The guy smiles, gleaming white teeth, a kind grin. He’s walking down the street of Tahoe. Physically active, check. Quick-witted, check. Plays no games, check, check, check.
“Thank you,” he says, and that voice. That smooth, sexy voice. It sends a spray of sparks along my skin. “Also, why don’t you take a look in the mirror and ask yourself that same question?”
I laugh, dip my head, but say nothing.
He stares quizzically at me. “You’re not used to compliments, are you?”
I shake my head. “Not like that.”
“You should get used to them. You’re funny and hot.” He takes a beat, flashes me a killer smile. “By the way, I’m Sam.”
“I’m Tobey,” I say, and my chest is still warm from his compliment, plus my natural response is to just talk. So I keep going. “And my last name is Mallon. But people are always saying Doctor Melon or Doctor Malone. Which is no biggie, honestly. I mean, you can call me Doctor Melon. Or Tobey Melon. If you want.”
Sam smiles, nice and easy. “How about I call you Tobey and I’ll pronounce your last name correctly, Tobey Mallon? Since pronunciations matter. I should know. I’m looking them up all the time for the books I read.”
The name clicks. His name. “Wait. Are you Sam as in Samuel Park? The audiobook narrator Samuel Park?”
That smile comes my way again, and it does things to my heart. Makes it jump a little bit. “You know my name?”
“I listened to Happy Trail,” I say.
Sam cracks up, then clears his throat, dips into a deeper, sexier voice. “My favorite time of day is when a guy is taking off his sweatshirt and his T-shirt goes up too, revealing the best path ever. In fact, I’ve made a study of these moments. I’m calling it The Complete Guide to Happy Trails.”
I set the phone on the counter and slow clap, remembering those opening lines. “Well done.”
Sam takes a bow, and yup, Sam is real. All tall, and lean, and strong cheekbones, and beautiful eyes, and damn. He’s so real he’s unreal.
Especially since he’s incredibly easy to talk to.
“So, Tobey, we haven’t discussed the best part of oatmeal raisin cookies,” Sam says.
I take a leap of faith. “It’s the breakfast thing, isn’t it?”
The man stops in his tracks. “Yes! Exactly! Because sometimes you’re just in the mood for something that tastes a little bit like cereal. Or trail mix. Maybe granola. And that’s the magic of the oatmeal raisin cookie.”
“You get me. Evidently, you get me,” I say.
He resumes his pace, lifts a brow, gives a sly smile. “I do. Because I have taste.”
“Of course you do. You swiped on my profile,” I say, feeling good, feeling like possibilities are unfurling.
Damn delicious ones.
Sam wags a finger at me. “There you go. There’s that sexy confidence I knew you had, Doctor Good in Bed.”
Speaking of confidence . . .
I draw a deep breath and go for it like a badass Navy Seal. “On the subject of cookies, do you think we should just go out and get one?”
“Are you asking me on a date for a cookie?” Sam asks in the flirtiest tone ever that makes me want to pump a fist and then flirt back all night long.
“I am,” I say. Maybe my luck is changing. Maybe I was just mysterious enough.
“I’m there,” he says.
We talk for another hour as he walks through town, and I turn off the stove. Dinner can wait.
This tastes so much better.
The next day, I’m a little nervous. But mostly, I’m excited. It almost seems like it’s too good to be true. What are the chances I’d put together a dating profile, meet a fun, sweet, clever, employed hottie, and discover he digs a lot of the same things I do?
Slim to nil.
Bet he’s an awful kisser.
A spark of worry travels through me.
Or worse.
I don’t know what else he likes. I know so little about him. What if he’s a total douche? What if he hates animals? What if he doesn’t recycle? I love recycling. It’s one of my favorite hobbies. Ack! I don’t even know if he went to college. I mean, there’s nothing wrong with that, but how would I break it to my parents?
Fuck . . .
As soon as I walk into the bakery and find the hottest guy I’ve seen in a long time, I waste no time. I sit across from Sam with the hazel eyes that see into my soul and I pepper him with questions. “Do you recycle? Did you go to college? Do you like animals?”
Sam laughs, sets a hand on mine. “Relax. It’s just a cookie date.”
“So you’re not going to tell me?”
He squeezes my hand, and his touch is warm and welcoming. “Tobey, I’m going to tell you everything. I have a degree in theater. I’m a working actor. I not only recycle, I upcycle, I thrift, and I try not to buy a lot of useless shit.”