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“I tried to replicate the kennels where the SEAL teams kept their dogs,” she said. “On a smaller scale, of course.”
“You did a kick-ass job.” The place was amazing. How she’d pulled it together in only a few months, while working to secure the funds from the bank, astonished him.
“When Darren was home, I would ask him to draw sketches of the kennels Jango lived in. He also made lists of changes he wanted to make and things he’d keep the same. And I added some of my own ideas, too.”
Mark paused and leaned against the entry to a modern, brand-new veterinary exam room.
“You should be proud of yourself.”
Her lips curved, offering a hint of a smile. “I am.”
“Are you planning to head out with the guys tonight?” He stepped into the exam room, closer to her. After seeing her in her underwear, he knew he should keep his distance. But he couldn’t do it. “To Tall Pines Tavern?”
“I might drop by. I think the puppies are old enough now to be left alone for an hour or two. Maybe I’ll see if Mrs. Benton can stop in and check on them.”
“How about I take you to dinner first?” he said, running his hand over the metal table’s smooth surface. “Toast your success.”
Amy blinked. Shit, he’d surprised her. Too late to take it back now. He kept his gaze fixed on her, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jango stand. The animal looked ready to attack. It was as if he’d understood Mark’s words but misinterpreted his intentions. This was just dinner between two friends. And that was all they’d ever be—friends.
* * *
AMY STARED AT MARK as if he was speaking a foreign language. She’d eaten dinner with Mark hundreds of times. But there was something about this invitation that sent her mind spiraling back to the flash of longing she’d seen in his eyes earlier. The thought of sitting across from him, sharing a meal, his attention focused on her...
“I...um...yes. Okay,” she said, feeling like a giddy schoolgirl.
He nodded. “Is Lucia’s Italian place still open?”
“It is. But I think they changed their sauce. It’s too sweet now. There’s a new Mexican place in town that makes the best enchiladas.”
“Your night, your choice.”
“Mexican it is.” Amy led Mark back into the kennel’s central hall. “But I need to finish up a few things first. Check with the guys. I’ll come find you in an hour.”
Mark nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”
He headed for the exit, his hands shoved in his pockets. She had a lot to do before dinner, but she didn’t move until the door closed behind him. It felt good, seeing him in the flesh instead of on a screen. And the fact that he, of all people, understood what she was trying to do here—that meant so much.
Amy turned and moved toward the sound of hammers pounding, planning to tell the Benton brothers to call it quits for the day But she stopped out of sight of where the brothers were working and closed her eyes. She felt Jango sit by her side and press up against her leg. Reaching down, she touched the dog’s head.
Part of her still felt married and that even the smallest hint of desire was a betrayal. But Darren was gone. And eighteen months was a long time. Moving forward—she was allowed to want that, wasn’t she?
“I’ve waited,” she whispered. “For so long.”
In high school, she’d waited for Darren to notice her. After that she’d waited for him to ask her out and, later, marry her. Then she’d waited three hundred days out of every year for him to come home.
She’d put her dream business on hold because Darren wasn’t ready to quit his SEAL team. After his death, she’d waited for the grief to fade, knowing only time would help her heal. And it had. But now, after spending the past twelve years in a holding pattern, she was done waiting.
Jango turned his head up, licking the palm of her hand. “Even if I am ready to put myself out there and start dating, Mark isn’t the guy,” she whispered.
Yes, he was gorgeous—especially with his shirt off. But that didn’t change the fact that he’d been her husband’s best friend.
4
FOR THE FIRST TIME in months, Amy felt full. Enchiladas, chips, guacamole—she’d devoured all of it while discussing her plans for the kennel. Mark sat opposite her, listening and occasionally surveying the restaurant.
Amy studied the collar of his button-down shirt peeking out from underneath his sweater. When had he started wearing dress shirts? He’d always been a T-shirt kind of guy. Maybe a sweatshirt or flannel in the colder months. Nothing that drew attention. And in Heart’s Landing a button-down in a place where no one dressed for dinner was bound to make people look twice. She’d already caught half a dozen diners, mostly women, glancing their way.
Or maybe it had nothing to do with his shirt. At six-four, Mark towered over most men. A sweater and dress shirt didn’t exactly hide his broad chest and powerful arms. Of course, she’d seen those muscles stripped bare...
