Page 19 of Sipping Seduction
A flash of excitement shone in her eyes. Then it was gone. “Oh, I can’t. I’ve got plans for dinner.”
“What kind of plans?”
Her lips pursed and her gaze fell to the floor. “Um, Andrew asked if I wanted to go to dinner.”
I swallowed. Hard. Then I counted backwards in my head. They had dinner the other night at the vineyard. Before that, they’d gone out at least once. That might make tonight their third official date. My palms felt clammy and a band in my chest tightened, making it difficult to take in a full breath.
The third date rule was an urban legend, but Frannie wouldn’t subscribe to something so stupid. She was way too special to devalue herself like that. Still, the thought of her spending time with Andrew Fucking Stewart was disturbing enough to make me want to forbid her from going. Yeah, that would go over just about as well as banning sweet tea in the south.
“Oh.” My one syllable response hung in the air like a lonesome, pitiful protest.
“Is that okay with you?” Concern deepened her already-furrowed brow. “We didn’t talk about plans, so I…”
“Yeah. Of course it’s okay with me.” The lie slipped past my lips, smoother than a shot of whiskey down an old-timer’s throat. “Pete the Dog and I can share a pizza and catch the baseball game on TV.”
Pete the Dog tilted his head at the sound of his name.
“Don’t you dare give him people food. Once he gets a taste of that, he’ll be begging kids during lunch.” Frannie drained the last of her tea, then turned to rinse out her cup. “Can we do dinner tomorrow night? I’ll even cook.”
I stood there, trying to find a way to put my feelings into words. I wanted to tell her to stay home with me tonight. That she didn’t need to go out on any more dates. That I’d be happy to make her dad’s dream of seeing his daughter walk down the aisle come true. Then Pete the Dog bumped against my leg and pain shot down the back of my calf.
“Sounds like a plan. Any idea what time you might be home tonight?” Fuck. I sounded like her dad used to when I’d stop by their house to pick Frannie up on a weekend night back in high school.
Her lips curled into a smile. “You didn’t mention a curfew. Is that one of the house rules around here?”
“No, I’m just wondering if I need to leave the light on. It doesn’t matter to me what time you get home. Just be careful.”
She brushed past me on her way out of the kitchen. “I know you don’t like the idea of me dating a Stewart, but Andrew’s a nice guy.”
“People used to say that about Ted Bundy, you know.”
Frannie shook her head. The knot on top of her head loosened. “You think you’re a pretty good judge of character, don’t you?”
I wasn’t sure where she was going with that, but I’d play along for a minute or two. “Yeah. Wasn’t I the first one to tell you that creep was skimming from the till at the pizza place you worked at in college?”
“Everyone knew that guy was bad news. You don’t get points for that.”
“Whatever. I also called it when you gave that kid the leading role in the fifth-grade musical last year. He was trouble with a capital ‘T’ and that whole mess could have been avoided if you’d listened to me.”
“He had a wardrobe malfunction on stage, that was all.” Frannie put her hands on her hips.
“If you say so. Seems to me he wanted to see if he could get away with mooning the whole elementary school. Probably made a bet with his friends about it.”
“Just because you have the mind of a juvenile delinquent doesn’t mean everyone else does.” Her cheeks flushed. “The incident was investigated at great length. It was an accident, nothing more.”
I put my hands up, palms out, in the universal sign of backing off. “Okay. Got it. What was your original point to this part of the conversation?”
We bickered like a couple who’d already been married for twenty-five years, and I loved every minute of it. She could dish it out just as well as she could take it, and teasing Frannie had always been my favorite pastime.
“You consider yourself a pretty good judge of character, so you can make up your mind about Andrew when you meet him.”
The chance of me willingly meeting Andrew Stewart was about as likely as Bigfoot strolling down Main Street. A chuckle bubbled up in my chest and I faced her, daring her to say more. “And when’s that supposed to happen?”
She glanced at her watch. An unsettled feeling rippled through my gut. “He’s picking me up in a little over an hour. I’d better hit the shower. You don’t mind if I go first, do you?”
“He’s coming here? You gave Andrew Stewart my address, and—and he’s picking you up at my house?”
“What was it you said?Mi casa es su casa?” Frannie gave me her stern principal look—the one she’d practiced in the mirror for months when she took over the job at Beaver Bluff Elementary.
