Maggie Wells - The Last First Date

First date number forty-eight comes to a screeching halt for Detective Langley Sheppard when his date lifts a pack of gum from the local convenience store. But things start looking up when he encounters spunky damsel-in-distress Jessica Vickers, who’s stranded in the store parking lot. Now Lang is about to discover that on a night when everything goes wrong, falling for Jessica feels spectacularly right.

The Last First Date

Maggie Wells

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Dedicated to all those who dare to demand limes when life hands them lemons. A stiff margarita is much more effective than a glass of lemonade. Let’s drink a toast to unexpected love. Cheers!

Acknowledgments

When I sat down to write the acknowledgments for this book, I couldn’t shake the phrase “gratitude for the multitudes” from my head. That’s what I truly feel when I think of all the people it took to bring this manuscript to fruition. If you don’t mind, I’d like to take a moment to thank a few of them.

First, let me say thank you to Malle Vallik and the Harlequin E team for making use of my favorite word, “Yes.” This may be my twenty-sixth publication, but Malle was my very first phone call from an editor or publisher. Though I am a fan of email and the digital age in general, I have to admit it was absolutely thrilling to hear her say they loved my story and wanted to share it with the world. I still get giddy just thinking about it.

Extraspecial thanks to Angela James and the editorial committee at Carina Press for not simply passing on this story, but for passing it on to Malle and her team. They truly went above and beyond.

This book would not be in your hands if it weren’t for the enthusiasm of my incredible editor, Deb Nemeth. She has the uncanny ability to make everything tighter and sharper without losing one ounce of sweetness. If that’s not a cape-worthy superpower, I don’t know what is. I feel so lucky to be able to work with her.

To date, I have yet to write one word for publication without the world’s best, most enthusiastic, and yes, awesomiest critique partner, Julie Doner, by my side. I hope I never have to. If you can’t tell, I think she’s superlative in every way.

I am unbelievably lucky in so many ways, but one of my greatest joys is the existence of a small-but-vocal tribe of women we call the Super Cool Party People. Without these breathtakingly supportive friends behind me, in front of me, on top of me and sometimes in my head, I’d be utterly lost.

Every day I thank God for my own unexpected love, Bill—the only hero who could make the improbable story of us so damn right.

And finally, I want to say thank you to you, dear readers. You awe and humble me. Thank you for letting me share this time with you.

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter One

A few strange women had flitted in and out of Lang’s life in the past few months, but not one of them had a bizarre fixation on chewing gum like tonight’s winner Sq.uinting through the sleet-spattered windshield, he peered into the harsh glare spilling from the glass storefront of the T-N-T Mini Mart, hoping to catch sight of his date. The multitude of neon signs crowding the spotless expanse lit the puddles of slush in carnival colors. The store’s owner, Max Merida, believed in the laws of plenty. Plenty of light, plenty of cheesy merchandise crammed onto narrow counters, and plenty of markup built into every price.

Apparently, his date believed in having plenty of gum.

Five minutes had crept past since she bailed from his car, insisting he stay put. He could only figure choosing the right flavor was a deeply personal matter for Kristin…no, Kirsten.

Kir-sten .

No matter how many times he repeated it in his head, the name probably wouldn’t stick. Not that there was anything wrong with the girl. She seemed nice enough. Blonde and pretty in a slightly overly made-up way. Her dress was low-cut and her legs were long—two features he usually appreciated—but tonight the sparkly package just wasn’t doing it for him. Kir-sten would be his fifth first date this month. He was getting good enough at gauging them to know that this one was not off to an auspicious start.

In the past six months alone, he’d chalked up a toll booth attendant who thought she was a shrink, a clinging-vine attorney who wanted to sue him for breach of contract when he broke a dinner date, a girl who ate whole cloves of garlic to keep vampires from sucking her blood, a nymphomaniac kindergarten teacher (not as fun as he expected), a woman whose man hands would have made Jerry Seinfeld jump off the Brooklyn Bridge, and a tattoo artist who wrote free-form poetry. On people’s skin.

And those were just the headliners.

Dating was a horror, pure and simple, but it was the only socially acceptable way to cure what ailed him. Gum fixation aside, he was willing to give this date a chance. Even if it was a blind date procured for him by his grandmother and one of her canasta buddies. On New Year’s Eve.

Gripping the top of the steering wheel, Lang curled forward until his lips touched the backs of his hands, and purged the oxygen he’d been holding deep in his lungs. In his early twenties, playing the field had seemed to be the thing to do. His friends had begun pairing off as that decade ground to an end, yet he’d still thought he had all the time in the world. But his thirties proved to be a revelation. He used to snort every time he heard a woman complain that all the good ones were taken. On principle, he considered himself to be the exception to that rule. But the longer he dog-paddled his way around the dating pool, the closer he came to commiserating with them. Still, he wasn’t ready to throw in the towel yet. That was why he was spending the second biggest date night of the year parked outside the Tank ‘N Tummy waiting on a woman who had a slushball’s chance in Florida of being The One.

He drummed his fingers on the wheel as he stared into the store again. There was a reason he refused to look too closely at the crap lining the counters when he stopped into the T-N-T for his morning coffee. If he did, he usually saw things he didn’t want to see. Like the hookahs in the display case or the heavy-duty paperweight that looked suspiciously like a set of brass knuckles. Aside from their questionable merchandising choices, the owner, Max, and his wife, Elena, believed small talk cut into their profit margin. Turnover was everything to the Meridas. For the life of him, Lang couldn’t imagine what could be taking Kir-sten so long.

The heel of his hand hovered near the center of the wheel. His subconscious prompted him to hit the horn, eager to get this date started so it could be over. Catching himself at the last second, he yanked his hand back as if he’d been singed.

Reflected light colored the drops of rain smattered across his windshield. He let his head rest against the window. His breath fogged the glass. The plate-glass door swung open wide and a woman emerged. Lang sat up straighter.