Free Summers' Love, A Cute and Funny Cinderella Love Story (LPC Romantic Comedy Series) by Stu Summers

remarked, “You drove here, remember?”
    Kate blushed. Not because of the way she’d bungled her question but from the thrill she felt when they touched. What is wrong with you? Get a grip.
    “I’m serious,” she replied, trying to slow her heart rate. “I don’t want to wake up tomorrow and find out you’re dating some woman with six-inch stilettos and acrylic nails who wants to rip out my eyeballs and shove them down my throat.”
    “Relax. I’m single and unattached, as advertised.”
    His voice sounded warm and disarming, but the way he looked at her with those deep blue eyes made Kate wonder if he felt it—the electrical shock—too.
    “But the girls in my … ” she paused, unsure if she should mention her stun gun party “… book club, they said you’re seen out all the time with actresses, and famous singers, and fashion models.”
    “When I go out, and I go out a lot, it’s always for a specific purpose. My PR gal, she reads the tabloids and news sites and studies the trends to make sure I’m seen with the right people at the right time in the right place.”
    “So would your PR agent approve of us? Like this?”
    “I do not know.” His smile caught her off guard. “Maybe.”
    He put the peas on the burner next to the chowder and pointed her toward the cabinet with the place settings. She cleared the table of her bags and purse. Kate couldn’t get over how easy he was to talk to. For a famous author he displayed none of the ego she’d expected—or accused him of when they’d first met. Thinking back now, she regretted her comment about the letter U and how the book signing was all about him. What a heartless thing to say.
    “You can leave those books where they are,” he said, placing his hand on her shoulder. “We’re going to eat on the side porch.”
    Kate felt it again, a warm sensation shooting through her chest that left her momentarily dizzy. She pictured him trailing his finger across the top of her shoulder, following the neckline of her blouse: his palm gently cupping her cheek and turning her face toward his until their lips met.
    “But you will need to wipe off the porch table.” His voice yanked her back to reality. “I’m sure it hasn’t been touched since the last renters were here. Placemats are in the drawer by your leg. I’ll get the bowls and plates.”
    As she walked through the open French doors she could still feel the warmth of his hand on her shoulder, and it left her unsettled. She stepped into the sudden coolness of the night air. The thunderous rain had turned to a steady drizzle. Crickets joined a chorus of frogs, their night sounds echoing across the back lawn. Warped dock planks shimmered as the solar lights on pilings winked on. Far off, lightning flashed.
    When the meal was ready, they served themselves from the stove. Stu carried two bowls onto the porch while she brought the basket of rolls. A final trip for the peas and wine and the table was set.
    Almost.
    Reaching over her shoulder he placed a candle in the center of the table and lit the wick; his face hovered close to hers. Kate felt his warm breath on her neck. The scent of his cologne lingered. She wanted to turn her face toward his, to see if he was feeling the same thing she was, but before she could, he eased around the table and took the seat across from her.
    “What’s your position on grace?”
    She studied him, unsure of the question.
    “In my books,” he continued, “the characters usually say a blessing.”
    “Oh, that. If you want to, that’s fine.”
    “Tell you what,” he said. “How about if we each say one thing we’re thankful for. You first.”
    “Okay, well then, I guess I would say I’m …” she smiled around her words, “ …thankful for a place to spend the night and to be in Ocracoke, again.”
    “Again? This isn’t your first time on the island?”
    “No, but it’s a long story. What about you? What are you thankful for?”
    “I’m grateful for