Free Romance Me (Boxed Set) by Susan Hatler, Virna Depaul, Ciara Knight, Rochelle French Page B

stomach clenched. “What if he doesn’t come?”
    “That wouldn’t be a good sign.” Apparently noticing the disappointed look I felt spread across my face, she waved a hand dismissively. “I’m sure he will, though.”
    Checking my watch, I saw we were running late to meet my mom and Robert for dinner. I zipped to the bathroom, did a re-touch on my make-up, ran a brush through my hair, then checked myself in the mirror. My cheeks were flushed, my eyes wide, and I tucked my shoulder-length hair behind my ears. This silky tank and black skirt was a lot sexier than anything Henry had seen me wear to doggy class. Not exactly attire for practical black boots. This ensemble screamed red high heels all the way.
    I hurried to the living room and slipped into my gorgeous red stilettos. Every nerve in my body felt anxious. What if he didn’t show?
    I couldn’t think like that.
    Because what if he did show.
    Taking a deep breath, I opened the front door, and held my head high. “I’m ready.”
    No more playing it safe.
    If Henry came to the art gallery tonight, I’d reveal my feelings to him.
    ****
    As we walked into Ripple Art Gallery in downtown Sacramento, my mom and I speared in different directions.
    “Gee, that dinner wasn’t uncomfortable or anything.” Rachel accepted a glass of champagne from a server, handed me a flute, and steered me toward an abstract painting that would’ve looked great in my living room.
    “How 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 grabbed 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.