THE DATE
Sunday morning arrives, and the sun is shining. The clock strikes noon, and I hear the doorbell. Talk about punctuality. I open the door, and there stands my date, looking like a million bucks and smelling like a field of wildflowers, flashing his dazzling signature smile.
“Hey, you look nice!” he says, grinning.
“Thanks! You look great yourself!”
Dressed in jeans and a light green sweater and a jean jacket. Dang, he never looked so delicious. I inhale a little thrill.
“Hope you’re hungry.” He steps into the doorframe. “Where’s your brother?”
“Jeff’s sleeping,” I say.
“Well, lovely girl, grab your things. I have a special place to take you.”
“Oh, I’m starving. You notice the junk in my trunk?” I tease.
“Uh-hmm … I certainly have.” An impish grin toys with the corner of hi
