The Single Dad's Second Chance

“But he should have,” Holly insisted. “I mean, who proposes marriage to a woman who has carefully avoided any use of the L-word?”

“You’ve been together almost two years—obviously he thought it was implied.”

“Except that he’s not in love with me, either. He just thought it was the next logical step in our relationship.”

“This is why I don’t date,” Rachel told her. “Because a few dates eventually lead to a relationship and one party or another ends up with a broken heart.”

“I should have come over to your place last night for the Criminal Minds marathon.”

“Actually, I wasn’t home last night.”

Her friend pushed the finished watering can arrangement aside. “Where were you?”

“Bowling.”

“By yourself?”

“No.” She plucked the wilted blooms out of a container and tossed them into the garbage. “With Andrew Garrett.”

Holly frowned. “Sexy White Roses Guy?”

Rachel nodded.

“The one with the wedding ring on his finger?” her friend pressed.

“He’s widowed.”

“Oh.” Holly considered for a minute. “How long?”

“Three years.”

“And he still wears the ring?”

Rachel shrugged.

Holly counted out eight white lilies. “I didn’t know you bowled.”

“I don’t.”

“So how did this come about?”

“We were both at Valentino’s for eat-in takeout, and the next thing I knew, I was wearing ugly shoes.”

“That’s probably why you don’t bowl,” Holly noted. “The shoes offend your impeccable sense of style.”

“And yet, I had a good time.”

“Because you enjoyed the game—or because you enjoyed being with Sexy White Roses Guy?”

“He is sexy,” Rachel acknowledged. “And charming and interesting and funny.”

“Uh-oh.”

She frowned. “Uh-oh—what?”

“One date and you’re falling for him already.”

“It wasn’t a date and I’m not falling for him.”

Holly didn’t look convinced. “I’m all for you finally ending your ridiculous dating hiatus, but I don’t want you getting hung up on somebody else who isn’t available.”

“I’m not hung up on him.”

“You went bowling with him—and you don’t bowl.”

Rachel sighed. “Our options were limited.”

“Did he kiss you?”

“It wasn’t a date.”

“That wouldn’t stop most guys I know from making a move,” her friend noted. “Then again, most guys I know don’t wear wedding bands—even the ones who are married.”

Rachel waited until her friend finished then she said, “Actually, I kissed him.”

“What?”

“It was a thank-you,” she explained. “An impulse.”

“Was there tongue?”

She rolled her eyes. “I touched my lips to his cheek.”

“Oh.” Holly sounded disappointed. “I’m not sure that even counts as a kiss.”

“Then I guess I didn’t kiss him.”

“When you kissed him, did you feel those little flutters in your belly?”

“Make up your mind—did I kiss him or not?”

“That depends on whether or not there were flutters.”

There had been definite flutters, and her heart had raced and her knees had gone weak. But she wasn’t prepared to admit any of that to her friend.

“Customer,” she said, when the bell over the door jangled.

“We’re not done with this conversation,” Holly warned.