by Leah Atwood
His gaze leveled with her. “If the situation was reversed, don’t you think Mark would have done the same for Miranda?”
“Of course he would.” She peered up at Shep, who stood a solid half foot above her five feet six inches. Victory danced in his pupils, causing a smile to play on Lyndsey’s lips. “You don’t fight fair.”
He chuckled. “Does that mean I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“I’ll be home after three. Come by any time after that.” She conceded defeat, but not without terms. “And only if you let me make you dinner as payment.”
“Can’t say no to that.” Shep glanced at his watch. “The potluck will be over before we get in.”
“I’m sure Josh is already talking off Mrs. Tisdale’s ear.” Two steps put her back in front of the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She ducked inside before either could say another word. Shep was a friend, a dear one, but she’d not made a meal in her home for any man other than her husband. The idea planted all sorts of strange reactions in her, and if she thought about it for too long, she’d back out.
