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lately, but because she’d been recovering, he’d always gone over to her house. So this would be a change, especially if he cooked for her. They’d always gotten takeout before.
    “You cook?” she asked.
    “Yes, I cook. I’m a little domesticated. I do my own laundry and make the bed, too. I even put the toilet seat down.”
    “Well, aren’t you impressive?”
    “I like to think so,” he said, as he parked his truck in her driveway.
    “Hmmm, it’ll be interesting to see what else you do,” she said.
    “Then it’s a date?” He shifted in his seat so he could look at her.
    She nodded slowly. “It’s a date.” Even though it was fairly dark in the cab, Bennett could see something change on her face. “And I’ll bring wine, since you were so insistent on not letting me buy drinks tonight.”
    “I think I can handle that.” He really wanted to lean across the seat and press his mouth to hers, but instead he unbuckled his seat belt. Mel mirrored his actions, and as she turned for the door he grabbed her hand. “Wait there,” he said before he got out.
    Bennett rounded the truck and opened her door. She turned and slid to the edge of the seat; he put his hands on her hips and lowered her to the ground.
    “Thank you.”
    “It’s no problem.” He shut the door and grabbed her hand. “A man’s always supposed to open a door for a lady,” he said as he turned and started to walk.
    “Is this another part of you being domesticated?” she asked.
    “Sure is.”
    “Your mother taught you well.”
    “She sure did.”
    He took her keys out of her hands when they got to the front porch. He unlocked the door and Mel went inside, finding the switch and flipping it.
    “Well, Ms. Melanie O’Bryan,” he said, handing her the keys. “As always, I had a lovely evening with you. So I’ll see you at my house tomorrow. Six o’clock sound good?”
    “I’ll be there.”
    “Good night, Ms. O’Bryan,” he said, pulling away from her.
    “’Night, Bennett.” Mel smiled and took a step back into the house.

A Date? Or Not a Date? That Is the Question
    F riends. They were just friends.
    It didn’t matter how many times Mel repeated that to herself, she kept coming back to the fact that Bennett had called tonight a date. Those words had most definitely come out of his mouth.
    Which was why Mel might’ve started getting ready at around three. She took meticulous time with her hair, and her curls were in an almost complete state of antifrizz. Her makeup was perfect. And she spent a good amount of time picking out her clothes.
    Harper and Grace had told her to stay away from safe and flirty. They said she needed to play to her strengths, so she had. She chose a pair of bright blue shorts that showed off her legs, and a sleeveless black blouse that gave just a glimpse of cleavage. She was wearing leopard-print sandals with straps that wrapped around her ankles, and she’d given herself a pedicure, complete with pretty pink toes.
    Not that any of this mattered, because it wasn’t a date.
    Mel had to stop doing this to herself. Had to stop thinking this was something. She hadn’t even told Grace and Harper about it, because they would’ve just filled her head with ideas. Ideas she desperately didn’t need to think about.
    Mel had never been the type of girl to inspire lust in a man. She wasn’t sexy by any stretch of the word. She was a high school math teacher, for goodness’ sake. What was sexy about that?
    Nothing.
    Mel had only had a handful of boyfriends in high school, and they hadn’t been anything serious. She’d only ever had sex with one man. Justin Abrahams had been her college boyfriend. He’d been a year older than her, and they’d been together during her sophomore and junior years. He’d gotten a job in Birmingham when he’d graduated from the Florida State University Business School, and they’d decided to end things.
    Mel had always known she wanted to move back to Mirabelle when she