Page 17 of A Tempting Seduction (Protectors of Jasper Creek #5)

“Don't play coy with us, missy,” Miss Gladiola said. “The whole town's talking about you two. Three dates in two weeks? That boy's smitten.”

“Three dates?” Little Grandma's eyebrows shot up toward her hairline. “Do tell.”

I sighed and settled back onto the couch. There was no escaping this conversation.

“The first one was dinner at the River Stone House in Gatlinburg,” I began. “It's this beautiful restaurant overlooking the river. Ford brought me wildflowers and opened doors and was a complete gentleman.”

“Good,” Miss Gladiola said with approval. “What about the second date?”

“That one was more spontaneous,” I said, smiling at the memory. “I was leaving work one afternoon, and there he was, waiting outside Java Jolt. He asked if I was hungry and took me to Pearl's for an early dinner.”

“Pearl's?” Little Grandma wrinkled her nose. “That's not very romantic.”

“Actually, it was perfect,” I said. “Casual and comfortable. We talked for hours about everything and nothing. Then afterward, he asked if I wanted to change clothes and go do something fun in Pigeon Forge.”

“What kind of fun?” Miss Gladiola asked, leaning forward with interest.

“Go-kart racing.”

Both women stared at me in silence for a long moment.

“Go-kart racing,” Little Grandma repeated slowly.

“It was amazing,” I said, the words tumbling out faster as I remembered.

“I'd never done anything like it before. Ford helped me figure out how to work the pedals and the steering wheel, and then we spent two hours racing around this track like teenagers. I beat him in the third race, and he bought me a victory ice cream sundae.”

“That boy's got good instincts,” Miss Gladiola said with a satisfied nod. “Taking you somewhere fun instead of trying to impress you with expensive dinners.”

“Though expensive dinners have their place,” Little Grandma added diplomatically.

“What about the third date?” Miss Gladiola asked.

My enthusiasm dimmed slightly. “He took me to a Mexican restaurant in Pigeon Forge. It was nice enough, but the food was...” I paused, searching for a diplomatic way to phrase it.

“Terrible?” Little Grandma suggested.

“Marginal at best,” I admitted. “The salsa came from a jar, the guacamole was obviously store-bought, and don't get me started on what they called enchiladas.”

“Poor Ford,” Miss Gladiola said with sympathy. “He probably had no idea.”

“He did,” I winced. “He was so apologetic about it that I felt worse for him than I did about the bad food. Which leads me to tonight.”

I took a deep breath, trying to calm the butterflies that had been building in my stomach all day.

“I promised to cook him a Mexican feast that would knock his socks off. At my house. Tonight.”

The silence that followed my announcement was deafening. Little Grandma and Miss Gladiola exchanged a look that spoke volumes.

“At your house,” Miss Gladiola said finally.

“Cooking for him,” Little Grandma added.

“A Mexican feast,” Miss Gladiola continued.

“Tonight,” Little Grandma finished.

“Yes,” I said, feeling my anxiety ratchet up another notch. “And I'm nervous as hell.”

The floodgates opened.

“What are you wearing?” Miss Gladiola demanded.

“Did you clean the house top to bottom?” Little Grandma wanted to know.

“What time is he coming over?”

“Do you have wine?”

“Sangria would be better,” Miss Gladiola declared. “Or better than that, margaritas!”

“Did you buy flowers for the table?”

“What about candles?”

“Ladies!” I held up my hands to stop the barrage of questions. “One at a time, please.”

Miss Gladiola took charge with the efficiency of a field general. “First, the outfit. What are you planning to wear?”

“I bought a new dress,” I said. “It's a maxi dress, flowy and comfortable but still pretty. Navy blue with little white flowers.”

“Good choice,” Little Grandma approved. “Comfortable but feminine. What about shoes?”

“Sandals with a small heel. Nothing too fancy since we're staying in.”

“Perfect,” Miss Gladiola said. “Now, the menu. What are you cooking?”

“Chicken and cheese enchiladas with red sauce,” I began, ticking off items on my fingers.

“Tamales filled with pork and green chiles that I made a couple days ago and froze. Fresh guacamole with avocados I picked out myself this morning. Pico de gallo with tomatoes from my garden. Cilantro lime rice. Black beans with cumin and garlic. And tres leches cake for dessert.”

Both women sat back with impressed expressions.

“Mercy,” Little Grandma breathed. “That sounds like a restaurant meal.”

“Where did you learn to cook like that?” Miss Gladiola asked.

“I worked in a Mexican restaurant in Los Angeles for a while,” I said, deliberately keeping the details vague. “The chef taught me his family recipes.”

“Ford's going to think he died and went to heaven,” Little Grandma said with satisfaction.

“But what if he doesn't like it?” I asked, voicing the fear that had been gnawing at me all day. “What if I mess something up? What if?—”

“Ruby Miller,” Miss Gladiola interrupted with steel in her voice.

“You stop that right now. You're a beautiful, intelligent, talented woman who can probably cook circles around most people in this town.

Ford Larson would be lucky to have you, and if he doesn't appreciate what you're offering, then he's not worth your time.”

“She's right,” Little Grandma said firmly. “But just to be safe, make sure you have some music playing softly in the background. Nothing too romantic, just something pleasant.”

“And light some candles,” Miss Gladiola added. “Not too many, you don't want it to look like a seduction scene.”

I felt my face flame red. “It's not a seduction!”

“Of course not, dear,” Little Grandma said soothingly. “But there's nothing wrong with creating a nice atmosphere.”

“Wear perfume,” Miss Gladiola continued. “Something light and feminine.”

“Put fresh flowers on the table,” Little Grandma added.

“Make sure you eat something before he arrives so you're not starving during dinner,” Miss Gladiola said. “Are you wearing nice underwear?”

“Gladdie! It’s only their fourth date,” Little Grandma reprimanded.

“The way I hear it, she’s already behind. People get naked on their third date, these days.”

“Oh. So, are you wearing nice underwear?” Little Grandma asked.

It felt like my face was on fire. I was afraid I might start hyperventilating and pass out.

“Breathe, honey,” Little Grandma chuckled. “You'll be fine.”

The two of them laughed and I finally joined in, the tension popped like bubblegum.

“We should probably let you get home and start preparing,” Miss Gladiola said, pushing herself out of her chair. “What time is Ford coming over?”

“Seven o'clock,” I said, checking my watch. “Which gives me about four hours to finish cooking and have a nervous breakdown.”

“No nervous breakdowns allowed,” Little Grandma said firmly. “You're going to have a wonderful evening.”

I hugged both women goodbye and promised to bring the journals by the next day. As I drove home, their words of encouragement echoed in my head, mixing with my own anxious thoughts about the evening ahead.

My duplex felt smaller than usual when I let myself in, probably because I'd been cleaning and organizing for the past two days. The tamales sat in the refrigerator, perfectly wrapped and ready to steam. I'd prepared everything I could in advance, but there was still plenty of work to do.

I changed into the new maxi dress, running my hands over the soft fabric as it settled around my hips.

The navy blue brought out my eyes, and the tiny white flowers scattered across the material were delicate without being overly sweet.

I'd bought it during a FaceTime shopping session with Chloe Avery, who'd convinced me to try something more feminine than my usual jeans and sweaters. I chose her to shop with, because she understood my nerves and wasn’t pushy. What’s more, it didn’t hurt her to have some people interaction. I put my apron on over it.

The dress was pretty damn good. Now I just had to hope the rest of the evening followed suit.

I started with the rice, letting it simmer while I prepared the fresh pico de gallo. The tomatoes from my garden were perfect, red and juicy and bursting with flavor. I diced them carefully, mixing them with fresh onions, jalapenos, and cilantro, then adding lime juice and a pinch of salt.

As I worked, my nervous energy needed an outlet. I pulled out my phone and scrolled through my contacts until I found Chloe's number. She'd been the perfect shopping companion, but more importantly, she understood what it felt like to be uncertain about everything.

The phone rang three times before her soft voice answered. “Ruby? Is everything okay?”

“I'm cooking for Ford tonight,” I said without preamble. “At my house. And I'm freaking out.”

“Why are you freaking out?” Chloe asked, and I could hear genuine concern in her voice. “You’ve cooked tamales for me, they were amazing.”

“Because it's Ford,” I said, fluffing the rice with more force than necessary. “Because he's wonderful and kind and patient, and what if I mess this up? What if I prove that I'm not worth all the effort he's been putting in?”

Silence stretched across the line for a moment, and I wondered if I'd said too much. Chloe was dealing with her own problems, and here I was dumping my dating anxiety on her.

“Ruby,” Chloe said finally, and her voice was stronger than I'd heard it in months. “Do you know what Seris would do in this situation?”

I blinked, surprised by the reference to her manga character. “What?”

“Seris. From Oracle's Silence. You know how she lost her voice to save the realms, but she's learning that sometimes the most powerful thing you can do is trust yourself to act despite being afraid?”

I thought about the fierce, silent heroine Chloe had created. “I'm not sure I understand.”

“Seris learned that courage isn't about having no fear,” Chloe continued, and I could hear something like wonder in her voice, as if she was discovering something important as she spoke.

“It's about moving forward even when you can't see all the possible outcomes. She gave up her voice, but she gained something else—the ability to listen deeply, to trust her instincts, to know when action is needed even when words fail.”

I stopped fluffing the rice, caught by the intensity in Chloe's voice.

“Ruby, you're not messing anything up by being nervous. You're being brave enough to let someone matter to you. That's what Seris would recognize—that the fear means it's important, and the important things are worth the risk.”

“When did you get so wise?” I asked, feeling some of my anxiety transform into something warmer.

“I've been thinking about silence lately,” Chloe said quietly. “About what it means to lose your voice versus choosing when to use it. Maybe I've been confusing strength with certainty, when really strength is about moving forward even when you can't predict what comes next.”

The words hit me harder than they should have. “Chloe...”

“You're choosing to trust, Ruby. You're opening your door and your heart despite not knowing how it ends. That's the bravest thing Seris ever learned to do—to act from love instead of fear, even when the future is uncertain.”

“Why can't you take your own advice?” I asked gently. “Why can't you choose to trust, too?”

The silence that followed was longer this time, and when Chloe spoke again, her voice was barely a whisper.

“I have to go,” she said. “But Ruby? You're going to be amazing tonight. Trust yourself to know what you're worth.”

The line went dead, leaving me standing in my kitchen with tears threatening and my heart aching for my friend. But her words had lodged themselves in my chest, warm and encouraging.

Trust yourself to know what you're worth.

I could do that. I could be like Seris, moving forward despite uncertainty, acting from love instead of fear. But it wasn’t like I was in love or anything crazy like that. Been there, done that. Had the t-shirt.

Yeah, but Ford was different.

We’re just friends . I argued with myself. And anyway, I was just wearing cotton underwear, no lace. So there.

No sexy underwear meant no sex. No sex meant I didn’t trust him. No trust meant I wasn’t in love with him. Easy, breezy, it all made sense now.

The timer for the sauce chimed, and I turned my attention back to the meal.

The enchiladas needed to go in the oven, and the tamales needed to start steaming.

I moved through my kitchen with growing confidence, tasting and adjusting seasonings, arranging serving dishes, setting the table with fresh flowers and the good candles I'd been saving for a special occasion.

By six-thirty, the entire house smelled like cumin and cilantro and hopefully not insecurity. The tres leches cake sat cooling in the refrigerator, the enchiladas were bubbling perfectly in the oven, and everything else was ready to be served.

I checked my reflection in the bathroom mirror one more time. The dress looked great, my hair had cooperated for once, and the light makeup I'd applied brought out the green in my eyes without looking overdone.

I was ready.

The doorbell rang at exactly seven o'clock, sending my heart jumping into my throat.

Trust yourself to know what you're worth.

I went and opened the door.

There he was. God, he looked good.

I should have worn lace panties .