Method

“Hi,” he says, thoughtfully surveying my dress with an appreciative gaze as his words come out in a rush. “You look beautiful…so is your mom around?”

I realize he is just as nervous as I am. “Mom?” I ask with a laugh.

He looks past my shoulder apprehensively. More laughter bubbles out of me, and I let out a snort as he cuts his eyes my way. “You came prepared to win my mother over, Lucas, so this can be a real date?”

“You are unbelievable, lady,” he mutters, taking a step back, thoroughly embarrassed.

“You thought I still lived with my mother?”

“It seems expensive to live here,” he says solemnly, which sobers me.

What an odd thing for a millionaire to say. “That’s…thoughtful.”

“Thoughtful, huh? Great, because you already have a kna

ck for making me feel like a jackass. Ready to go?”

This isn’t starting well. There’s an embarrassed edge to his voice, and guilt begins to gnaw at me. It makes sense why he would question why I’m living in a spacious cottage in the Cahuenga Pass in the hills that’s worth well over a million dollars.

“Well, you’re partially right. My parents do own the house. They bought it in the seventies and refuse to part with it. I grew up here.”

He surveys the property, my cottage nestled in the hills with a private drive and spectacular view. “It really is beautiful.”

“Thank you.” I reach behind me and grab the large picnic basket full of wines and other goodies I spent half my day preparing and thrust it toward him, hearing the bottles clank.

“Peace offering?”

He raises a brow. “We’ll see.”

He moves to reach for the basket, and I hold it with hesitance as he looks down at me quizzically. “I’ve done nothing but look forward to our date all day.”

It’s honest, and it’s all I’ve got to try to smooth down the feathers I’ve inadvertently ruffled.

His lips twitch with amusement at my ploy to make nice, and he flips open the lid of the basket and wrinkles his nose. “It’s not a date,” he deadpans. “And this looks…nice. I guess.”

I lean down toward the bottles. “Don’t listen to him. He’ll love you, I promise.” He grins, taking the basket before walking to his Land Rover and opening the door for me.

“Thank you,” I say, stepping up into the spotless SUV as he places the basket in the back behind me before shutting my door.

Nervously I watch as he crosses the hood. The blinding afternoon sun gives me only a partial view of him.

My chest is already constricting with the recollection of just how much I loved our exchange last night and the anticipation of more. The chemistry is intoxicating, he is intoxicating which has the makings for an easy new addiction. Butterflies swarm my insides as he climbs into the driver’s seat and eyes me before starting up the car.

“I’ve got a place in mind.”

“Oh?”

He nods. “Huntington Library. Have you been?”

“No, but I’ve always wanted to go.”

“I’ve never been, either.”

“A day of firsts.”

“Sounds good to me,” he says.

“Me too.”