An Unlikely Mommy

Doing her best to sound nonchalant, she asked, “Then you’re planning to paint your room?”

“Probably. The wallpaper that’s in there now has got to go. No offense to Gran’s taste, but I’m not really a roses kind of guy.”

She smiled. “When I was seven, my mother painted my room pink, hung frilly white curtains and got lacy pillow covers for my bed.”

“Sounds like my daughter’s idea of heaven,” he said.

“Yeah, well, I coveted the monster truck decor in Will’s room. So I empathize on not loving the roses.” It occurred to her that as lone occupant of her new house, she could fix up the entire place in a monster-truck motif. She chuckled at the image.

Jason raised an eyebrow. “What’s funny?”

“It’s silly.”

“Try me. I have a two-year-old, I’m fluent in silly.”

“I’m buying my first house this week,” she said. Just saying it out loud sent joy glowing through her. “I suddenly pictured all the rooms done in that truck theme I wanted when I was a kid.”

He grinned. “I’m starting to think maybe I shouldn’t ask your decorating advice.”

“Definitely not. I’m doing well just to pick out clothes each morning that don’t actively clash.”

“Looks like you do okay.” As he spoke, his eyes swept downward in automatic observation. Yet long before he’d reached her navy shirt and white shorts, his gaze slowed, became something less casual and more reflective.

Her skin tingled in the wake of his visual caress. She was unused to prolonged perusal from a man, was even less accustomed to the elemental admiration she saw dawning in those indescribable eyes. Her heart sped up in her chest, and she wondered if he could make out the rapid flutters beneath the thin cotton.

She swallowed. “Thank you.” It should have been a simple acknowledgment of a perfunctory compliment, but it was something more than that, husky and personal.

His eyes returned to hers, the expression in them dazed. A thrill of heady, feminine power shot through her—she’d put that look on Jason McDeere’s face. It was surreal, so unexpected that she found herself emboldened enough to blurt, “Would you like to go have lunch with me?”

He hesitated, and she felt sure he would say no. After all, he’d just finished telling her how much work he had to do revamping his—

“I’d love to.” His smile was boyish. “I’m as bad as my students. I always tell them not to procrastinate, but when faced with the prospect of slogging through more paint samples or a meal with a pretty girl…Well, it’s a no-brainer. You’ve rescued me from a kiwi-pomegranate-tangerine meltdown.”

In turn, he’d rescued her from going to bed tonight with the heavy feeling that she’d let one more day pass her by, full of quiet longings and missed opportunities.

Chapter Four

They crossed the parking lot toward Jason’s car, a small four-door that got good mileage and consistently high consumer ratings, and he asked Ronnie if she had a specific restaurant in mind.

Hardly—she was making this up as she went along. “Have you tried out the new one a couple of streets over, near the drugstore?”

The establishment had changed management multiple times, trying to find its place in the culinary community. It had briefly been a barbecue joint (put out of business by the superior Adam’s Ribs), a pizzeria, an Irish pub and—for about a week and a half—a sushi bar. Turned out, the citizens of this particular Tennessee town weren’t clamoring for sashimi and unagi. Ronnie kind of missed the wasabi, though.

He opened the passenger door for her. “I haven’t been there yet, but I’m game if you are.”

“I have no idea what kind of menu to expect. How do you feel about surprises?”

His grin was wry. “Some are more welcome than others.”

As soon as they walked into the restaurant, Jason indicated a framed oil painting of a dark-haired woman in a white cotton dress, which hung next to a sequined black velvet mariachi sombrero. “I’ll go out on a limb and guess they serve Mexican.”

A blonde with a bright smile met them, two laminated menus tucked against her chest. “Welcome to Tennessee Tacos, y’all.” Her hair had been pulled back in a sleek topknot, a large silk flower pinned to the side, and she was dressed much like the woman in the painting.

Tennessee Tacos? Ronnie followed the hostess to an orange booth, sending a silent prayer heavenward that this wouldn’t turn out to be a disaster.

There were actually quite a few patrons inside, although it was always difficult here to tell whether crowds were pulled in by great food or morbid curiosity. However, after her first bite of complimentary salsa—which cleared her sinuses and made her eyes water—Ronnie decided this place got her stamp of approval.

Yow. She grabbed the glass in front of her.

“Too hot for you?” Jason tried some, then reached for his own water.

“On the contrary, it’s perfect. I like it hot.”