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  “The news that, yes, indeed, I have a date does not need to be leaked to the rest of the newsroom.”

  “On one condition,” Bia challenged.

  “No conditions,” Drew countered.

  “One condition. Do not be late. That is not a way to impress her. For that matter, you don’t have to permanently block out every single Thursday on your calendar from now till the end of time,” she said. “We’re just waiting on the Sugar Hill story. If you’d trust me just a little to demonstrate that I can pull it off, which is what you’ve been training me to do, we could start switching off late Thursdays. And you could get out of here early tonight and go see whoever it is that’s had you preoccupied since you got back from the wedding.”

  He drummed his fingers on the desk, thinking. She was right—in more than one way. For the better part of a year, he had been training Bia for an editorship. She could handle it. If she got into a bind, she could call him. But there wouldn’t really be a bind because almost everything was done except for the late-breaking Sugar Hill scoop. They were waiting to verify a few facts that would allow them to scoop the daily paper.

  Then again, he could’ve waited one more night—or at least until after the paper was put to bed—to see Caroline again.

  Hell, he had not wanted to wait. And Bia was right: being late wasn’t the best way to make a good first impression. So why rush the Sugar Hill story that Jeff Thomas was ironing out?

  “Jeff just sent me the preliminary copy,” Drew said. “That’s what I was looking at before you knocked. Do you think you can edit and format it?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Okay, I’ll email it to you. He shortened it a little bit, but I think we probably need to cut it by at least a hundred and fifty words. Maybe a little more, depending on how much additional stuff he needs to add.”

  Bia nodded.

  Drew attached the file to an email and sent it to her. “If you could just give it a look and see where you think he could trim it that would be a lot of help.”

  “Sure,” Bia said. “I was looking over the profile on George Hildebrand for next week. Soon as I put this one to bed, I’ll get right to that one.

  * * *

  It was close to 5:45 by the time Drew was finally able to extract himself from the office. He had an hour and fifteen minutes to go home, shower and shave before he picked up Caroline at seven. He made record time. Soon, the two of them were walking into Bistro Saint-Germain in downtown Celebration.

  It was an upscale spot with floor-to-ceiling glass doors that folded open so that the dining room spilled out onto the patio and sidewalk outside the restaurant. The tables were covered with crisp white linens and sported small votive candles and vases hosting single red rosebuds.

  As they approached the maitre d’ stand, soft strains of a jazz quartet and muted conversation buzzed in the air. The bistro was hopping on this fine Thursday night. The place obviously wasn’t hurting for business, as was evidenced by the small crowd that waited at the bar. Drew was glad he’d made a reservation.

  As they waited for the hostess to gather menus, Caroline leaned in and asked, “Where’s your pumpkin tie?”

  He looked down at his chest and feigned surprise.

  “Probably the same place as your pumpkin dress,” he said.

  She smiled. “Well, I hope they’re having a wonderful time. Wherever they are tonight, I’m sure they make a handsome couple.”

  He gazed at her, taking in her emerald-green eyes and the striking contrast they made paired with her chestnut hair. Her lush lips—the top lip just a little fuller than the bottom—and the way her delicate jaw curved into her slender neck. “I’m sure they do.”

  As the hostess seated them at a table for two in a quiet corner of the garden patio, he realized he’d never believed in love at first sight...until now.

  He’d fallen in love with Caroline the moment he’d first set eyes on her.

  It had not been that way with Joan. In fact, with Joan, he’d believed there was no such thing as a soul mate or destiny. His philosophy had conformed to the idea that people were too damaged or too busy or too self-absorbed to make room in their souls for one perfect mate. Love had always been about two damaged people finding each other at the precise moment in their lives when their flaws and needs were arranged in a pattern where they could mesh and a relationship could grow.

  Not very romantic, he admitted.

  He and Joan had fallen together in the workplace and had given the best of themselves to the job. They made no pretense of romance. Their flaws had mingled and aligned in the residual of what really mattered to them. When their needs shifted, their new patterns didn’t fit, and everything ended.

  Then he met Caroline and his beliefs tipped on their axis.

  The crazy part was he did not even know her beyond the ethereal, beyond the fact that she was damn good at making him feel equal parts electrically charged and at ease around her. There was something magical here.

  Here was a woman he’d met a week ago, and already he found himself daydreaming about a future with her. Those daydreams seemed more real than anything in his past.

  After ordering a bottle of wine, he gazed at her across the table.

  “So tell me about yourself.”

  He grimaced. He had not meant to make it sound so formal, and he racked his brain for a way to reframe his comment, to make it more personal, less...professional.

  “I don’t mean to sound like I’m interviewing you. I just want to know you better. Because I don’t know much about you except that your sister just married my best friend, you seem to have an aversion to the color pumpkin and you seem to love champagne. Who is Caroline Coopersmith?”

  * * *

  She gazed at him across the table, pondering the question.

  Who was she? Well, that was a loaded question.

  Mercifully, the server brought the wine and went through the tasting formalities, buying her time to think.

  Who am I?

  When they were alone again, she said, “And you say you’re not interviewing me?”

  “Nope.” He shook his head and then narrowed his eyes and looked at her for a long moment as they clinked wineglasses. The awareness took her breath away.

  “I want to know more about you, that’s all. What makes you tick? What ticks you off? What were you like when you were a kid? How many weddings have you been in?”

  Her mouth dropped open. “What?”

  Weddings, or morning after the weddings? Like there really was a question about which he meant. The way he smiled confirmed that she had correctly read the implication in his words.

  She clucked her tongue at him and wrinkled her nose.

  He waved away the question. “Just kidding about the weddings.”

  Maybe so, but, she if he brought it up there was a grain of truth in his teasing. “Well, for the record, this is the only ‘wedding’ I’ve ever been in.”

  She held his gaze, wanting to make sure he understood exactly what she meant. That she did not make a habit of sleeping around.

  He nodded. “I guess that’s really none of my business, is it? But I...I like you. And I guess I just wanted to know....” His eyes searched her face and she thought he looked relieved. Just then something seemed to shift between them...in a good way, and it made her feel a little vulnerable.

  He liked her. That was a good thing. A very good thing. She looked away and then quickly looked back at him. She had read somewhere that that was a way to flirt. The coy act of I’m not looking at you; oh, wait, yes I am was supposed to send a message that a woman was interested in a man. Just in case he’d missed the earlier clues.

  Ugh, she was terrible at things like this. It certainly had not been any easier when she was pretending to be a woman who lived fast and loose. So maybe that was all the more reason that she should just be herself.

  “Well, okay then. To answer your question, I’m afraid I don’t lead a very exciting life. I’m a finan
cial analyst by day and I bake cakes by night. So basically you might say that my life amounts to counting beans and baking. Tons of fun, I know.”

  “In that order?” he asked.

  She narrowed her gaze at him. “I don’t understand.”

  He smiled. “So you’re a bean counter who bakes cakes. It’s beans before dessert, right?”

  “I guess so.” She laughed. “Yes, unfortunately right now, it is beans before dessert. But it wouldn’t be that way if I had my way.”

  “Really?”

  “You know what they say—life is short.” He smiled. “You should eat dessert first.”

  She laughed. “I like the way you think.”

  She raised her wine goblet and they clinked glasses. A loaded silence ensued as they sipped the sauvignon blanc.

  “But still, I want to know about you,” he said. “Beyond beans and dessert. Because that’s not the essence of you. What are you passionate about?”

  Passionate? The word made her a little uneasy, and she knew she needed to get over the fact that she had slept with him before their first date. He was still here. He was interested. She needed to quit overthinking things.

  At a loss for words, she swirled the wine in her goblet, watching the pale gold liquid, illuminated by the candlelight, flow down the inside of the glass. She was struck by Drew’s curiosity, wondering when the last time was that someone had wanted to know about her...her thoughts and feelings. What mattered to her. Her life had revolved around Coopersmith & Bales for so long, which meant that most of her moves had been dictated by her father and his business partner, Richard Bales. They’d certainly never taken the time to ask about her. Perhaps it was the nature of the accounting business, which was pretty formulaic. Not much room for gray areas or opinion.

  Because of that, Caroline had grown used to listening, plugging in the numbers where they belonged. She could do her job in her sleep. It was all pretty rote.

  A.J., Pepper and Sydney James, another friend, always cared about her thoughts and feelings—although, come to think of it, they were usually the ones who did most of the talking. As the most introspective of the quartet of friends, Caroline was the more content listening and dispensing advice, much in the same way she prescribed accounting advice to Coopersmith & Bales’s

  clients.

  So...passion? What was she passionate about? This was a chance for a clean state with Drew. A do-over. A chance for him to know the real her. Whatever she told him now was how he would see her.

  Beyond the firm and Celebrations, Inc., and baking, what was she all about? Beyond cakes and confections and the touch of a man, what did she hunger for?

  Drew’s question gave her pause, because obviously she had never pondered this herself. And why had she not? Why had she never asked herself this?

  “Caroline?” He reached across the table and put his hand on hers. A cool breeze blew across the patio, and the air smelled of fall and a mélange of delicious food smells coming from the restaurant.

  “Yes, umm...I guess I can’t say that I’ve really pondered what I’m passionate about. Not in so many words. I suppose I’ve never really taken the time. My job at Coopersmith & Bales is pretty demanding. And I bake a lot for Celebrations, Inc. So, perhaps baking is my passion?”

  Lame. That sounded lame. Maybe if they got serious enough she would introduce him to her cat. Wow, cakes and cats. She sounded like an eighty-five-year-old spinster. Maybe she should’ve quit while she was ahead and let him think of her as the adventurous vixen.

  “Celebrations, Inc.? What’s that?”

  “You haven’t heard of Celebrations, Inc., the catering company?” She feigned surprise.

  “Rings a bell,” he said. “Tell me more.”

  She shrugged. “It’s a relatively new catering company. My friend A. J. Sherwood-Antonelli started it earlier this year. In fact, at one time, A.J. worked right here at Bistro Saint-Germain as the sous chef. A couple of friends and I are silent partners in Celebrations, Inc.—Pepper, who was over when you called the other night, another friend of ours, Sydney James, and I all invested in the company. Sometimes we help out A.J. if she’s in a bind...and sometimes I supply Celebrations, Inc. with desserts to serve, but it’s definitely my part-time job. Although A.J. has been relentless about trying to get us to come on board full-time.”

  “So, life is sweet, huh?” he said.

  What? “Uh, yeah, life is...sweet. That was a bad pun, Drew. Is stand-up comedy your secret passion?”

  “Touché.” He raised his glass to her. “So, tell me a secret about you.”

  “Beyond my fierce wedding after-parties? What’s there to say?”

  She couldn’t believe she had said that. But the look on his face made her glad she had. It was that—what she saw in his expression and the fact that she could say something like that to him rather than just think it—that was a case in point that illustrated this...this...thing they shared. A chemistry that bubbled up between them and urged her to step outside of her shell and take chances. In a way, that was passion.

  “Somehow, I get the feeling there’s a lot more to you than the woman I met at our wedding after-party.”

  She melted a little inside.

  He had the most incredible eyes. They were a dark brown—the color of flourless chocolate torte. Eyes that she could lose herself in. And his lips were even more delicious. Her gaze dropped to his mouth. She had the urge to lean in closer and taste them. Right there in the restaurant, in the middle of downtown Celebration.

  Instead, she said, “Okay, here’s something more. From me to you. I’m really glad the after-party wasn’t a one-time engagement. I’m really glad you called. That’s my secret.”

  There was heartrending tenderness in his smile. A sensuous light passed between them, and Caroline was filled with longing.

  “I am, too,” he said.

  Of course, leave it to the server to choose that precise moment to approach the table to tell them about the specials of the night.

  After they ordered, she tried to shift the conversation to him and his passions, but Drew pressed her for more.

  * * *

  After Drew paid the bill, the two of them headed toward the car. Caroline was hyperaware of him as they walked side by side. The pressure of his hand on the small of her back was more personal than if he’d simply walked beside her, but not quite as intimate as if he’d held her hand or put his arm around her. Were they starting over and taking things slow? Whatever they were doing, she liked it.

  They walked a while in companionable silence, until Drew broke the quiet.

  “Do you think you’ll ever leave Coopersmith & Bales to go full-time at Celebrations?”

  She smiled, debating whether it was a good idea to answer one way or another, since she had not made up her mind completely.

  “In due time, I suppose. I hope. Although some of us will probably leap sooner than others. Sydney is convinced that she’s going to be out of a job soon. So she’s planning on cutting bait before things get any weirder.”

  “Where does she work?”

  “Texas Star Energy.”

  “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “She said there have been some strange things with the quarterly reports and—”

  She flinched, remembering she was talking to the editor-in-chief of a business newspaper.

  Giving herself a mental shake, she reminded herself of damage caused by loose lips. She was beginning to see a pattern: a couple of glasses of liquid courage mixed with the viral potency of Drew Montgomery tended to make her throw common sense and good judgment out the window.

  “Of course, everything I’ve just said is off the record, right?”

  “Caroline?” Before he could answer her, a voice called her name. She turned to see Doris Grady, a friend of her mother’s, waving at her as she crossed the street.

  “Hello, Doris.”

  “I thought that was you,” said the older woman. “How lovely to see yo
u this evening, dear.”

  Doris was eying Drew, obviously liking what she saw and anticipating an introduction.

  “Doris, this is my friend Drew Montgomery. Drew, Mrs. Doris Grady.”

  The older woman offered her hand.

  “Why yes, I remember you. You were the best man in Claudia’s wedding this weekend.”

  The woman had a sharp memory. Then again, a guy as handsome as Drew was pretty darn unforgettable.

  Drew took her hand and gave it a squeeze-shake, which made Doris swoon a little. “It’s very nice to see you again,” Drew said, his delivery perfect and charming, matching the perfectly charming gesture he’d delivered earlier. Now he had her rapt, hanging on his words. This man had a way with the ladies, and he obviously knew it.

  Doris beamed, eyeing the two of them. “I had no idea you two were an item. Or did the romance of the wedding bring you together? I just love weddings. Don’t you?”

  Oh, boy. This wasn’t the time to explain exactly what they were to each other. How could she, when she didn’t even know herself?

  She glanced up at Drew. He was staring down at her—she had not realized just how tall he was. Or maybe it was that she was feeling a little small and unsure of herself at the moment thanks to the careless Texas Star comment. Surely, he wouldn’t... She had to make sure he understood that anything said when they were together was off-limits.

  “I am a lucky guy to have such a beautiful woman on my arm, aren’t I?”

  Drew looped his arm through Caroline’s and pulled her in close.

  Doris swooned again. So did Caroline...just a little bit...silently, on the inside. Drew’s diversion of the subject had done the trick. At least long enough to distract the older woman until her husband, who had probably been parking the car, joined her.

  “Harold, I want you to meet Drew Montgomery,” she said. “Or have you met him already? He was the best man in Claudia and Kyle’s wedding on Saturday. Remember?”

  The two shook hands, but before her husband had a chance to answer, Doris turned sparkling eyes on Caroline. “Are the two of you next? If so, I’d better get an invitation to the wedding.”

  She hoped Drew would come up with another distraction, but when she looked up at him, waiting for him to take the diversionary ball and run with it, he just smiled as if saying, It’s your turn.