Identity

“Right now, this works for me.” He sat back, a man comfortable with himself, confident in himself. And she found that very appealing.

“One day I imagine I’ll want to stick, settle. But I get to see a lot of the country, meet a lot of interesting people.” The quick, dazzling smile flashed. “Like you.”

He had a good rhythm himself, she decided. Just flirty enough.

“You must like the work, and I have to think you’re really good at it.”

“I love the work. Creating systems that suit the clients. Fixing problems, making people’s lives easier, expanding their horizons. Maybe you’ll show me your house one day, and I could give you some ideas.”

“Maybe.”

He smiled again. “So, pizza.”

She ended up drinking two glasses of wine, and enjoyed every minute. He told her stories, how he’d designed the smart tech for a ranch in Butte, Montana, and watched bison graze in the field.

And he listened to her plans for a new kitchen, even offered suggestions. Ones good enough to add to her list of hopes and dreams.

He suggested the walk.

The evening breeze kicked a bit, but felt good after the heat of the restaurant. And it had been so long since she’d taken a walk with someone, had someone hold her hand.

It was nearly ten, much later than she’d planned, when he walked her to her car.

“I’d like to see you again, like this. Not that I don’t enjoy riding a stool at the bar while you’re working. But I’d like to see you again. My schedule’s flexible. I can work around yours.”

Maybe Nina had crawled inside her head, but she found herself inviting him to dinner.

“Next Monday night at my place. It’s the most open for me.”

“You cook?”

“No. I’m going to have to add that to my list of things to learn, but no.”

“Nina cooks.”

“No, but her mother does, and she’ll walk us through something if you’re willing to risk it.”

“Adventure’s my game. Is seven good?”

“Sure. Seven’s great.”

“I’ll be there. Got an address?”

She held out a hand for his phone, added it to his contacts. “I can give you directions.”

“I’m good friends with Mr. Google. I’ll still be dropping by the bar. I might even try my hand at darts.”

“Roddy’s a killer.”

“I’ll risk it.”

He leaned in then, and she’d have called it a subtle nudge. Just the right amount of nudge the way his lips met hers. He didn’t push, but made an impact. And the flutter she hadn’t experienced in a long, long time added the perfect cap to the evening.

“Good night, Morgan.”

“Good night. I had a really good time.”

“Me, too. Drive safe.”

She drove safe, though she floated a bit on the quiet rush of a good-night kiss.

And when she floated into the house, Nina, glowing from her self-care, cozy in her pj’s, waited.

“Okay, I can take one look and know this was a major success in first dates. Tell! Did he hit on you?”

“The perfect amount. I really like him.” With a happy sigh, she dropped into a chair. “He’s just easy and fun to talk to. He’s been so many places and tells a good story. He listens.”

She lifted her shoulders, let them fall. “And when he kissed me good night, my stomach fluttered.”

“What kind of kiss? Be descriptive.”

“I’m going to say soft, and just a little dreamy. No push, no blast of heat. Just easy, and effective. I ended up asking him to dinner next Monday night.”

“Whoa!” Jumping up, Nina did a quick dance. “Holy shit. He didn’t drug you, did he? Or use some sort of mind trick?”

“He’s a nice, great-looking, interesting man. That’s it.”

“More than enough. We’ll have Mama help us cook something. Or do you want me to disappear Monday?”

“No.” That came immediate and decisive. “Please, don’t disappear. I wouldn’t have invited him unless you’d be here.”

“Should I ask Sam?”

“Yes, that evens it out or something. Nothing fancy, Nina. A nice, easy dinner. Let’s stay casual.”

“Casual sexy. We’ve got this, Morgan.”

“If we don’t, we’ll get something delivered.” She rose. “I have to get ready for bed. You should, too. You start at eight tomorrow.”

“I’m going, I’m going, but I’m going to text Mama first so she can think about what we should make. I’m not going to tell you to have sweet dreams because that’s a given. See you tomorrow. Oh, I can’t wait to meet the guy Morgan Albright asked to dinner!”



* * *



Luke dropped into the bar Tuesday night. He slid right into conversation with her, and with some of the regulars. He honed his dart skills for a while—he wasn’t bad. He had his two beers, some wings.

“Got yourself a boyfriend.” Gracie wiggled her eyebrows.

“No. He’s only in town for a couple months.”

“Didn’t say lifetime lover.” As the lights blinked for last call, Gracie rolled her shoulders. “He sure is smooth. Me, I don’t trust smooth. About fifteen years back I had an almost first husband. He was smooth. So smooth he slid right out of my bed into my cousin Bonnie’s.”

“Good thing he’s not my almost first husband.”

“So you can enjoy the smooth.”

And why not, Morgan thought when he came in on trivia night. The fact that he joined in earned him some points on her personal scorecard.

She had an interesting man obviously attracted to her and, given her schedule, not much one-on-one time. Which seemed okay with both of them.

It didn’t mean she didn’t look forward to Monday night with fear of actually cooking and anxiety, due to second-date syndrome.

She flexed some time, took off an hour early from her day job. Riding her bike home in air that had softened, really, finally softened into April gave her a lift.

In a matter of weeks spring would get serious and start popping out color. She saw some of the neighborhood’s forsythia had already jumped in with their bright butter yellow, and the big willow on the corner of her block had its early green haze.

In her own yard, tulips bloomed lipstick red, and the azaleas that Nina had advised on their first garden center meeting had budded up and would pop their sweet pink in no time.

Maybe it was silly, but having them made her feel like part of the neighborhood.

She parked her bike, smiled at the pansies, and went inside where music pumped.

Obviously, Nina had beaten her home.

She tossed her keys in the bowl on the table by the door, hung up her jacket, tucked her purse inside the closet with it, then walked into the kitchen and chaos.

Nina had her hair back in a tail and wore an apron splattered with God knew. Nina’s mama had given her an apron, and sent one home to Morgan.

Bottles, jars, shakers littered their stingy counter. From where Morgan stood, it looked like some of everything made up the splatters on Nina’s new bib apron.

“I did it!” Nina’s eyes stayed wide and a little bit wild. “I did the marinade for the chops. I did it, Morgan.” She flung open the fridge. “See?”

Gingerly, Morgan leaned in, stared through the plastic wrap on the glass bowl—borrowed from Mama for this express purpose.

“I did it with these hands!”