Page 7 of Make-Believe Match

“Oh, he was here. He spent twenty minutes telling me all about his amazing late wife and then informed me he’s not ready to move on, so he can’t be my boyfriend.”

“Then why did he ask you out?”

“He didn’t.” I smiled wryly. “My grandmother set up the date and then ambushed me with it this afternoon. But it gets worse.”

He laughed. “How can it get worse?”

“Turns out, the only reason he said yes to the date was because my grandmother had gone on and on about how lonely, sad, and socially awkward I am.” I shook my head. “He feltsorryfor me.”

“You’re right. That is worse.”

Silas brought our drinks, and Devlin handed him a credit card.

“Thank you,” I said, picking up the margarita with both hands. “I promise to be more careful with this one.”

“You’re welcome.” He picked up his whiskey and took a sip. “Well, I’m sorry about the bad date and the meddling grandmother, but if it helps, your hair is beautiful. Everything about you is beautiful.”

“Thanks.” My stomach fluttered. Even if it was just a line from a guy who’d approached me at the bar, I still liked hearing it. It had been a while.

Also, this guy wasridiculouslyhandsome.

A spark of anticipation ignited in my belly as my eyes wandered from his chiseled features to his shoulders and the tanned forearms extending from the rolled-up cuffs of his blue plaid shirt. His body looked athletic but lean, more like a point guard than a quarterback. He wore a chunky black and silver watch on his left wrist, and his hands were masculine and elegant at the same time, with long fingers and neatly trimmed nails.

I sensed my lady bits awakening from their long slumber, and I imagined Devlin as the prince in Sleeping Beauty, hacking away at the thorny, overgrown branches surrounding my O.

My eyes drifted to the wet spot on his pants as I wondered about his sword. Was it long? Was it steely? Did he know how to use it?

Realizing my eyes were laser-beamed on his crotch, I quickly looked up. “So what bringsyouhere tonight?”

“I’m with my family.” He looked over his shoulder toward the dance floor. “They’re sitting at a table over there, probably watching us. I told them I was coming over here to impress you.”

I raised my eyebrows. “You were that sure you could impress me, huh?”

He shrugged. “I was gonna give it my best shot—and my best shot is usually pretty good.”

It didn’t surprise me. Between his looks and his confidence, I doubted he swung and missed too often. “Do you live around here?”

“I grew up in Cherry Tree Harbor, but I’m out east now—Boston. I’m just home for a visit.”

“So who’s over there?” I glanced in the direction of the dance floor. “Brothers? Sisters? Mom and Dad?”

“Two of my three brothers—the third lives in California—and my little sister Mabel plus her best friend Ari, who might as well be another little sister. My dad is at home, watching my oldest brother’s twins. They’re seven.”

“Where’s your mom?”

“I lost my mom when I was nine.”

My jaw dropped. “I did too.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, so quietly I almost didn’t hear him over the band.

And maybe it was ridiculous that I trusted him more after learning we shared that specific childhood experience, but I found myself sliding to the edge of my barstool, moving a little closer to him. “So you’re an uncle.”

“Uncle Devlin,” he confirmed. “It’s the best thing ever.”

“You like kids?” Good grief, those eyes. What did you even call a blue that bright? Cobalt? Sapphire? Caribbean? Whatever the shade, it was making me hot. I had a sudden urge to go swimming.

“Kids are great. I often prefer them to adults.”