Free Carry Her Heart by Holly Jacobs

out the entire talk?
    Was Amanda a quick study, or did it take her some time to catch on to a new subject?
    Was she creative?
    Was she—?
    “Do you want to do something tonight?” Coop asked, interrupting my stream of thought.
    “I’d love to,” I said, meaning it, “but I’ve got a date.”
    Coop couldn’t quite cover her look of surprise.
    “Really, Coop, I do date.” Then for the sake of honesty, I added, “On occasion.”
    She was a good enough friend not to point out that it had been a while since my most recent occasion. “So who is he, what does he do, what does he look like? . . . Spill.”
    “His name’s Anthony, he’s a partner at Ned’s firm—”
    “I’m sure the partners enjoy hearing the firm referred to as Ned’s.”
    I chuckled because I’d had the same thought before. I finished, “—and he’s good-looking without being intimidatingly good-looking, if you know what I mean.”
    “Tony sounds nice. Anything else?”
    “Anthony. Not Tony,” I corrected. “I don’t know much else other than he can dance and he has a sense of humor. Plus, in addition to the firm’s donation, he made a nice personal donation to the pantry.”
    “He had you at donation ,” Coop teased. “Speaking of which, do you want a hand tomorrow?”
    The first and third Saturday of every month were my days at the pantry and Coop frequently came to help. I nodded. “I’d love it.”
    “Great. Of course, this time I have an ulterior motive. Between clients, you can tell me all about the date.”
    “I don’t know how much there will be to tell. We’re just two people getting to know each other.” He seemed nice enough, but I’m not sure that “nice enough” was enough, although I wasn’t sure Coop would allow for the distinction.
    “Maybe there will be more to tell than you think.” She wiggled her eyebrows and grinned.
    I doubted there would be anything eyebrow-wiggling worthy about the date but promised to share the highlights with her. I said good-bye and headed home.
    Mom was waiting for me on the porch. “Your father had to run some errands so he dropped me off so I could pick up my book and help you get ready for your date,” she announced.
    I was right, she wanted to dress me to the nines, but a couple hours later, even she had to admit that seven was about as high as it was going to go.
    “Seriously, I don’t know where you got this hair,” she muttered as she tried to capture another escapee.
    “Dad always maintained the postman,” I teased.
    “He’ll be here soon,” she said.
    “The postman?” I asked, trying to look serious.
    She shook her head. “I might not know where you got the hair, but that weird sense of humor is all your father’s.”
    “Well, don’t forget your book.” I padded over in bare feet because I refused to put my heels on one moment sooner than I had to.
    She checked the inscription, which read, “To Mom, As Always. Love, Piper.”
    “To Amanda,” she said, reading the dedication. She looked up. “Honey, after all these years, don’t you think it’s time to let go?”
    “I—” I was interrupted by my father beeping the horn.
    We both knew it was him because no one else beeped to the rhythm of “ Shave and a Haircut .” He knocked on doors to the same beat. It was nice you always knew it was my dad before you opened the door.
    And thanks to him, I was saved from once again trying to convince my mother I was not brokenhearted.
    “Go out and show your dad how nice you look,” Mom commanded, carrying her book and heading out.
    I put on my heels and followed her. It was a bit breezy out and I swear, I could feel my curls blowing loose as I walked.
    “You look nice,” Dad said on cue without getting out of the car.
    “Thanks. Mom was hoping for better than nice, but I’m satisfied with just nice,” I teased, trying to push a stray piece of hair behind my ear.
    “You look lovely and that is indeed better than nice,” Mom retorted. “Tell