Chapter 6Thunderstorms drenched that Sunday morning, leaving streets puddled and shiny, umbrellas soggy and dripping. Don forced himself not to stare at the clock, the door, the clock again. Raine had said he’d be there. Not late.
Don had meant to dress up—Raine liked style, right?—but couldn’t find anything that he thought would be good enough, and then the weather had required layers and protection against splashes, and he did have to pour coffee, and Raine had mentioned liking cuddly mountain men sometimes, and Don had given up and thrown on jeans and boots and a red Henley under his favorite brown jacket.
Raine had also mentioned that Don might possibly look good in red. At least it wasn’t flannel. He did own shirts that weren’t.
He’d tidied up the beard but not totally shaved. He l
