Vegas, Baby. Theodora Taylor

a heat sprung up in his eyes when he added, “You’re not like anyone I’ve ever dated. But I don’t think I’m going to have any problems convincing others that I’d be more than willing to take you on as a lover.”

      His clipped words actually felt like a compliment. A rather sexy one, but Sunny forced herself to stay on her original course. “That’s great,” she said. “But the problem is you’re not my type, either. The people in my circle—including Nora—might find it hard to believe I’m really with you. Like not just a fling, but seriously into you with the possibility of getting married.”

      The heat drained out of his gaze. “What exactly is your type, Sunny?” he asked and she felt a chill go up her back.

      “Well, my last serious boyfriend ran a homeless shelter. We met while he was asking people to sign up to volunteer there, outside of Trader Joe’s.”

      Cole crooked his head, like the whole idea of actually doing good in the world was a completely foreign concept to him.

      Maybe it was, Sunny thought unkindly, wondering, not for the first time how she’d ever gotten herself into this mess.

      “You’re saying you’d prefer that I’d be more charitable,” Cole concluded. “Fine. Tell me what charity you like, and I’ll have Agnes make a donation.”

      She gave him a leveled look. “I was actually thinking more charitable, like doing. Like if people saw us doing charitable things together, maybe they wouldn’t have such a hard time buying my story.”

      Cole crinkled his forehead. “So you want us to spend time together, helping people. Fine, I can do that? Tell me how.”

      “I guess you could come with me to my community dance class tomorrow. It’s all girls, and we’re always looking for guys to help us with lifts.”

      “What time?”

      “Seven—I know that’s early. But a lot of my girls are Catholic, and have to be done in time for second Mass at St. Peter’s.”

      Cole brought his phone back out and started typing. “It’s not early for me. I’ll have Agnes clear my schedule.”

      Now it was her turn to shake her head. “You work on Sunday mornings, too?”

      “Of course I do,” he answered, like she was the odd one because she didn’t.