smooth to the list of reasons to avoid Jeff Brennan. Too smooth, too handsome, too winsome with his short curly brown hair, hazel eyes, strong chin, great nose and lashes that girls spent way too much money for.
Hannah flashed him a cool smile, not wanting or needing to dredge up a past best left buried, not this time of year. “You and the wife picking baby names, Mr. Brennan?”
He raised unfettered hands. “Not married, never have been, nor engaged. And dinner is simply so you and I can go into Thursday’s meeting on the same page with similar goals, if neither one of us successfully ducks this project. No strings, no ties, no ulterior motives.”
The sensibility of his argument enticed Hannah to accept. Chronic fear pushed her to refuse. She waffled, hating this indecision, longing to be the person she used to be. Strong. Self-motivated. Forceful.
But that was before Ironwood, and nothing had been the same since. She shook her head, needing to decline and hating the cowardice pushing the emotion. “I can’t. Sorry.”
He’d tempted her.
Good.
She’d telegraphed the reaction as she weighed her response, a quick, vivid light in her eyes, quenched as seconds ticked by. Jeff liked the bright look better, but either way, something about Hannah Moore piqued his interest.
Which made no sense because shy, retiring women weren’t his type, although something in her stance and bearing made him think she wasn’t as timid as she made out. Perhaps hesitant was a better word, and that only made him wonder what caused the timorous look behind those stunning blue eyes.
And if he couldn’t persuade Grandma that his sister Meredith was the better choice to cochair these weekly meetings, he had to establish a common ground with this woman. Clearly she shared his displeasure about spending the better part of a year on the project.
Even with her long blond hair pulled back in a ponytail for her candy store stint, she was lovely. And cautious, a trait he’d learned to deal with if not love because his mother embraced caution as her middle name. But beneath the carefully constructed and controlled features, he sensed something else.
Right now he needed a cooperative attitude with this whole library business, and since he’d happened upon her here, at the Romesser family’s new tribute store, fate was obviously throwing her into his path. Or maybe it was the fact that he needed a box of chocolates for a friend’s wife who’d just given birth. Either way, Jeff wasn’t about to waste an opportunity. He shifted his attention to the chocolates. “I need a pound and a half of mixed chocolates including cherry cordials, if you don’t mind.”
Her face softened, dissipating the glimpse of worry. “Josie O’Meara.”
He laughed, amazed. “How’d you know?”
Hannah leaned forward as if sharing a secret. “She stopped by for one cherry cordial nearly every day until she delivered. It was her way of rewarding herself for being a working mom with a baby on board.”
“That’s Josie, all right. Do you know all your customers like that? At the library and here? And the kids you tutor?”
She shook her head as she filled the box, then shrugged. “Yes and no. It’s easy because I work at small venues. If they were bigger, it might not be the same.”
Somehow Jeff doubted that. Hannah’s soul-searching eyes said she was a woman of marked intelligence.
So why was she working part-time in an out-of-the-way postage-stamp-size library, gilding the lack of pay by boxing chocolates?
She wrapped the box in paper decorated with tiny dinosaurs, perfect for the mother of a brand-new baby boy. “Tell her I packed extra cherry cordials in there from me. And that Samuel is a great name.”
“Samuel was Hannah’s son in the Bible, wasn’t he?”
Her eyes shadowed, the hint of self-protection reemerging.
“That will be eighteen dollars, please.”
“Of course.” He let the subject slide, not sure how or why, but pretty certain he’d prickled a wound. “And Wednesday night?”
She glanced away, then down.
“I can pick you up or we can meet at The Edge.”
He waited, counting the ticks of the clock, then leaned forward. “And can you wear something that doesn’t remind me of how pretty your eyes are? That doesn’t augment that shade of blue?”
She jerked up, the shadow chased away by annoyance. “Maybe. Maybe not. I’ll meet you there. Eight-thirty.”
“Perfect.” He raised up the signature green-and-tan striped paper bag bearing Grandma Mary’s logo. “See you then. And thanks for the candy.”
He felt her gaze on him as he left the store, the bell jangling his departure. He headed left toward the hospital, but refused to glance back to see if she watched him stroll down the sidewalk.
Nope.
Let her wonder if he’d totally forgotten her the minute he stepped through the door, which he hadn’t. Give her something to stew over instead of whatever shadowed her expression.
Although he did understand the concept of shouldering burdens firsthand. His father’s illicit drug and gambling habits turned Neal Brennan’s brilliant mind into a disaster, nearly toppling their family business. Jeff intended to do whatever it took to polish the Brennan name until it gleamed.
Matt Cavanaugh’s sudden reappearance in the area didn’t make his goal easier, but Jeff refused to dwell on that new twist. He’d meet with Grandma later, get her opinion. And he’d run an internet check on his half brother, see what he could find. Good or bad, he’d face any showdowns with Matt well-informed.
And Hannah …
Hopefully he could establish ground rules with her over supper. If they were on the same page, perhaps they could jump-start the library fundraiser quickly. Start-up was always the most time-consuming part of fundraising. Between his grandparents’ and mother’s philanthropy, Jeff had seen that firsthand. So he’d get together with Hannah, make a plan and set it in motion. And the whole dinner with a beautiful woman thing?
Not too shabby either.
Chapter Two
“Dinner with Jeff Brennan? At The Edge? Oh, girlfriend, you are travelin’ with the big guns now.” Megan nudged Hannah as they crested the hill at the edge of town, late-day shadows beginning to lengthen.
“Stop.” Hannah scowled and increased the pace of the walk deliberately. Maybe if Megan was winded, she couldn’t ask questions.
“Have you met before?”
Not winded enough. “No.”
“Ever?”
“No. And don’t look at me that way. I’ve only been here a few years.”
“But
