No Weddings (No Weddings #1)(35)

A date was a risk. Hopes were thrown out there and leaps of faith were taken, no matter how small the steps were, even if safety line calls had been staged with friends as an exit strategy.

No, I didn’t want Hannah in the safe zone. She would take that risk and make that death-defying decision with me, heart racing, fears and all.

Hopeful eyes that sparkled rose, meeting mine. Her small smile widened. “Yes.”

I arched a brow, my heart nearly bursting from my chest. “Yes, what?”

“Yes, Cade. I will go out on a date with you.”

“Excellent.” I blew out a held breath, grinning wide and leaning back.

Her expression grew serious again. “Now, what’s in the bag?”





Hannah didn’t have a television in the front room. She didn’t have a back room. The cottage-style home had a smaller room adjacent to the living room filled with drawings, paintings, books, and photo boxes. And off the kitchen was a bedroom suite, equally as large, with another bay window and an amazing view of reflected lights on the water beyond.

A loveseat faced the only TV in the house, a 32-inch. So did a queen-sized bed. With the focus of Hercules, I gave the bed only a brief, uninterested glance. But I was very interested.

Her entire home was decorated in white or ivory with splashes of bright colors in accent pillows, a vase or treasure here and there, and one blooming orchid in practically every window. The space was cozy, and it fit her perfectly.

And although I had free reign to search every square inch of hidden real estate, per our tongue-in-cheek agreement, I passed. The adventure would be finding out what lay beneath all the layers of Hannah with her. I didn’t want to tarnish the impression with superficial clues.

Her bedside clock displayed the time to be just after 6:00 p.m., perfect for the surprise in the bag.

We stood beside the bay window in her bedroom, gazing out into the night through the large center pane, which had a ledge beneath it with a cushion. Through a cracked-open side window, an owl hooted.

“Ready to see what’s in the bag?”

She let out a soft giggle. “No.”

Surprised, I looked down at her. “You’ve been wanting to all night. Now you don’t?”

Amusement lit her eyes and the side of her face was illuminated by the light in her hall. “Now that I can, I’m not sure. I’m kind of scared.”

I laughed. “Wait here. It won’t be bad. Well, at least not ‘scary’ bad.”

Her brow wrinkled.

I winked.

As I returned to her bedroom, I made great fanfare of crinkling the brown wrapper by rippling my fingers over both sides.

She crossed her arms. “I’ll decide for myself whether it’s ‘scary’ bad.”

“Now, this is not for pleasure. It is strictly for business. Keep that in mind before passing judgment. We have—” I reached into the bag and pulled out its contents “—The Secret of My Success or Chocolat.”

A broad smile lit up her face, and she clapped her hands together. “Movies?”

Happy she was delighted, I forced my expression back to a serious one. “Studying. Have you seen either?”

She shook her head, closing the distance between us and taking both DVDs from me. I snatched them back when she flipped them over and started to read about one of them.

“Nope. No reading. Watching.” Waving the cases at her, I shooed her toward the remotes until she scrunched her adorable face and obeyed. “I had limited options at home. We can delve into other titles, but both of these classics are studies in hope, perseverance, and creativity in business. One is a fun very-eighties romp in the corporate world. The other’s an artsy story of a woman and her small business, and how she wins over the town on her terms.”

“Can we watch both?” She raised her brows, clasping her hands together.

With her hopeful expression, it took great effort to remain serious. “It goes over our agreed-upon two hours to watch both.”

She scowled, snatching both cases with lightning speed. “It’s my house. You are my guest, but I get to make the rules. And we are watching both.”

In a blur of dark brown hair and sexy green sweater, she turned and leaned down before her electronics, pushing buttons. And damn, how that woman inadvertently pushed mine. Suddenly, it was all about the jeans from my perspective—that denim may have been painted on her tight ass and hips, but with her bent over before me, it melted away, my mind guttering.

At the aching twitch in my jeans, I forced myself to turn away and stand closer to the coolness of an open window. It was no cold shower, but it would have to do for now.

Not five seconds later, and way too soon to calm my raging blood, she called out, “Ready?”

I turned to find her sitting in the middle of that pillow-filled bed. In the past, I had always hated the idea of putting a ton of throw pillows on a bed. Why? So you had to remove a million pillows to sleep in it, only to toss them all back on during daylight hours?

Kiki called it fashion. I’d only ever seen it as a waste of time.

Now? I was so damn thankful for pillows. Because sitting on top of the bed, amid all of her colorful pillows—some with lace, others tubular with tassels on either end—Hannah was happy. And when she patted the space beside her with all the confidence in the world of her safety, I was ecstatic.