“Call me tomorrow, Demi.” Then she’s out the door before I can respond.

“Your sister is nice,” Vick notes turning back to me. He’s still standing inches away, close enough that I have to fight the urge to back up. It’s not that he’s making me uncomfortable that makes me want to react that way; it’s a feeling of inexperience. It’s been years since I’ve been this close to a man, and I feel like a young girl about to be kissed for the first time ever. It’s ridiculous that I feel that way, but I can’t help it.

“She’s something all right,” I chuckle. “You look nice.” And it’s true. He’s wearing a black polo shirt with khaki shorts, and his hair is mussed in a sexy surfer guy kind of way.

He looks down at himself and smirks. “I’m not great at dressing up. This is about as nice as it gets. Pretty low-key.”

“I like low-key.”

His blue eyes meet mine and watch me for a moment. Then . . . he steps toward me. This time, unable to fight it, I back away a step. His smile grows. “Do I make you nervous?”

Darting my eyes away, feeling silly for stepping back, I answer, “I’m sorry.” Then I meet his gaze again. “I’m just . . . out of practice, I guess.”

He steps toward me again, but this time I remain planted in place, even when he takes another step toward me. Now he’s barely an inch away, and my heart picks up its pace. He leans in, his mouth millimeters from mine.

Don’t chicken out, Demi. It’s okay to kiss another man.

“I have thought of nothing but what it would be like to kiss you; really kiss you.” A part of me wants to kiss him, to see how it feels, test my limits, and another part of me wants to run upstairs and hide. “But I won’t kiss you until you’re ready.” Then, remaining close, his eyes hooded as he stares down at me, he sips his beer as my screen door opens and slams closed.

“Demi, that copper piping is shit!” Jeff yells as he enters the kitchen wiping his hands. Today was his first day of repairs, and he’s been outside all day cursing up a storm. Vick backs away, and I look around him as Jeff does the awkward glance between the two of us realizing he walked in on a moment.

“Oh, uh, sorry,” he clears his throat.

I laugh nervously, attempting to play it off, and failing miserably. “Do you need money for more material?” I ask, rushing for my purse.

“We can talk about it tomorrow,” Jeff mumbles stiffly as he straightens to his full height, his protruding belly not quite aiding in the tough guy look he’s trying to portray. I know he’s trying to let Vick know if he messes up, he’ll be dealing with him. He’s the best. “I’m Jeff, Demi’s cousin,” he blurts, gruffly as he holds his hand out to Vick.

“Vick. Nice to meet you.” They shake hands and Vick doesn’t seem to be at all phased by Jeff.

That is, until Jeff informs him, “That girl is my baby cousin. You hurt her, you’ll have me to deal with.”

I’m extremely impressed when Vick doesn’t show one iota of finding Jeff humorous, but in a very serious manner nods and promises, “I’ll treat her with the utmost respect.”

“Good,” Jeff concedes. “Demi, I’ll talk to you in the morning. Call me if you need anything.”

“I will, Jeff.” I smile. “Thank you. Tell Wendy I want to stop by for a chat tomorrow,” I add. I need to discuss the things I’ve noticed with Grayson, and I want to talk about McKenzie as well.

“Will do,” Jeff replies as he heads out. “Have fun you two.”

When the screen door slams closed, Vick and I chuckle. When he steps toward me again, close as he was before Jeff walked in, my laughter fades. He leans toward me and softly asks, “Are you ready yet?”

My eyes widen. He said he wouldn’t kiss me until I was ready. Is that what he’s asking? Already? “For you to kiss me?” I blurt out.

He smirks—an incredibly sexy smirk—and chuckles. “To go,” he says, as he backs away. He loves doing that, playing on my naivety. I fall for it every time.

I want to run from the room I’m so embarrassed. Instead, I clear my throat and blink a few times to clear my head of the thoughts that are flying through my mind. “Um, yes,” I manage after a beat. “Let’s go.”

We make the rather lengthy drive into Denver in Vick’s beat up truck, and along the way he tells me about this house built in the late 1800’s that he and his uncle have been contracted to paint. We stop at a restaurant called Cooper’s; he made reservations. I like that he took the time to plan this. Once we’re inside and seated, Vick orders a bottle of wine for us and with our glasses in hand, he toasts, “To new friends.”

I smile as we clink our glasses and take our first sip. There’s an awkward silence and my leg bounces as I struggle not to fill it. There wasn’t a second of quiet on our first date. I’m not sure why we’re struggling right now.

“How about a little this or that?” I finally ask.

“This or that?” Vick questions with a smirk.

“Yeah, I’ll start. Coke or Pepsi?”

He leans back in his seat and answers, “Coke.”

“Me too,” I laugh. “Now you go.”

The game although somewhat childish is a great ice breaker. We play and laugh until our food is brought out, and then I figure it’s time to get down to business. I want to know a little more, vet him out a bit.

“So what were you doing before you came to Colorado?”

He lets out a long breath through his nose as if he’s been dreading this question. “I worked part time for a graphic design firm and painted on the side. Hit a run of bad luck and my uncle offered me a job out here.”

“No lady friend back in Cali?” I question as I cut my steak.

Vick gives a nervous chuckle but doesn’t look up at me as he works on cutting his steak. “Uh, well. There was, but I never made enough money for her. It ended as soon as I moved out here.”

I wait a moment wondering if he’ll elaborate, but he doesn’t. Instead he changes the subject, “I have somewhere I’d like to take you after this if you’re game.”

“Okay,” I agree, deciding not to push the subject.

After dinner, where Vick’s charming personality and gift for storytelling consume the evening, he drives us further in town to the Art Walk. It’s a seasonal exhibit of over sixty vendors out on the sidewalk that runs every summer. I’ve never been, but I’ve always wanted to go. We stroll down the sidewalk as Vick tells me about the paintings and what he sees, asking me from time to time what I see.

“How about this one?” I stare at the painting of a black dog lying next to an empty dog bowl.

“Maybe a painting about loneliness? The dog feels empty?” I do my best to respond articulately but fail miserably.

“I think the painter is trying to tell us of his inner turmoil. He lost the love of his life at a young age and never recovered from it.” I can’t help pursing my lips at the painting, trying to understand how he sees all that. Maybe I’m just not the artistic type. When Vick bursts into laughter, I look up at him.

“God, I swear I love your facial expressions sometimes.”

I scowl at him. He’s messing with me again.

“Sorry, hon,” he chuckles. “You were right. It’s just a lonely, hungry dog.

“You know, one day I’m going to get you. You won’t even see it coming,” I warn.

He smiles down at me as we move on. “I’ll be waiting.”

We continue, stopping to look at other paintings and discussing what we see. To his credit, he doesn’t let on if he thinks I’m an idiot. He simply nods and smiles thoughtfully at my nonsense. About halfway through, his hand finds mine, and he threads our fingers together. My stomach feels like I’m on a rollercoaster, but when he squeezes my hand gently I realize I like it; I like holding his hand as we lazily stroll down the sidewalk. It’s been a long time since a man’s held my hand. Near the end, there’s a three-piece jazz band playing a slow song. Vick pulls me to him and slowly, we begin moving in rhythm with the song. The side of his chin is resting against my temple, and he’s humming along. I close my eyes and open myself up. I want to soak in this incredibly romantic moment, make the most of it. So when he pulls back and looks at me, his blue eyes full of mirth, I tell him, “I’m ready.”