“My mum is always asking when I’m going to bring a boy home,” she explained before calling out, “Mama, I’ve brought a friend home, a boy.”Maria’s mother emerged from the kitchen, grinning like a Cheshire Cat. “Welcome to our home,” she gushed effusively. Then, as she looked me up and down, the naturalness of the smile vanished, leaving her looking as though she was trying not to complain about swallowing a wasp.“In there and make yourself comfortable,” Maria said to me, indicating a clean but shabby lounge. “I’ll get you a soda.”Maria and her mother went into the kitchen. Ominously the door was shut behind them, but I could make out snatches of conversation through the door.“Maria, I want you to be happy. I want you to get married and give me lots of grandchildren. Why are you wasting time with that boy?”“Mama, he’s a nice boy. I feel safe with him. And I’m not ready to get married yet.”Maria obviously wasn’t going to tell her mother about the run-in with the girl gang. I tuned out. Every man I had dated up to that point in my life had driven a luxury or sports car. I had come to expect it, I realized, but I liked how different Grant was, strong, rough around the edges, but so very charming, so very warm and friendly. He helped me up into the passenger seat, his hand under my thigh, almost on my butt, and went around to his side. The truck roared to life. I gave him directions and we were on our way. I watched him as he drove, studied his profile, the line of his strong jaw, corded muscles of his neck and arms, and especially his hands where they gripped the steering wheel. God, I loved his hands. They’d felt great in mine. I wondered what they would feel like touching other parts of me. Grant noticed me gazing at him and grinned just a little, watching the road. “What was the note?” I asked. “An apology,” he told me, taking a right turn towards the hotel. “I was supposed to be meeting someone.” He laughed then and gave me a sheepish grin. “Blind date,.
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