Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Cassie
Nan has officially lost her mind.
I can forgive the cookies shaped like anatomy charts from a frat party. I can even overlook the fact that Clara, with her angelic curls and sweet grandmotherly smile, called them educational. But orchestrating a blind date with a cop who didn’t even know he was my date? They’ve gone too far.
And not just any cop. No. Officer Blake Donovan—towering, broad-shouldered, square-jawed, with a stubble-shadowed face that belongs in a sexy uniform calendar, not patrolling the streets of Love Canyon. He’s handsome in the way that makes women sigh and swoon.
Which means he’s trouble.
Handsome men like that spend more time in front of the mirror than they ever do with their partners, and the man is practically a senior citizen compared to me. A distinguished, ridiculously good-looking senior citizen, but still.
No, thank you. I’ll pass.
I take a steadying breath, then turn to Gran, who looks far too pleased with herself. “I’m leaving. Nan’s stunt was out of line, and I’m not going to be paraded around like some charity case in need of a man.”
Gran presses her lips together. “Sugar, you’re overreacting—”
“Overreacting?” My voice pitches higher, fueled by humiliation. “Gran, he obviously wasn’t in on it. Did you see his face? He looked like he wanted to arrest someone. Probably Nan. Which, frankly, I’d support.”
Nan, lounging in her chair, the unofficial Queen of Matchmaking, lifts her chin. “You’re welcome.”
“You’re welcome?” I sputter. “You tricked me! You tricked him. This isn’t just meddling—it’s…it’s practically entrapment!”
“Don’t be so dramatic, dear,” Nan waves her hand. “It’s a perfect match.”
“It’s not a match!” I press my fingers to my temples.
“Here’s what’s going to happen: You’re taking Gran home, and then you will personally explain to Officer Donovan that he should never have been dragged into this circus.
Then, you can go back to your pornographic cookie book club and stop ambushing people. ”
Around us, the women titter into their wineglasses. Clara beams proudly, no doubt thrilled to hear her baked goods described as pornographic.
I grab my purse. “I’m leaving.”
Gran shakes her head, “Sugar, you’re scared. That’s all this is. You need to let go of whatever you’re holding onto before it’s too late.”
My throat tightens. “I know you love me, Gran, and I know you thought this was a good thing. But it’s not. He was just as shocked as I was. You shouldn’t meddle like this. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Her eyes soften, but she doesn’t argue.
I sling my bag over my shoulder, determined to get out before I burst into flames from pure embarrassment. On my way past Clara, she slips a pink bakery box into my tote. “Here, love,” she says, patting my arm. “You’re going to need these.”
“Perfect,” I mutter. “Emergency penis cookies. Just what I always wanted.”
I push through the door into the cool night, tip my head back, and let out a scream that fogs into the air. The frustration echoes off the quiet street, but it doesn’t make me feel any better.
And then blue and red lights flash across my vision.
I blink, shielding my eyes, as a cruiser pulls up and parks directly in front of me. The driver’s door swings open, and there he is—Officer Blake Donovan swaggering, not walking, like the sidewalk belongs to him.
He stops in front of me, his hands resting easily on his belt, his gaze steady. “Pizza or steak?”
“What?”
“You have to eat dinner,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Would you prefer pizza or steak?”
“I’ll eat when I get home,” I snap.
He takes a slow, deliberate step closer. His shadow swallows mine. “I see. Then let’s get one thing straight, Cassie, shall we? I heard you loud and clear when you said you don’t do blind dates.”
“Good,” I say. “I’m glad we’re on the same page.”
“You can rest assured,” his mouth curves, “you’ll never go on a blind date again.”
I narrow my eyes. “I won’t? And how exactly do you know that?”
“Because I’m going to be the last man you ever date.”
My pulse stutters. “Why? Are you planning to kill me?” I glance at the holstered gun at his hip. “Because that’s the only way I’d never date again.”
His eyes darken, but not with humor. With certainty. “No. Because you’re going to marry me.”
I laugh, but it comes out high and squeaky. “I’m never getting married, Officer Donovan. And I’m sure as hell not marrying you. Now, if you’ll kindly move your cruiser so I can go home, I’d appreciate it.”
He cocks his head, studying me like a puzzle he’s determined to solve. “Babe, I’m not moving my cruiser until you’re sitting in it. You are going on a date with me. I’ll give you one more chance to decide. Pizza or steak. If you don’t want to choose, we’re having steak.”
“This man,” I mutter, throwing my hands up. “Who do you think you are?”
“Pizza or steak,” he repeats, with a maddening calm that makes me want to scream again.
“Pizza,” I blurt. Then slap my hand over my mouth. What the hell is wrong with me? I’m not eating with him.
His grin is slow and devastating. “Perfect.”
And then he does something even more shocking. He offers me his arm as if we’re characters in some kind of Harlequin romance novel, instead of two strangers standing in a small-town parking lot under flashing police lights.
Somehow—I don’t know if it’s temporary insanity, a stroke, or just sheer exhaustion—I slip my arm through his.
His bicep flexes under my touch, and my brain short-circuits.
He walks me to the cruiser like I’m precious cargo. Opens the door. Waits until I’m seated. Then, with surprising gentleness, he leans in and buckles the seatbelt himself. His fingers brush my hip, leaving sparks in their wake.
When I look up, the book club peanut gallery, Gran, Nan, Clara, Marie, and Tanith, have their faces pressed to the storefront window. Wide grins split their cheeks; wine glasses raised in triumph. Behind them, the rest of the group looks like they’ve just hit the romance jackpot.
“Great,” I mutter. “Just great.”
Blake slides into the driver’s seat, cuts the lights, and pulls away from the curb.
And for some strange, terrifying reason, I know my life is never going to be the same.