“Oh.” She waves her hand in front of her face to cool it. “You don’t think she’ll notice…”
I turn away to adjust myself, then face her again. “No. I don’t think so. Just—” I hurry over to the oven and flick it on. “It’s the heat. From cooking. That’s all.”
“I think Murphy is ready for a nap,” Haley calls from the mudroom. “I think I tired him out.”
Angel waves at her face again. She’s still pink-cheeked, but honestly, I don’t think Haley will even notice. “I’m not surprised, Hale. I saw you running him all over the backyard.”
“It’s his dinner time, anyway,” I add. “Once you get out of your coat and boots, you can come help me feed him.”
“I can?” Haley’s voice pitches up an octave. “Awesome! I help Rory and Gage feed their dogs when we volunteer at the shelter. I’m good at it. They both said so.”
“Just make sure you don’t leave everything strewn across the floor,” Angel says. “Make sure you put things away neatly before you come charging in here.”
There’s a long pause before a heavy sigh. Then an overly patient, “Yes, Mom.”
Angel laughs before she says in a quieter tone meant for only me to hear, “I know. Moms are so annoying.”
“You’re not annoying,” I reply quickly. “At all.”
She stares at me for a second before biting her lower lip. In a low tone, she asks, “Was that okay? That I…”
“Kissed me? It was more than okay. It was amazing.”
Angel gives me a shy smile. “Maybe we could try it again on our date?”
I smile back at her. “I think we definitely should.”
CHAPTER 8
ANGEL
The sightof Ronan at my doorstep is one I’ll remember forever.
There’s nothing monumental about it. Nothing I haven’t seen dozens of times on TV and in the movies—just a man standing at the door of the woman he’s about to take on a date, holding flowers and giving her a sweetly hopeful smile.
But to me, it’s more than that.
He’smore than that.
Flakes of snow dust his hair and shoulders from the flurries that just kicked up in the last fifteen minutes, contrasting with his gently mussed hair and the dark green jacket that’s almost the same color as his eyes. Jeans a shade darker than he usually wears show off his well-muscled legs. His rugged features are flushed from the cold. His facial hair is neatly trimmed, setting off the line of his jaw.
As he looks at me, his eyes brighten. His smile widens. “Angel.” He extends the larger of the two bouquets he’s holding to me. “You look beautiful.”
The butterflies that have been buzzing in my stomach all day explode into flight. My chest squeezes.
When was the last time someone gave me flowers?
When was the last time someone called me beautiful and looked like they meant it?
As I take the bouquet from Ronan—an assortment of white roses and carnations with bits of holly tucked between them—he leans forward to kiss my cheek. His lips are warm despite the cold, and they send a tingle of heat racing through my body.
“Thank you,” I say, feeling unexpectedly breathless. “They’re so pretty.” Then I duck my head, ostensibly to smell the flowers, but really to hide the tears that spring to my eyes.
I know it’s just a date. But it feels like so much more.
It’s hope after years of telling myself relationships were for other people.
It’s hope after years of believing no man would be interested in what I have to offer.
