She dropped her chin, then slowly peered up at him.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "No way. You're not conning me again with that look."

"What look?"

"That one," he said, pointing.

She tilted her head. "Are you sure?"

"Positive."

Heavy sigh. "Oh, well. It was worth a try."

"I draw the line at donating my house. I have no intention of donating my dignity, too."

"For now."

"Forever."

"Sure, Brandon. Whatever you say."

He looked at his phone. "It's getting late. I need a shower before we go to dinner."

"Okay. I'm out of here."

She carried the clothes back down the stairs. They went to the front door, where she grabbed her purse and tossed it over her shoulder.

"I'll see you at McCaffrey's," she said. "Thanks for the clothes."

"No problem."

"And thanks so much for agreeing to wear the suit on the day of the tour."

"And that would be another no."

"Can't blame a girl for trying," she said with a smile. "See you tonight."

Fifteen minutes later, Brandon had just stepped out of the shower when his phone rang. He swiped a towel over his dripping hair and grabbed it. He looked at the caller ID, then answered it.

"Hey, Marco. What's up?"

"Didn't I tell you I didn't want you to match me up with anyone?"

"Uh...yeah. I believe you did."

"But you had her call me, anyway."

"Yeah. I did."

"I was in the middle of planting a dozen holly bushes."

"Surely you had time for a short conversation."

"She asked me out, Brandon," Marco said, sounding a little panicked. "She asked me out."

"Is that a problem?"

"Yes!"

"Why?"

"Because I told you I didn't want a match!"

"So you don't like her?"

"Don't like her? What's not to like? Of course I like her!"

"Then what's the problem?"

"I haven't been out with a woman in five years!"

"Well, then I'd say you're due, wouldn't you?"

Long silence.

"So..." Brandon said. "Are you going out?"

"Yes, we're going out," Marco snapped. "We have a date Saturday night."

"You agreed to go? That's great!"

"What else was I supposed to say? Huh? She caught me by surprise."

Brandon smiled. That was exactly what he'd hoped would happen. "Don't worry, Marco. You're going to have a good time."

"I wouldn't bank on that if I were you. If I make a fool of myself-"

"That's not going to happen."

"Listen to me, Brandon. I didn't want this. I told you I didn't want it. So if this date goes wrong, I'm going to be blaming you."

And then the line went dead.

Brandon sat there for a moment, the phone still pressed to his ear, his elation fading away. He'd thought it was just a matter of pulling any strings he had to in order to get them together, and then nature would take its course. But had it been a mistake after all? Marco might be so uptight that even if the date was going well, he'd never know it.

Brandon had never realized just how lonely some people were and how hard it was for them to slip out of their shells and take a chance that they wouldn't face rejection one more time. If Marco had one more bad experience, he might never put himself out there again. And whose fault would that be?

Brandon tossed his phone aside and slumped against the headboard, feeling a headache coming on. If he was wrong about this, it would be more than just a single date that didn't work out. It might be proof positive to two people who desperately needed someone that their someones might not be out there after all.

Well, it was in the works now, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He'd just have to let what was going to happen...happen.

When Alison arrived at McCaffrey's at six o'clock, Heather was behind the bar, restocking the ice bins with beer.

"Martini?" she asked.

"Better make it a Coors."

"Still can't stand the sight of vodka?"

"I'll come back around to it eventually," Alison said. "Maybe sometime next century." She sat down on one of the bar stools. "I'm pooped. How about you?"

"Yeah. But Brandon's house looks great, doesn't it?"

"It does. It's amazing what a little bit of elbow grease can accomplish."

"It was nice of him to let us use it," Heather said.

Alison blinked with surprise. "Hold on. Did you say Brandon did something nice?"

"Yeah."

"But you don't like him."

Heather shrugged offhandedly. "I don't know. Maybe he's not such a bad guy after all."

Alison couldn't believe it. "So what changed your mind?"

"Tony, mostly. He won't get off my back about it. He says he spent a lot of time with Brandon today, and he thinks he's a great guy. Now, to be fair, my husband never met a man he didn't like. But in Brandon's case..." She shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe he has a point. Brandon is letting us use his house. And even though he can't find you a match, you say he's pretty successful with other people, which means he's the real deal as a matchmaker."

"That's right."

"And when he walked you home the other night, he acted as if he actually cared about you."

A warm little shiver shot between Alison's shoulders. "What do you mean?"

"It's just a feeling I had." She nodded over Alison's shoulder. "But now that the devil has shown up, maybe we'd better stop speaking of him."

Alison turned to see Brandon walking toward her, and her heart did that weird fluttering thing again that made her deliciously lightheaded. As he slid onto a bar stool next to her, Heather popped the top on a Blue Moon and set it in front of him.

"Don't forget," she said. "The first round is on us."

Brandon picked up the beer, tipped it in her direction, and took a long drink. He set it down, then turned to smile at Alison.

"After the heat today," he said, "that tastes really good." He looked at Alison's bottle of Coors.

"Still can't face vodka, huh?"

"You're the second person tonight to point that out."

"And Heather was the first?"

"She jumped on that right away."

Brandon nodded toward an empty pool table. "I promised you a few pointers. Want to play?"

"I'd love to."

They picked up their beers and went to the table. Brandon handed Alison a cue, then racked up the balls. He grabbed a cue and broke to scatter the balls, then turned to Alison.

"Okay," he said. "Let's see your form."

Without a clue what she was doing, she leaned across the table to take a shot.

"No," he said. "Don't lean on the table with your bridge hand. Your weight needs to be completely controlled by your stance."

She shifted her weight a little to her feet instead of her hand.

"That's right. Now, hold the cue with your forearm perpendicular to it. Picture a line right through your elbow, down your arm, and to your hand."

She shifted the cue around a little, but Brandon shook his head.

"Here," he said. "Let me show you."

She thought he was going to grab a cue and demonstrate. Instead, he came up behind her, putting his hand right behind hers on the cue. He stood so close she could feel the warmth of his body radiating to hers as he leaned across the table with her.

"Think of your forearm as a pendulum swinging from your elbow."

He tried to move her cue to demonstrate, but it was as if her muscles had seized up.

"Relax," he said, and she actually felt his breath against her ear. Relax? Was he out of his mind?

"Lean in," he said. "Your chin should be only about six or eight inches above your cue."

She bent over a little more, and Brandon bent right along with her, moving forward another scant inch until she felt the fronts of his thighs graze the backs of hers.

"Keep your eyes on the cue ball."

Her eyes were on the cue ball. It was her mind that was somewhere else. Specifically, on the gorgeous man behind her.

"Okay," he said. "Take the shot."

She swung the cue. Softly. Smoothly. The cue ball clacked against the four and sent it cleanly into the corner pocket.

"There you go," he said, standing up. "It wasn't so hard, was it?"