Déjà Date by Susan Hatler Page B

in front of him like he’d done that last day when we were fourteen. The edges of his mouth curled. “Nothing can scare me away from you ever again.”
    “Nothing?” I whispered as a traitorous ripple of excitement ran through me, sparking another sense of déjà vu. I had been fourteen. Nate had lifted me high in the swing and held me there, suspended with anticipation before he leaned forward and kissed me.
    Then he’d disappeared.
    Remembering why I needed to keep my distance from him, I slid off the seat, wiggled under his arm, and went to get my dog. The bakery was my primary focus and this pointless flirtation with Nate was distracting me.
    Instantly, he caught my elbow then swung me back around so I was facing him. “Where do you think you’re going?”
    “Just leaving.” I tried not to concentrate on how close he was standing to me, or on the way his shirt stretched across his muscular chest, giving me the irrational urge to slide my hands over him. I avoided his gaze, afraid he’d be able to read my thoughts. “I have to find a way to buy the bakery before it’s too late. Potential buyers are coming to look at the building on Friday.”
    “I know.” He lifted my chin so my gaze met his. “But didn’t we just solve that problem? If you go up in the hot air balloon with me on Sunday, then you’ll have completed the list and can have your inheritance money to buy the bakery.”
    I shook my head. “I’ll only have completed three of the tasks. I still haven’t dated someone who leaves me breathless.”
    “Now that sounds like an invitation.” Suddenly, he pulled me into his arms, then, with his arm securely around me, he dipped me as if we were dancing—so low that I felt the ends of my hair skim along the sand. The air rushed out of my chest and I stared into jade-green eyes framed by dark lashes, wondering if he was going to kiss me. I found myself hoping he would.
    He leaned closer until his mouth was barely a millimeter away. “Do you, or do you not, feel breathless?” he whispered.
    I gasped for air. “This . . . is not a date,” I managed to get out.
    “I’ll give you that.” He swooped me upright, then grinned. “But the other night was a date. I brought you dinner on the rooftop, and a lovely bottle of Bordeaux. There was also candlelight, which you ruined by turning on the rooftop lights. But the candles were still there burning. Dinner, plus wine, plus candlelight, plus kissing , equals a date.”
    “You and I are not dating,” I said, despite the fact that he’d almost just kissed me and I was dying to make him kiss me for real. An invisible tug pulled me to him and it took all of my strength to resist.
    Nate held a hand up. “We’ll argue about our relationship status another time. And I’ll win. But if you’d just let me call my dad, I’m sure he’d take the bakery off—”
    “No,” I said, firmly. “Bernie can’t have any more stress. He has to make the decision that’s best for him, not the one that’s best for me.”
    He let out an exasperated breath. “You’re being entirely too stubborn about that, but fine. At least talk to your mom. Tell her you’ll have the Carpe Diem list completed on Sunday so she should release your inheritance funds early. Convince her.”
    “That’s what I was trying to do earlier, when someone took off running after the neighbor’s cat.” I pointed an accusatory finger in the direction of my dog, who I noticed had dug a hole in the sand so deep she’d reached something dark and mucky that was now covering her snout as well as parts of her legs.
    Ruff! Ruff!
    Great. On top of everything else, now I needed to give my dog another bath.
    I felt a pinch in the spot between my brows. “Why must she get into so much trouble? I swear that little brown hot dog is my love and my torment all rolled into one.”
    Nate smirked, then bent down to pet her, and she began energetically licking his arms. “I think she sweet.”
    My mouth