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“Of course.”
“We’ll let you get back to work. McNamara?”
“I’ll be along in just a few, Chief.”
As the older man walked away, I wished like hell I had something to do with my hands. Because this was it. This was the part where Hoyt backed out of the agreement he never should’ve offered in the first place. Which, great, then I didn’t have to be the one who came across looking ungrateful or whatever. But damn, it still felt like I was being dumped, and the whole thing hadn’t even been real.
Before I knew what was happening, Hoyt pulled me in for a hug. It wasn’t tight or long, not overly familiar, but it lit up every inch of my body where it pressed against his. He smelled of some woodsy body wash and sea air. God, he smelled good. It took everything I had not to bury my nose against his throat and sniff. Instead, I accepted this for the friendly comfort it was meant to be. Maybe he was letting me down gently.
With one last little squeeze, he stepped back. “I just wanted to say sorry for having to bring that all up into your workplace. Nature of the job. And I’m really looking forward to tomorrow night.”
Wait… what?
But he wasn’t looking at me with revulsion or suspicion.
“Are you sure that’s still a good idea?”
“Absolutely. I’m cooking. Under the circumstances, I thought you might appreciate not being paraded in public.”
It’s not over.
Which was absolutely stupid of me to think about when I was the one who planned to end this farce before it went any further. But yeah, having that conversation in private would be better.
“That’s really thoughtful of you.”
He flashed those dimples. “I’m a thoughtful guy. I can pick you up?—”
“No. No, I’ll meet you.” The last thing I needed was my father catching wind of this, if he hadn’t already. “Where?”
Hoyt reeled off an address and a time and began walking backward. “I gotta get back to work, but I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I lifted a hand in a reluctant wave. “Tomorrow.”
7
Hoyt
The prospect of having Caroline over to the house for dinner lit a fire under my ass in a way nothing else had. Having anybody over hadn’t been on my radar for a while, but after that whole scene at the tavern yesterday, I knew people would be talking, and it was more important to me that she be comfortable. So I spent most of the day unpacking the bare essentials, corralling the rest, and obsessively cleaning the first floor. I even made a trip to Beachcomber Bargains, the island thrift store, to see if I could scrape up a little more furniture. I’d brought very little with me from Raleigh, where my roommates and I had leased a furnished apartment. The kitchen table and chairs I found had seen better days, but, like the house, they had good bones. Down the line, I’d strip and refinish them. For tonight, they’d give us a more adult place to sit than the gaming chairs and futon that made me feel like the confirmed bachelor I’d been for longer than I cared to think about.
On the drive back out to the house, I’d impulsively stopped to pick a clutch of wildflowers from the side of the road. I put them in a Mason jar I managed to scrounge up and set the whole thing in the middle of the table. Before I could decide if it looked charming or just trashy, the doorbell rang.
Shoving down uncharacteristic nerves, I wiped my hands on my shorts and answered the door, which stuck. Because, of course, it did. With a little lift of the knob and a heave-ho, I managed to drag it open.
Caroline stood on my dilapidated porch looking as beautiful as ever. But I noted a hint of nerves that mirrored my own in the way her fingers gripped the strap of her purse. She’d left her hair down tonight. The long, mink-brown waves of it cascaded over her shoulders and down her back. My fingers itched to bury themselves in the thick mass to see if it was as silky as it looked. The golden brown skin left exposed by the little sundress she wore seemed to glow in the lowering sun. The sight of those little spaghetti straps made my fingers itch to nudge them down so I could explore every inch with my mouth. Her dark eyes, usually so full of resolve and quiet strength, held hesitancy tonight, as if she was wrestling with a decision she hadn’t quite made. Maybe she was still on the fence about this real or fake dating thing.
Don’t screw this up, McNamara.
Flashing a smile, I stepped back. “Hey. Come on inside. Sorry about the mess. I’m still moving in and haven’t finished unpacking. I just closed on the house a couple weeks ago.”
Dear God, stop babbling.
“It’s fine. I’m not fussy.” But her gaze tracked over the entryway.
What did she see? The wear and tear from all the years of neglect or the gems hidden beneath it?
“The place has good bones.” Her fingers trailed over the newel post of the stairs. “Needs some TLC, but the best houses always do.”
Something in me relaxed. “My sentiments exactly. Come on back.”
