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He may as well be whispering lovey-dovey promises of a hot night together for the way my body heats up. I feel my lashes flutter.
Impossible. It is impossible to look at him here in this golden sunlight and not feel a tsunami of attraction.
“Um… way old? Years old? Uh—five, six.”
Now it’s not only my heart and my car that are not cooperating, but my mouth has joined the rebellion. My brain’s acting out, too. Nothing is working the way I need it to.
“Way old,” he repeats with a quick, dimple-making half smile. “Okay, then, what you need is a new battery, Gwen. You want me to have one delivered?”
“You—you can do that? Like, having a pizza delivered or something?”
“Not exactly like a pizza. But, yeah. I’ve got a great mechanic who helps me out when I need a hand. He’ll swing by and get you set up if I say the word.”
“That sounds expensive.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He takes out his phone.
“I can’t believe you’re doing this. I’m supposed to be helping you, not the other way around.”
“Yeah, well…” His fingers fly over his phone as he composes a text. When he looks up, it’s with incredible warmth in those brown irises. “You’ve done a lot of that today, and I’m about to ask for more. Figure doing a favor for you first will set me up for success.”
“Uh oh. A favor?”
“A favor. What do you think?”
“I can’t agree or disagree ‘til I know what it is I’m signing up for.”
“Smarty,” he says. When he gives me a quick, winning smile, the darn dimple flashes again. My knees go weak. “I need some fresh air after the day we had in there. You know how you said you had extra energy? I’m feeling that, too. Thinking it would help to get out for a while.”
“Out… um… where?” It is so hard to speak when he looks at me like this.
“I’m thinking the dog park. With you. When you take the dogs. I think I’d like to see the place. And I like a good challenge, too. I know I’m no dog expert, but I’m gonna try to win that old Mr. Brown over, get him to stop growling at me. Maybe if I chuck a ball or two for him, he’ll call me a friend.”
“You want to go to the dog park with me?” I squeak.
There go my plans for sneaking in dog care.
He nods. “It’ll be an adventure. You’ll be the guide. Show me the ropes, Gwen.”
“Have you met me?” I retort. “I am the opposite of an adventure guide. I am an office worker.”
His eyes dance over mine. “You’re a lot more than that.”
“No, really, I’m not.”
“You’re selling yourself short again.”
“I’m telling the truth. The very unglamorous truth.” I think again of the type of women he goes for: stiletto heels, Barbie bodies, hair so shiny and long, I can’t help but wonder just how many hours they spend with hot irons, curlers, and treatments of one sort or another.
Those women are more than well-dressed and beautiful. They lead exciting lives. At least, that’s what it looks like in the articles and social media posts I’ve consumed over the years.
“You’re quite a singer and guitarist, I hear,” he says.
“Who told you that?”
He hooks his thumb into his pocket. “You’re good at gardening, too. I hear you can bake a mean apple pie. You make friends in line at the grocery store and when you’re waiting to get your hair cut.”
“Who told you all these things?”
