Making His Way Home. Kathryn Springer

worse, he looked...great. Hair still damp from a recent shower. A white T-shirt that stretched across his muscular chest and accentuated the broad shoulders.

      If Grace were honest with herself, she knew it wasn’t Cole’s presence that had her emotions tied in knots. It was her reaction to his presence. Rapid pulse. Flushed cheeks. Weak knees. The side effects were so dangerous, the guy should come with a warning label from the surgeon general.

      Cole’s gaze swept over her and his smile widened. “Cute.”

      “The men are supposed to dress in costume, too.”

      “I didn’t shave this morning, does that count?” He scrubbed a hand across his jaw.

      It counted as one more reason to dive into the coat closet and stay there until Monday afternoon. Because the shadow of whiskers, combined with the spark of humor in Cole’s eyes, only added to his masculine charm.

      The trouble was, Grace didn’t want to be charmed.

      “Believe me, someone will find something for you to wear.” Grace tried to come up with the most terrifying prospect.

      “Suspenders. Red, like Marty Sullivan’s.”

      “You aren’t trying to scare me off, are you?”

      “No.” Yes. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

      Instead of taking the hint, Cole wandered into the living room. “This is nice. I don’t think I’ve ever been inside your house.”

      That’s because he hadn’t wanted to.

      Grace had invited him over for dinner, but Cole had always come up with some kind of excuse not to meet her parents. After he’d left town, it had only affirmed the truth. Cole had never planned to continue their relationship. The deep connection she’d felt had been one-sided, and she’d been too naive to recognize the signs.

      “I know it looks a little old-fashioned. A lot of the antiques belonged to my grandparents.” Grace traced the tip of her finger across the wooden spine of the chintz sofa. “I haven’t had the heart to change anything. It’s...home.”