Page 8 of Blind Date With a Cop
Blake shakes his head, “You’re a pessimist. We’re going to have to work on that. For the record, babe, I’ve never brought a date to Hometown Slice. And this isn’t a wooing scenario. This is me taking you on a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants first date, hoping I don’t screw things up. How am I doing?”
“Oh,” heat crawls up my neck. “I’m still here.”
“That you are.” Blake’s smile is so bright, I start to smile, too.
Blake cuts a slice of cheesecake and sets it on my plate. For a split second, my brain short-circuits. Please God, don’t let him try to feed me.
I spear a strawberry to cover my state of panic. “How old are you?”
“Forty-two.” His eyes stay steady on mine. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-nine.”
He grins, slow and sure. “If I were your father, I would’ve been what? Twelve or thirteen when you were born??”
My cheeks flame. “About that… I’m sorry I said that earlier. It was rude.”
“Don’t be.” His voice is gentle. “You said what you felt. Never apologize for being you—or for being honest.”
I shake my head, flustered all over again.
“What?” he asks.
“You can’t be real,” I laugh, picking at the crust of my cheesecake. “You’re too perfect.”
His grin widens. “Perfect for you.”
As I spear another strawberry, a part of me wants to believe him.
Chapter Six
Three days. That’s all it’s been.
Three days since I walked Cassie to her car, put my number into her phone, and told her I wanted a second date. If I had it my way, it would’ve been the very next day. But I’ve forced myself to wait, to give her space and be the kind of man she could trust, not the type who pushed too hard.
There’s only one problem. When it comes to Cassie, patience is a weakness, not a strength. Every hour that passes without her calling is driving me mad.
Grateful for the distraction of Sunday morning, I help my grandmother from the passenger’s seat of my Camry. When we step inside the church, it’s packed. Love Canyon’s families are filling the pews, kids are giggling, and the church choir is standing on the altar ready to sing. I offer my grandmother my arm as we make our way down the aisle when something up ahead catches my attention.
Auburn hair gleaming in the sunlight.
Slim shoulders wrapped in a soft, pale sweater.
And when she shifts just slightly, I see her profile—those green eyes I’ve been haunted by, even in my sleep.
My Cassie.
I swear under my breath and guide my grandmother into the pew, my heart pounding like I just sprinted across town. She’s here. She’s sitting in the pew right in front of me, beside her grandmother.
My pulse is hammering so hard I can feel it in my throat. She has no idea I’m behind her, which gives me time to take her in—the way she tucks her hair behind her ear, the nervous way she smiles at her grandmother. My chest tightens. Seeing her doesn’t ease the ache inside me; it only makes it worse.
I miss her.
I need her.
I want her.
The pastor’s voice booms through the sanctuary, welcoming everyone, launching into announcements. I can’t tell you a word of what he’s saying. Not when Cassie is two feet in front of me, close enough that I catch the faint trace of her perfume—something soft and floral.
