Texas Wedding. Nancy Robards Thompson

so sour, AJ feared the old woman would suck on her cheeks hard enough to suck herself inside out.

      As AJ stifled a smile, she realized she was still holding the bowl of homemade barbecue sauce she’d promised Shane. Why did he have to witness this ugly scene?

      She turned away from her grandmother to set the bowl of sauce in front of Shane. As she did, the toe of her hot pink Dr. Martens caught on an exposed tree root. As if in slow motion, she lurched forward, splattering sauce down the front of Shane’s white polo shirt.

      * * *

      Shane knew the barbecue sauce mishap wasn’t intentional, and he tried to reassure AJ of that. He wouldn’t allow her to have his shirt cleaned, and she didn’t deserve her grandmother making an awkward moment worse by insisting that the Taste of Celebration committee would replace the shirt.

      He declined both offers.

      However, it soon became clear the woman—who he was tempted to call “the old battle-ax,” but refrained because she was AJ’s grandmother and that would be disrespectful—was a trying piece of work. But soon he realized Agnes Sherwood would not take no for an answer. He decided to give her his address just so she would shut up and go away.

      At first he was going to give her the central address at Fort Hood. But then he decided he would give the woman a full-on dose of the working-class stiff he was. “I’m staying at the Celebration Suites, off of the highway. I don’t know the address off the top of my head, but it’s unit 201.”

      Agnes sniffed and Shane swore he saw her bristle. “Are you referring to that place one rents by the week?”

      Never before had he heard the word place said with such contempt. If he didn’t know better, he’d think he was renting a place in Celebration’s Red Light District—if there was such a place in Perfectville, U.S.A.

      “Yes, ma’am that’s where I live. For the moment anyway. I’m sort of...transient.” He looked her square in the eyes and smiled.

      He loved messing with people who carried a superiority complex. This woman wore hers like crown jewels. For a split second, he wondered how someone like AJ could be related to Agnes Sherwood. AJ was humble and sweet, someone who wasn’t too proud to serve burgers and onion rings—or to roll up her sleeves and get the work done. Agnes Sherwood, on the other hand, seemed the type who’d never gotten her hands dirty.

      After all the things he’d seen in the Middle East and his years in the army, he couldn’t stand it when the idle rich put themselves above others. But it wasn’t his duty to reform her.

      “Agnes Jane, write down his information. Apartment number, size and brand of the shirt. I will have something sent by midweek.”

      With that, Queen Agnes turned and left.

      They were dismissed.

      * * *

      AJ was thankful for the way Pepper and Sydney jumped in and distracted the customers who were kind enough to focus on the food and not the scene that had just unfolded. This left AJ free to do damage control with Shane.

      “I am so sorry,” AJ said to Shane.

      After being humiliated by her grandmother and dousing him in barbecue sauce, what else was there to say?

      She wished she could blame her grandmother for unnerving her, but really, it was her own clumsy fault. She should have been more careful and watched what she was doing. Or as Grandmother would say, “her comportment had been lacking.” Again.

      Shane was only a customer, after all. Not someone who should fluster her.

      “Please don’t worry about it,” he said. “No harm. No foul. Now, if I’d been wearing my Dallas Mavericks jersey, that would’ve been another matter all together.”

      “Lucky me. It’s not game day.”

      “Yeah. Lucky you.”

      She felt her hot skin blanch, until he grinned and winked at her. Then her cheeks went all hot again.

      “The stain is drying to look like a bad tie-dye job,” she said.

      He gazed down at the soiled area. “I haven’t worn a tie-dyed shirt since I was a teenager.”

      “Well, there you go. Merry Christmas, a few months early. Here, let me get a pen and some paper and I’ll get your information for my grandmother.”

      He tried to wave her off. “Let’s not. Please? Just tell her I left before you could get it.”

      “Are you kidding me? You saw how my grandmother is. I’m not going to cross her again. So, wait right there.” Playfully, she pointed at him. “That’s an order.”

      She grabbed a pen from her purse and picked up a napkin. She turned back to him, half expecting to see him walking away, but he was still there. He hadn’t left. He hadn’t stomped off in a furious huff—as if normal people actually stomped. Of course not. Only her grandmother did things like that. The fact remained that Shane was standing there, making light of her faux pas. At that moment, something inside of her shifted.

      Besides being a very good-looking man, he seemed like a good man. If for no other reason than that, she wanted to get to know him better.

      “Here,” she said, handing him the napkin and pen. “Write down your size, the brand of shirt you like—make it something expensive since Grandmother is paying. Also, write down your apartment number and your phone number. I am going to fix you dinner since I put you through all this trouble. I’ll call you and we can figure out what day this week would be good.”

      He regarded her for a moment. Then he tore the napkin in half and handed a piece to her.

      “I’ll need your number then. If I’m giving you my number, you have to give me yours. Call me old-fashioned, but I think the man should be the one to call and arrange the first date.”

      “Date?” AJ sputtered. Did he think she was asking for his number to call and ask him out? She tried to think of a witty retort, something to put them back on level ground, but his words, “Call me old-fashioned,” resonated in her head.

      “What? You don’t want to go out with me?” He frowned. “Are you rejecting me? Do you have a prejudice against men who smell like barbecue sauce?”

      She loved the mischievous sparkle in his hazel eyes. Those eyes—with their green and brown and amber flecks—were almost hypnotizing.

      “I don’t remember you asking me for a date. The last I remember is my offer to cook for you. What? You don’t like my cooking?”

      Shane smiled and picked up one of the Tailgater sliders. He took a bite and chewed. AJ couldn’t help herself, her gaze dropped to his lips and for a moment, she lost herself, wondering if they tasted as good as they looked.

      But then he swallowed the bite, and her gaze skittered back up to meet his. Their eyes locked.

      “If today is any indication of your talents, I’m fairly certain I’ll fall in love with your cooking. But why don’t we start with a first date?”