The Littlest Matchmaker. Dorien Kelly

that this was too personal and too important to him to think of as a game.

      “Well, thanks again for dinner,” she said when they’d reached Courtney’s broad covered porch.

      “You’re welcome,” he replied.

      Neither of them reached to press Courtney’s doorbell and end the evening. They stood there in silence long enough that the night’s first crickets, who had stilled on their arrival, began their song again. Kevin was busy deciding whether he would confuse personal matters more by asking for another kiss when Lisa spoke.

      “Here’s the thing,” she said. “Right now, I want more than nice. It’s been a really long time, and I know I’m not being at all consistent, which stinks for you, but nice is like a Sweet Sixteen party, and—”

      “Hold on,” he said, settling his hands on her shoulders. Her words were tumbling so quickly, one over the other, that it was like climbing his way up a landslide to reach her meaning. “Slow down. What are you talking about?”

      “When you kissed me, you said that it was nice.”

      “And this is a bad thing?”

      “Generally, no.”

      “Generally?”

      “I’m not opposed to nice. I mean, it beats the alternative.”

      Her sense of humor and straight-on approach to life had always made him smile. Tonight was no different. “So what’s the issue?”

      “I want more than nice,” she said again.

      She leaned into him, and he could feel his muscles—and another crucial location—respond.

      Ah…

      Now he understood, and on the most visceral of levels. She sent her right hand up to touch his jaw and then let her fingertips settle beside his mouth, one caressing where he knew his dimple would be, if he were interested in smiling. Right now, there were other things he planned to do with his mouth.