Some days, that struck Griff’s sense of humor, since it made no sense to him why women would be attracted to scoundrels. When he looked in the mirror he saw nothing particularly interesting, just an ordinary six-three guy who shaved every other day-when he remembered-had his dad’s chiseled bones and his mom’s sloe eyes, and a head of black hair that never stayed brushed. He owned the small-scale ice cream parlor, as if he didn’t have a serious ambition in the universe, never publically got involved in anything meaningful or troublesome-except for women, of course, but a guy had to have some vices. Yet, without knowing a single good thing about him, the women flocked. It was an amazement.

This particular soft sweetie, though, took the dazzle off the smile faster than most. Still, she didn’t send him packing altogether. “I take it you’re a fan of this ice-cream flavor?” she asked.

“I’ve kind of been hired by the owner to do the focus group thing. You know. Find out why a customer chooses a certain flavor. Then, whether they’re happy they made that choice. And I know what pretty much every kid in town thinks, so it’s nice to have someone new, get a fresh opinion.” He was in the chair across from her before she could object, and once he’d put out that agenda, she seemed to relax again.

“Well…I chose the flavor because it sounded interesting. And looked interesting. And so did all the others, so I just figured I couldn’t go far wrong. But the first taste of this-” Alarmed, she saw a drop of ice cream start to slide down the cone. Her tongue found it faster than a soft little whip.

He was in love. That fast.

Not for the first time. He always fell in love fast, got over it just as fast, but man-she was adorable.

“This taste,” she murmured, and hesitated. “You just can’t know if you haven’t tried it. But-”