’m glad you get to ride in the front this time.” He smiles.

“Me, too,” I say as I sit down and swing my legs inside. He rounds the back of the car as I look around the interior. I know nothing about cars, but I can appreciate a classic when I see one. I’m busy running my hand over the cream-colored seat and inhaling the smell of leather when he gets behind the wheel. “What kind of car is this?”

“A 1970 Chevy Chevelle.”

“She looks high maintenance. How long have you had her?”

“Since high school.” He turns the ignition and she rumbles to life. “My dad saved her from the junk yard. It took us almost three years to restore her.”

He backs out of the parking space, and I study his profile. It sounds like he and his father were close. He’s never directly mentioned his mom. Is she still part of his life?

“Tell me about your family,” I say, curious. “We should do the whole getting-to-know-you first date thing.”

“Really?” He raises an eyebrow as he steers with one hand. “You don’t know enough about me?”

“I know next to nothing about you.” It’s true. Internet aside, I know he owns a bar and he’s good at sarcastic banter.

He sighs like he’s humoring me. “What burning questions do you have?”

“Well  ...” I tap my chin. “I know a little about your dad. When was the last time you talked to your mom?”

He looks both ways before pulling out of the parking garage. “A week ago Friday.”

I like his answer. That was the holiday weekend. “Did you take Oliver to visit for Memorial Day?”

“No.” He glances at me. “It was my birthday.”

What?  My eyes grow wide. “I missed your birthday?  Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“You were recovering from surgery,” he says like that’s an acceptable excuse. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

It is a big deal. I’m sure everyone knew but me.

“What’s wrong?” Latson asks.

“I wish I would have known. I feel bad.”

“Why?” His tone turns suggestive. “What would you have given me?”

“Stop,” I chastise him. “I’m being serious.”

“So am I.”

He grins and I shake my head. “Anyway ... what gifts did you get?”

“None.” He stops at a light. “My mom thought it was her birthday.”

I frown.

“She has dementia.” He gives me a sad smile. “When I showed up with a cake she thought it was for her.”

Oh no. “That’s ...” I trip over my words. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Latson steps on the gas. “She lives in an assisted living home and she seems to enjoy it. She’s not the same, but she’s still my mom. A few times she’s mistaken Oliver for me and me for my dad.” He meets my eyes. “I don’t mind, though, because it means she still remembers something.”

I swallow the lump in my throat. “Does anyone else visit?  I mean, do you have help?”

“I take O to see her once a month. My dad goes and sometimes Dean drops by.”

That makes no sense. “Why would Dean visit?”

Latson slows the car and turns a corner. “My parents raised Dean. We were a foster family, and he was a placement.”

I stare at him in awe. “That’s so cool.”