Free Love at First Date by Susan Hatler Page B

does she have the nerve to be mad at me ?” I pointed to my chest. “That’s what I’d like to know.”
    Rach raised a sarcastic brow. “Perhaps because you insulted her marriage? Insinuated it wouldn’t last?”
    Oh, right. That. “I was trying to illustrate that she didn’t have all the answers.”
    “Nice approach.” She clinked her glass to mine. “Not.”
    I sipped my champagne, then surveyed the large, trendy room that was divided by tall, detached, white walls that stood solidly beneath the high black pipe-exposed ceiling. The place was packed. Seemed like all of Sacramento had turned up for this art gallery’s opening. Everyone except one person. I turned back to the painting, trying not to show my disappointment. “I don’t see him.”
    “Relax. We just got here.” She pivoted slowly, her eyes scanning the room. “Wait . . . yes, I think that’s him behind that wooden beam. Nice and early, too. Not exactly playing hard to get.”
    I gasped. “Where?”
    “Back left corner of the room.” She squinted, then put a hand to her mouth. “Oh, wow.”
    “What?” I demanded, not daring to turn around.
    “Yesterday he’d been wearing sweats and had major stubble.”
    Sounded familiar to me. “And?”
    Her eyes descended presumably from his head down to his toes. “Let’s just say, he sure cleans up well.”
    As my heart thumped in my chest, I peeked over my shoulder. My eyes skipped past groups of people chatting, sipping champagne, and tasting hors d’oeuvres, until they came to rest on a GQ version of Henry. Wow was an understatement. He’d transitioned from sexy in an understated way to absolutely gorgeous in a universal cover model way. He wore slacks, a black collared shirt, and his tousled hair complimented his now clean-shaven face. Even from across the room, his eyes still got me, too. Deep, dark, and mysterious as he listened to whatever a woman with golden locks cascading over her shoulder was saying to him.
    I gripped Rachel’s forearm. “Who’s he talking to?”
    “Ouch.” She yanked her arm away. “Get a grip, girl.”
    Turning on my heel, I pretended to study a black and white painting. “If he’s trying to make me jealous, it’s working.”
    Buzzing chatter filled the room and a couple pushed their way toward the painting we were pretty much blocking, so we scooted down the wall to the next one. “Think about it, Ellen. Why would he come meet you at this art gallery if he was on a date? That makes no sense.”
    I nodded, thankful for her logic. “Good point.”
    Then we both watched as the beautiful woman put an arm around Henry, gestured to the painting next to them, then whispered something close to his ear.
    A pang jolted through me. “She must be a really good friend.”
    “Well, you’ll never know who she is until you ask.” She laced her arm through mine and led me in his direction. “You were all desperate that you’d never see him again and now he’s here. So, go get him.”
    The shy part of me wanted to run the other way, but I forced myself to keep walking. What if Rach had it wrong? What if he really was out on a date and had only come to meet us to be polite? Just a night out to talk about the dogs and what they’d learned in class?
    “Good luck,” Rachel whispered, then made herself scarce.
    When I was still several feet away, he glanced up, and met my gaze. As I approached slowly—turns out sexy heels are no picnic to balance in—I swear he did a double-take. Excitement flitted through me. He wasn’t the only one who’d gone from casual to sexy.
    “Excuse me,” he said to the woman, then came toward me until we were standing face to face. “Ellen.”
    “Henry.” Here he was, right in front of me, the guy I’d been obsessing over. And I could see why. Whether in sweats or slacks, he made me all gooey inside. He stood mere inches away and I could barely resist doing what every part of me wanted to do—snuggle up to him and breathe in his