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Romano’s is one of the best restaurants in town, and by far one of the most expensive. I could exist happily for weeks on their penne pasta with sun-dried tomatoes and pine nuts. Every excuse for keeping the relationship platonic flew right out of my head. I grinned right back while mentally diving through my closet for something to wear. “I think I could handle that.”
    “Then I’ll see you at six-forty-five.” He chucked me under the chin on his way out the door, and I stood there wearing a goofy grin until one of the silver-haired sisters drifted toward me with a question.
    I’d had a couple of unsatisfactory relationships before my marriage, and a pretty rotten relationship during my marriage. I know from experience that a good chin-chuck delivered with meaning has it all over a dozen roses delivered out of resentment or duty.
    When I realized that Miss Lily was looking at me strangely, I pulled my attention away from the fine sight of Brandon Mills leaving my store and struggled to remember everything Aunt Grace had taught me about fruit jellies.
    I had three hours to wait until closing, four until the meeting, and one of the longest afternoons of my life stretching out in front of me. I just wish I’d known what was to come. If I had, maybe I’d have spent another thirty seconds of it watching Brandon and Max walk away.

Chapter 2

    He didn’t show.
    I raced downstairs at quarter to seven, all dressed up and ready for a night out, and Brandon didn’t even bother to show up. Didn’t call, either. One by one, members of the Alliance drifted out of their stores and into mine, chattering about this and that—the kind of day they had, the Arts Festival, rude customers, plans for that evening . . .
    I got caught up in the chatter, so it took a little while to process what was happening. By the time I did, the scents of caramelized sugar and cinnamon oil made the late lunch I’d wolfed down turn over in my stomach. Thirty-nine years old, and I felt like a sixteen-year-old waiting for her date to the prom. Instead of Prince Charming, I’d somehow managed to pick a frog.
    Again.
    Being stood up isn’t a new experience for me, but that’s not something I’m proud of. Not that it happens with regularity, mind you. But it has happened before. Shane Clements stood me up for Homecoming during my sophomore year of high school. Kelley Jackson left me waiting with a steaming pan of lasagna and five pounds of chips and dip one Super Bowl Sunday during college. And Roger, the ex-husband I try not to think about, had forgotten plans we made more times than I can count. But for some reason, I hadn’t expected Brandon to be that kind of guy. I guess I’m just naïve.
    Since I knew Brandon would never forget the meeting or lose track of time for something this important, the only other option available was that he’d had a change of heart. I don’t know why I was surprised.
    I’d spent a good thirty minutes fighting to get my hair lying flat—at least in the front where I could see it. I’d dug out a pair of heels, left over from my days as a corporate attorney, from the back of my closet and stuffed my poor, protesting feet into them. I’d run an iron over the wrinkles in my good black pants—and all because I thought Brandon would actually keep his promise.
    Annoyed almost beyond words, I shut and locked the front door and started through the kitchen toward the stairs. If Brandon came late, he could let himself in the back way.
    I was about to head upstairs when I caught a flash of movement out of the corner of my eye. My heart went into overdrive as I let myself outside. Maybe Brandon had come after all.
    Thanks to the steep canyon walls and narrow valley floor, the streets of old-town Paradise are barely wide enough for a couple of cars to scrape past each other. Especially when the town is filled with tourists, parking areas are hard to come by and stringently regulated. To make life easier for shop owners,