“Thanks for coming to the rescue,” she said, not sounding thankful at all.

Des finished her drink and passed it to her. “I only just got your order.”

She grabbed the flute and brought it immediately to her lips, downing a third of it in one swallow. It was then that Des noticed the glimmer in her eyes.

“Have you been crying?” He grabbed a small handful of cherries and put them into a dish in front of her.

“No.” She blinked at the cherries, the smudges around her eyes revealing the truth.

“Gracie, what’s wrong?”

A tear dropped onto her cheek, her lashes glistening with those that hadn’t yet fallen. Her lips quivered but she held herself together.

“He said I wasn’t as described,” she managed to get out, her voice wobbling.

“He said what?”

“Apparently I was oversold by the friend who set us up.” She let out a little sigh. “I don’t think he expected a woman with a mind of her own.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well he ordered a bottle of wine without even asking me if I wanted a drink, let alone which drink I wanted.” She let out an indignant huff. “And when I called the waiter to order the drink I wanted, he said I was rude and classless.”

“Has he gone already?” Des looked around, his hands gripping the edge of the bar. Son of a bi—

“Yeah, he left.”

“I have a baseball bat.”

She smiled, her gaze flicking up to meet his. “Don’t go all Tony Soprano on me.”

He let out a long sigh, calming himself. “I swear to God if I ever catch him hanging around here…”

“I hope for both our sakes that doesn’t happen.” She brought the champagne flute to her lips, this time taking a more delicate sip. “Sometimes I think there’s something wrong with me.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you, Gracie. But for whatever reason, you pick losers.” He balled up his towel and threw it to the other side of the bar. He needed to get rid of this pent up energy. Keeping a distance between the two of them was becoming harder and harder.

“They don’t seem like losers when I organize the date—well, the ones that aren’t blind dates anyway.” She bit down on her lip. “They all match the things I’m looking for.”

“Ah, that must be the checklist you mentioned,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“Why do you say it like that?”

“Because finding the right person is not something you can tick off a list.”

“Why not?”

He shook his head. “Because you don’t always know what you want until it’s right there in front of you. These things cannot be quantified.”

“But I need the list. It helps me work out what to look for.” She said it as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

“Maybe if you stopped looking so hard you’d see the forest for the trees.”

“But I only need one tree,” she said, her brow crinkling. “If the forest is a metaphor for dating.”

He sighed. “You’re looking for the wrong things.”

Her affinity for perfection explained a lot, like why she kept setting herself up to meet these BMW-driving, stuffed shirt guys who would never treat her as well as she deserved. She was expecting someone’s value on paper to hold up in reality. Unfortunately, life didn’t work that way.

“Okay, tell me Mr. I-Do-My-Wooing-in-Private, what should I be looking for?” She sipped her drink, peering at him over the edge.

An inexperienced guy might’ve launched into an explanation of the right characteristics to look for in a man. But Des had been with his fair share of girls—despite the recent drought—and he recognized the challenge in a woman’s tone when he heard it. The fire in her eyes dared him to tell her what to do, dared him to give her the excuse to lash out.

“It’s none of my business,” he replied, his tone neutral and even.

“If there were good guys available don’t you think I would have found them by now?”

“Not the way you’re going about it.”

She narrowed her eyes at him.

“I’m not going to tell you what to do, Gracie.”

He tilted his head and took in the glorious sight of her. A silk top and black pencil skirt hugged her body in all the right places, hinting of pleasures beneath but revealing little.

“How come you’ve never asked me out?” Her question shocked him momentarily, and her dark brows rose, issuing a challenge. She reached for another cherry, pushing the red fruit through pillowy, rose-colored lips. “Well?”

“Maybe it’s because you keep flaunting your dating life in front of me?”

“I don’t flaunt,” she said, her pouty lips parted in indignation.

“You bring them all here.” He studied her. “Is that because you’re looking for my approval, or my protection?”

“I don’t need anything from you except the occasional extraction.”

“You might not need anything, but what do you want?”

He cursed himself the second the words left his mouth. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Bright pink spots appeared on her cheeks and spilled down into her neck. “You know, maybe you should tell me what to do.”

Des couldn’t imagine why she would avoid his question—pushing her would be asking for trouble—so he let the change of topic slide. “What do you mean?”

She tapped a finger against her chin. “My way of finding a suitable match doesn’t seem to be working, and you’re convinced I’ve got it all wrong. Plus, you’re a guy.”

“So?”

“You know where guys go, what they do, what they like.” She seemed to be warming to her idea. “Besides, you’re a bartender. Isn’t that like the male equivalent of a psychologist?”

“I own the bar, in case you’ve forgotten,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “I’m not here to listen to people’s problems. I’m here to make sure they have a good meal and to grow my business.”

“But you can help me find a man…right?” She looked at him expectantly, her brown eyes shining.

Sure he knew they were wrong for each other, but the idea of her being with someone else made him want to slam his fist into a wall.

You’re all kinds of screwed up. This girl has gotten into your head and she doesn’t belong there.

“Well?”

He pondered Gracie’s suggestion for a moment. As much as it would kill him on the inside, helping Gracie find someone else would make the barrier between them even stronger. She’d be less of a temptation if she were with another guy, less of a danger to his sanity.

It was actually the perfect solution.

“Sure.” He threw his hands up in the air. “Why the hell not. I’ll help you find a guy, but there won’t be any checklists.”

“Fine.” Her lips curved and she tilted her head to one side. “Name the time and place.”

He waited for a wave of relief that never came. Instead Des had a horrible feeling that he was setting himself up for failure. But he’d already offered to help and no matter what, he wasn’t a guy who went back on his word.

Chapter Three

By Friday night, Gracie was barely clinging onto her nerve. Des had told her to meet him at First and that he was going to take her somewhere where she would have a better chance of finding the right guy.

She stood outside his bar, waiting for him to appear. The crisp, spring evening chilled her through the wispy layers of her dress, sending goose bumps skittering across her skin. She tugged her coat tighter, wishing she’d had the forethought to put on a pair of stockings, or at least bring a scarf.

It had taken her nearly two hours to get ready. She’d tried on every dress in her wardrobe and had styled and re-styled her hair so many times that the curls had rebelled into an uncooperative tangle. Normally she would wind her hair up into a bun and forget about it, but tonight was different.

Why are you so nervous? It’s not like this is a date.