Page 63 of One Sweet Match Up

Zoe placedher hands on the glass door handle, folding her fingers around it and gathering her thoughts one last time.

Don’t think. Just do it.

She’d given herself a pep talk on the walk back from the park, a walk easily cut in half due to the adrenaline pumping through her. She knew what she wanted to say once she saw Donovan.

She wouldn’t get into her feelings or ask him his.

She’d simply ask him out.

Simple. One question.Would you like to have dinner with me?

“Here goes nothing,” she muttered under her breath and pulled open the door. The Ice Heaven was surprisingly empty. “Donovan,” she called out, moving across the shop. No business partner. Even stranger, on the counter lay a quart of oil, top opened.

Weird. She reached for it. The last thing she needed was for any remnants to spill on her counter.

“Donovan, are you here?”

The kitchen door swung open and he appeared, his hair tousled and sleeves rolled up. “Hey, you’re back. How was your lunch?”

“It was gr—” The last word died in her throat as her gaze zoomed in on his face. She dropped her head to the bottle and then back to him. Her heart began to pound, hard.

Donovan had a grease stain spread across his right cheek.

“Are you all right?” His eyebrows wrinkled his concern.

She stepped closer to him. “No,” she whispered, her hand covering her mouth. Could it be? She’d had a similar smudge on her face two months ago thanks to the magical hope chest.

“What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” He paused, adding, “You didn’t see one, did you?”

“No.” She shook her head and gave him a half smile. At least, she hoped not. “What’s on your face?”

He rubbed his cheek with his knuckle, lengthening the smudge. “Oh, nothing. It’s a little oil grease. It was the weirdest thing. This old guy came in and needed some oil for his car, which I swear was older than him. I must have gotten some of the engine grease on me. I added some oil, but the engine was pretty grimy.”

Grease.

She let that word sink in.

Grease!

She reached her hand over and stroked his cheek with the back of her finger, her eyes locked with his.

“Hi,” was all he said, not making a move to leave.

The hell with “hi.” Her thoughts went back to the antique hope chest. Her fingers had been unexplainably covered in car grease after she’d opened it.

Donovan was now covered in car grease. This had to mean something. She threw down the empty bottle and snaked her arms around his neck, her lips on his, desperate to prove that the antique chest had gotten it right.

Donovan—not Will—was her soul mate. Rachel was wrong.

His arms went around her and their kiss deepened, her tongue easily connecting with his. She ran a hand up the back of his head, running her fingers through his hair.

Donovan was the first to break apart. “Zoe . . .” he started, brushing her bangs out of her eyes. “We should stop.”

She took two steps back.Oh, God. What have I done? He didn’t feel the same way. Was she ever going to get the memo? Why couldn’t she have stuck to her plan and asked him to dinner? Did she have to go on and sexually assault the man? “I’m sorry,” she said, smoothing her hair. “I’m so embarrassed.”

He touched her arm. “You shouldn’t be. All I was going to say is we shouldn’t continue until I do this.” He moved passed her toward the door, locked it, and flipped the sign to closed, his grin full-on mischievous as he sauntered back to her.

Before she knew what was happening, Donovan had brought her into his arms, his mouth back on hers. “We’re closed,” he whispered into her ear. “Mandatory inspection.”

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