Believe It or Not by Tawna Fenske

couldn’t put his finger on.
    It didn’t matter, since Violet and Dr. Abbott were making their way toward the table. Drew tried not to stare, not to notice the luscious sway of her hips, the way her hand fluttered up to smooth her hair behind her ear.
    God, she’s beautiful.
    “Wow, it’s really packed in here,” Violet said, clutching her little purse against her stomach. “You guys got lucky nabbing a window seat with these sofas.”
    “I come here every Monday night,” Drew said. “Arriving early is the trick to getting good seats.”
    He saw something flash across Violet’s face. Surprise? Irritation? He wasn’t sure. She recovered quickly though, and placed her hand on the annoyingly broad shoulder of the man beside her. “Drew, this is Chris Abbott, my mother’s orthopedic surgeon. Chris, this is Drew Watson. He owns the business next to Moonbeam’s shop.”
    “Great to meet you,” said the surgeon, giving Drew’s hand a firm but friendly shake.
    “It’s so great to see you again, Dr. Abbott,” piped up Drew’s date, scooting over to make room on the sofa beside her.
    “You, too,” said Dr. Abbott, no help at all with the name.
    Violet looked at Drew, then at the girl, clearly awaiting an introduction. Drew opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again. He was completely, utterly blank.
    Violet’s eyes held his for a moment, intense and gorgeous and utterly spellbinding. He was pretty sure if he had known his date’s name, he would have forgotten it right then.
    God, those eyes.
    “Drew, come sit over here by me so these two can have the other sofa to themselves,” his date chirped.
    He tore his eyes from Violet’s and offered a weak smile. “Sure, good idea.”
    He grabbed his drink and stood up, relieved to realize he’d somehow gotten away with failing to introduce her. He gestured to the vacant sofa in an invitation to Violet. She moved past him, her hair brushing against his shoulder as she slid by. Drew breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of lavender and vanilla. He felt his hand start to rise, intent on stroking her hair.
    Are you out of your fucking mind?
    He dropped his hand. “Tight quarters.”
    She looked up quizzically, her big, violet eyes studying him with an unasked question. Drew lost his breath.
    Then she cut her glance back at the other sofa and raised one eyebrow.
    Shit. She’d noticed the skipped introduction. Drew raised one shoulder in a helpless shrug and moved around the table to sit beside his date.
    Now she thinks you’re a cad.
    Okay, maybe he was. Since his divorce, anyway. Funny how it had never bothered him before.
    He watched Violet settle onto the sofa and cross her legs primly. She folded her hands over her knees and Drew tried not to stare at her long, perfect fingers and rounded nails, bright with clear polish. He wondered what those nails would feel like dragging down his back and then gave himself another mental kick.
    “So how long have you two known each other?” Violet asked as she signaled a passing waitress.
    “Oh, this is our third date,” chirped Drew’s seatmate.
    Really?
    Drew took another sip of his drink and wondered if it might be wise pretend to go to the restroom and slip out the back door. He could just avoid this whole uncomfortable scene—the nameless date, the awkward conversation, the sight of Violet with another guy.
    Then Violet recrossed her legs, her skirt riding up a little above her knee. Drew sat back in his seat, suddenly interested in sticking around awhile longer.
    To his right, Drew’s date had begun to chatter to Dr. Abbott about the pain in her wrist. Drew had to give Violet credit, she’d picked a nice guy. Most doctors he knew would have told the girl to book an appointment by now.
    Something hit Drew in the foot. He looked down to see a fork lying beside his shoe. He glanced across the table at Violet, who shot him a quizzical look. They bent down to retrieve the fork at the same time.
    Apparently, that was