man, but he was also pushing seventy. Doreen was all of forty.
“He appreciates women my age. And in our social circle, that’s saying a lot. Do you know how many twentysomethings have stolen my lovers away from me? I’ll bet the gal who caught your eye is a sweet young thing.”
Maybe too sweet, he thought. Tigresses like Doreen were more his style.
She snared his gaze. “Is your new love interest going to be at this soiree?”
“She isn’t—” He stopped and cursed. He’d just more or less admitted that there was another woman on his mind.
“She isn’t what?” Doreen pressured him to come clean.
He went ahead and said it. “She isn’t part of this crowd.”
“Oh, my.” Placing a dramatic hand against the jeweled bodice of her gown, she gave a ladylike gasp. “You’re stepping outside of your regal realm? That spells trouble to me.”
He hated it when she mocked him. Sometimes she even called him the King of Nashville High Society. “Knock it off.”
“I’m serious, Brandon. Those types of hookups don’t work.”
“I never said I was getting together with her.” Sure, he wanted to, but the only thing they’d agreed on was another run-in at the park. Nonetheless, Mary had seemed leery of him. He could tell that he’d made her nervous. “I don’t want to talk about her, anyway.” He preferred to keep his distorted hunger to himself. “Let’s just get this night over with so you can land a date with David.”
Doreen’s pouty pink lips tilted into a smile. “You’re going to help me with that?”
“Sure. Why not?” He turned off the overhead light that she’d left on. For now, the only thing he wanted was for Sunday morning to roll around so he could see Mary again.
* * *
Mary parked her car on a side street and walked to the park, wishing she didn’t have to figure Brandon out. It would be easier if she was convinced, the way Alice was, that he was a bad person. But for now, she wasn’t sure of anything.
She adjusted the insulated tote bag on her arm. She’d baked a variety of pastries. She’d also brought a thermos of medium roast coffee, and cups and plates and everything else they would need. She was good at packing picnics. Or whatever this makeshift breakfast was going to be.
As she cut across the grass, she searched for Brandon. When she spotted him, her heart jumped to her throat. She continued toward him. By now, he’d seen her, as well, and was heading in her direction with the dog by his side. It was warmer this morning than it had been last week. In keeping with the weather, he was wearing khaki shorts and a pale green T-shirt. But no matter how casually he was dressed, he looked as if he’d just stepped out of the pages of a men’s fashion magazine. He’d obviously gotten his sense of style from his mother. His father always looked like an outlaw, draped in shades of black.
As they got closer, Brandon smiled at her with a quick flash of those perfect white teeth. A shadowy chill ran through her, as if she was about to be bitten by a tall, tanned, play-in-the-daylight vampire. A man with no soul? Or just a man with too much sex appeal? Either way, she sucked it up—no pun intended—and returned his smile.
“Hey, Mary,” he said, as they stood face-to-face.
“Hi.” She adjusted the bag on her arm. “I didn’t bring a book today. I brought goodies for you and Cline instead.”
Brandon seemed surprised. Apparently the possibility of her baking for him hadn’t crossed his mind.
“What kind of goodies?” he asked.
“For you, I made raspberry-and-ginger muffins, chocolate-and-cinnamon scones and crisp apple fritters. For Cline, I whipped up a batch of peanut butter, bacon and pumpkin treats.”
“That’s so sweet of you.” He moistened his lips. “Can we try them now?”
“Definitely.” She hesitated. “I brought coffee, too, just in case.” He’d mentioned on social media that he was a coffee drinker, but she was pretending to be unsure. She was also trying not to fixate on his mouth.
He gestured to a nearby picnic bench. “Shall we?”
She nodded and warned herself to get a grip. Fixating on his mouth wasn’t part of today’s game plan.
They sat across from each other, and she was grateful for the tabletop between them. Although Brandon dropped Cline’s leash, the loyal husky didn’t leave his master’s side.
Mary set everything up, making it look as pretty as possible. Presentation was part of her job. She poured the coffee and gave him his. “Cream or sugar?”
“Two creams.” He held up two fingers.
She handed him the little packets, along with a stir stick. “I do sugar.” She sweetened her coffee while he lightened his. “These are Cline’s, obviously.” She slid a Baggie of the bone-shaped biscuits across the table. “If you want to give him one.”
“You can do the honors.” He moved them back over to her. “Just call him around to your side and ask him to ‘sit up.’ That will get him begging for you.”
She followed Brandon’s instructions, and in no time, Cline was sitting up with his nose twitching. She dropped a biscuit, and he caught it. The husky reclined next to her to gobble it up. She returned her attention to his master. “I think I just made a friend for life.”
“Can’t say as I blame him.” Brandon looked at her as if she was as tempting as the pastries she’d brought. “Which of these should I try first?”
“That’s up to you.” As a flame ignited in her belly, she sipped her coffee and wondered if she should have brought iced water instead. At least she could have cooled herself off with it.
He reached for a chocolate-and-cinnamon scone. It was gooiest of the three, with its thick, creamy icing. She watched as he took a big masculine bite.
He swallowed and said, “Damn, this is good.”
“Thank you. I’m glad you like it.” She noticed that there was graffiti on his side of the table: an old-fashioned heart with initials inside it. There were dirty words scratched onto the surface, too. Nothing was ever as innocent as it seemed, not even Mary. If Brandon knew what she up to, he would be throwing the pastries back in her face.
“Are you going to join me?” he asked.
Anxious to clear her thoughts, she put a raspberry muffin on a paper plate. “I’ll have this. But you can take home whatever we don’t eat.” She’d packed enough for seconds and thirds.
“I’d be happy to.” He drank his coffee. “When I was a kid, I had a nanny named Fleur, and she used to sneak me extra cookies. She said it was because I was always so well-behaved and she thought I should be rewarded for it.”
“Did she help raise you?” Mary couldn’t have imagined someone aside from her mother kissing her forehead, or giving her cookies or tucking her in at night.
