Almost Perfect by Susan Mallery

passed. As she knew little more than the basic rose/carnation/daisy types, it wasn’t a totally successful diversion.
    Instead she questioned her choice of clothing for the evening. She’d wanted to be casual but not too casual, settling on a cap-sleeve T-shirt in light green and a white denim skirt that showed off her spray-tanned legs. With her red hair, real tanning was impossible and only promoted sunburn and freckles.
    Maybe she should have simply worn jeans. Did a skirt imply a date? She didn’t want him thinking she thought this was more than it was.
    Before she could make herself totally insane, she turned on Ethan’s street and paused to admire the house. It was relatively new, craftsman style with a wide porch and plenty of wood. Cream shutters contrasted with the deep green of the main house.
    There was plenty more to appreciate, but she had afeeling that if she stood in front too long, she wouldn’t have the courage to go inside. Eventually the neighbors would notice her frozen on the sidewalk, assume she was crazy and call the police. From there it would all be downhill, proving that going inside was probably the safest and best plan.
    She made her way to the front door, which opened before she could knock. Ethan stood there, looking tall and masculine and sexy in jeans, boots and a soft white shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbows. His hair was slightly mussed, his expression both welcoming and expectant. For a second she felt a very different kind of tension—one that began low in her belly and worked itself all over her body. While it was better than nerves or annoyance, it wasn’t any safer.
    She’d loved Ethan once, she reminded herself. That made her vulnerable. Just because they’d worked through a few things didn’t mean she could relax now. Noticing that he was a good-looking guy who made her insides sigh with appreciation wasn’t anything she had time for.
    â€œYou made it,” he noted.
    â€œAmazing but true.” She stepped inside. “Great house. Did you build it?”
    â€œA few years ago.”
    â€œWith Rayanne?” she asked before she could stop herself.
    â€œNo. I sold that house.”
    Because of the memories? Probably, she thought,telling herself not to ask questions if she didn’t want to hear the answers.
    â€œCome on in,” he said, motioning her to the left.
    The entryway was large and open, with a two-story ceiling and dark wood floors. She crossed the space and entered a huge living room with a fireplace at one end and a view of the mountains through big windows.
    The furniture was masculine but comfortable, the artwork conservative. Rugs covered enough of the hardwood floor that sound didn’t echo. On the far side was an opening to a dining room.
    He led the way into the kitchen which was filled with cherry cabinets, miles of granite and large south-facing windows. Two bar stools had been pulled up to the counter. There was a bottle of red wine and two glasses, along with a plate of appetizers. Delicious scents of garlic and spices drifted from one of the two stainless steel ovens.
    â€œI’m impressed,” she said.
    â€œDon’t be. I know a great caterer. I call, food arrives, I heat it.”
    He waited until she took one of the seats before reaching for the wine.
    â€œThe perfect bachelor lifestyle?” she asked.
    â€œSome days.” He opened the bottle with an easy, practiced motion. “You’re not married, either. Want to talk about it?”
    She took the glass of wine he offered and shook her head. “Not really.”
    â€œBecause of the guy or because we should stick to safer topics?”
    â€œI think safer topics are a better idea,” she answered cautiously.
    â€œYou sound wary.”
    â€œI’m prepared to practice my duck-and-cover skills.”
    He gave her a smile. “Because I may start using you as target practice