The Bachelor's Northbridge Bride

“Girls only?”

“It isn’t a rule, but we’ve never had a man come. And if we did, it probably would make everyone padding around in bathrobes, with towels on their heads and toe separators on their feet, a little uncomfortable.”

They were at the front end of her car by then and Ry stopped, nodding up the street in the direction of the hospital. “I’ll walk back for my wheels so you can get right home to those things I kept you from.”

Why did the idea of getting on Internet dating sites and looking through a catalog of potential mates suddenly seem anticlimactic to the way she’d just spent the last few hours?

Kate tried to ignore it.

“Thanks for the massage,” Ry said then. “And for taking me to meet Tyson. Sorry about him slapping your wrists for bringing me.”

“The pizza made up for it—thanks for that. And for introducing me to clams.”

He grinned. “Sure. I’ll have to think of what else I can slide between the bars of your cage to open your eyes to things outside of it.”

Kate again shook her head and once more rolled her eyes. But, for some reason, she also smiled a little.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said, knowing that shouldn’t be something that somehow brightened her outlook on the coming day, but realizing that it did.

“Will you wait for me if I’m a little late?” he asked in a tone that held an enticement all its own.

“We’re talking government office, remember? It closes at five sharp.”

“Come on—small town, you’re the city clerk, I’m betting you have the key to the office door and can make your own hours.”

“I could but why would I?”

“Just to help out? I have a full 18-wheeler coming in from Missoula tomorrow that has to be completely unloaded so it can get back tomorrow night. I’ll be lucky to get to you by five but then there’s that needle in a haystack to look for. How about if I bring dinner and we eat it while we both go through the old records?”

“Oh, now not only am I extending my office hours to suit you, I’m helping you look through the records, too?”

“Think of my poor, suffering grandmother,” he said like a line in a bad melodrama.

What she was thinking about was how good he looked in the glow of the streetlight he was standing under. How sharply cut were the lines of his face.

Which was precisely why she should say no.

But before she’d said anything at all, he repeated, “Think of my poor, suffering grandmother. Think of the clams,” he added equally as melodramatically.

And she laughed in spite of herself and heard herself say, “For Theresa and the clams, I suppose.”

He grinned again, drawing her attention to his mouth and making her suddenly wonder what it might be like to have him kiss her. She had no doubt that he would have a flair when it came to that the way he did with everything else.

But those thoughts were uncalled for and not at all what she wanted to be thinking about!

“Just try to get there as early as possible, I have things to do at home tomorrow night, too,” she said sternly to counteract her own mental wanderings.

“The minute I can get away, I’ll be there,” he assured.

Friendly—that was all tonight was supposed to be and all it had ended up being, Kate lectured herself. It was all tomorrow night would be. They’d agreed they weren’t each other’s types and she was beginning to believe it because while there was a flirtatious undertone to almost everything he said, he didn’t go anywhere with it. It didn’t seem to be leading to anything like that kissing she couldn’t seem to get her mind off of.

She was still trying like mad, though, as she said, “I’ll see you when you get there, then.”

“No, I’ll see you when I get there,” he countered as if it were a game.

Because everything was more of a game to him than it was to her, she reminded herself.

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