Page 10 of Blind Date With a Cop
I open the door to find Nan and Clara grinning like Cheshire cats. Clara is holding a basket that smells suspiciously like cinnamon.
“Don’t look so nervous,” Clara says, sweeping past me into the apartment. “We brought you muffins.”
“In the shape of what?”
“Muffins, you silly girl.”
“Praise be,” I sigh, taking the basket. “My stomach thanks you.”
Nan makes a beeline straight for the easel. “Now what are you working on, dear? Is this your next Love Canyon gallery piece?”
“Nan, don’t?—”
Damn it, it’s too late. Her eyes widen. Her smile widens more. “Well, well, well. If this isn’t our very own handsome Officer Blake Donovan staring down from canvas glory…”
Clara totters over, squinting at the painting. “Mercy. You’ve captured his jawline perfectly. That man was made to wear a uniform.”
My face heats. “It’s not what it looks like.”
Nan’s smirk is positively evil. “It looks like love, sugar. Or at the very least lust with artistic aspirations.”
Before I have time to tell another lie, another knock sounds at the door: a firm, steady knock.
I freeze. Nan claps her hands together like it’s Christmas morning. “That sounds like a man’s knock to me.”
“It certainly does,” Clara hooks her arm through Nan’s. “Go ahead, dear. See who it is?”
With my heart hammering, I open the door.
And see Blake.
He’s dressed in jeans, a fitted Henley that leaves very little to the imagination—and in his hands, a bouquet of turquoise daisies.
My favorite color.
“I thought these might brighten your day,” he smiles, holding out the bouquet.
Nan all but squeals. Clara fans herself with a paintbrush. And my insides melt into a puddle of goo.
“Well, Clara, I do believe we should get going. We have more muffin deliveries to tend to.” Nan pats Blake’s arm on the way out, “It’s always good to see you, officer. You two have a nice day.”
“Those flowers are lovely,” Clara winks.
When the door clicks shut behind them, I set the flowers down on the counter, my palms sweaty and my heart thundering like a runaway train.
Blake moved slowly around my apartment, scanning the canvases propped against the walls. He stopped at a pastel-colored abstract piece. “These are all pieces of you,” he said quietly. “And it’s stunning.”
His compliment steals my breath. Before I can say thank you, his eyes slide to the easel. His gaze lingered on his portrait.
“You’ve been thinking of me,” he murmured.
A war of fear and longing took root in my chest. Every man in my past had disappeared, leaving me with broken promises and a broken heart.
Gran’s voice echoed in my head, Life goes by in the blink of an eye, sugar. Don’t waste a minute of it.
My heart’s racing, my mind’s telling me to run—but when I look at Blake, everything stills.
I march across the floor, fist my hands in the front of his shirt, pull him to my mouth, and kiss him with everything percolating inside of me. Fear, hope, hunger—I don’t leave anything out.
