He had a long, easy stride. His shirt collar was open. She could see the fabric was wrinkled, but his blazer was well cut, delineating broad, and what she guessed were well-muscled, shoulders. She wondered if he also had a six-pack.

“You grew up in Lyndon?” he asked.

“I did.”

Technically her family’s ranch was two hours west of Lyndon. But she wasn’t going to fret over the details. Tonight she was a city girl through and through.

“Brothers and sisters?” he asked.

“Both. You?” She didn’t think the question would take them too far down the road to revealing their identities. Mainly, she didn’t want him to know she was the mayor’s sister, and she didn’t want him to know she was really a ranch hand.

He shook his head. “Nope.”

“You were an only child?”

“That’s right. Watch where you’re going.”

She turned her head to discover they were only a few feet from the first picnic table. The grass was about to give way to sand.

“Perfect,” she pronounced, dropping her sandals to the ground and stepping up on the wooden bench seat, intending to perch on the tabletop facing the lake.

“Hold up there.” Lucky swiftly set down the burgers. Stripping off his blazer, he laid it down like a blanket for her to sit on. The simple gesture made her chest tighten.

“Gotta love Texans,” she joked, taking in the breadth of his chest beneath the thin, white cotton shirt. The fabric was tight over his biceps, and she was more willing than ever to lay a bet on him having six-pack abs.

“Can’t have you ruining your dress,” he said.

“So we’re going to ruin your jacket instead?” But she sat down on the warm satin lining.

He shrugged, plunking down beside her, placing the burgers and shakes between them.

A couple of fat mallards splashed and waddled their way out of the water, crossing the pebbles and sand to investigate their presence, obviously on the lookout for bread crumbs.