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nervous. Sure, in the heat of the moment, she’d worked up the courage to ask Tyler out, spurred on by the threat of Dr. Anthony’s roving eye. But it wasn’t until now that she’d had a chance to actually get to know Tyler at all. In a few minutes, he’d go from being the blue-eyed, tattooed hottie with cart-pushing issues to being … well, whoever he was.
    He seemed nice. She never would’ve asked him out if he hadn’t. But all she knew was that he was kind enough to put up with Ms. Sherwin for his sister’s sake, and what she’d gleaned from his brief bio on Hot Ink’s website. Born and raised in Pittsburgh, just like her…
    It wasn’t much to go on. Anyway, getting to know someone – really know someone – took ages. And sometimes, even when you thought you knew someone, you really didn’t.
    He held the café door open for her without a word, and she eyed his hand, long fingers against glass, all traces of ink hidden by his jacket sleeve. She knew what was underneath though, and the thought sent a prickle of heat down her spine.
    “Thanks,” she said, stepping into the café.
    “No problem.”
    Smiling, she told herself not to get all bent out of shape. Like she’d told her mother, Tyler was her date to a work party. She didn’t need to give him the third degree in order to relax and enjoy a not-so-solitary evening with him. It wasn’t like they were going to get that intimate under the watchful eyes of her co-workers. Maybe they’d have a drink, even share a dance or two, at most, in the company of people like Wanda and Dr. Anthony.
    After a brief wait in line, they ordered their food, and Tyler pulled out his wallet while she still had a hand buried wrist-deep in her purse.
    “I’ve got mine,” she said, pulling out a few bills.
    “Don’t worry about it.” He handed over a debit card, and in a couple seconds flat, it was done – he’d paid for both their meals.
    “That was nice,” she said, cheeks heating a little as they each carried their separate trays to an empty corner table. “But you really didn’t have to. Let me make it up to you another day – we can get lunch again, and it’ll be my treat.”
    The last thing she wanted him to think was that she hit on volunteers regularly in the name of scoring a free lunch, or that she wasn’t willing to pay her way. His gesture had been unexpected, unnecessary … and sweet, even though she was trying not to feel that way about it. They were way too casual for him to be picking up both their meal checks.
    He smiled, just barely – smirked, really. “I’ll gladly get lunch with you again, but you’re not going to pay.”
    “Well, someone’s old-fashioned,” was all she could manage to say as she took a tentative sip of her coffee, confirming that it was indeed too hot.
    His smile broadened. “Is that a bad thing?”
    It could be, but for some reason, she was more charmed by the apparent contrast between his appearance and his scruples than anything. There was just something about a guy who towered over six feet, was covered in tattoos and spent his spare time holding doors open for women and carting around lunch to convalescent old ladies. “Depends.”
    “On?” His eyes flickered up to meet hers and he held her gaze as he took a long drink of his own coffee, apparently not bothered by the temperature.
    “I don’t know,” she said, inexplicably flustered. “I like being a modern woman – having a career, being independent and all that. Letting a guy pay for my lunch just because I’m female kind of feels like cheating, somehow.”
    His brows drew together, and she hoped she hadn’t offended him. Not when he’d only been being generous.
    “I didn’t pay for your meal because you’re female – I paid because you’re my date. I asked you here and I paid. That doesn’t seem like cheating to me.”
    An errant butterfly sprang into action somewhere in her middle, fluttering as the word “date” sank in. At least he