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“She’s a whiz kid. Second day on the job and already kicking ass.”
“Watch it.” Nellie cupped her belly. “No swearing around the kid.”
Alexa leaned down and spoke close to Nelly’s stomach. “Your mama’s kicking booty, girl child Conroy. Hear that?”
Nellie’s giggle had to be one of the sweetest sounds he’d ever heard. When combined with the quick smile Alexa shot him as she straightened, he nearly staggered back. He loved seeing her happy. Way too much.
“I brought you guys lunch,” he said, resting a hand on one of the bags. “Grabbed turkey sandwiches at the deli. Hope that’s okay.”
“Thank God.” Nellie made a beeline for the bags, though she bypassed them to lean over the coffees. She took a long, dramatic sniff and sighed. “Ah, caffeine. I miss you so.”
“What you’ve given up to reproduce.” Alexa nudged her friend aside and snatched the coffee with the big A on the cup. “You’re spoiling me, James,” she said before taking her first experimental sip. Then her eyes rolled back in her head. “Holy Christ, this is delicious.”
“Language!” Nellie danced away, hip-swaying into a rockin’ boogie that didn’t really match their musical selection.
Dillon frowned. “Should she be doing that? She might shake the baby loose or something.”
Alexa laughed at his low comment. “Nah, that kid’s gotta bake for months yet. No early arrivals will be happening on my watch.”
“Absolutely not.” He shuddered at the thought.
“Are we going to take an actual lunch break for once?”
Alexa rolled her eyes at Nellie. “You’ve worked here two days. Stop acting like you’re dealing with horrible work conditions.”
“Hey, let me do that,” Dillon said, rushing forward to help Nellie pull a foldaway table from the wall.
“I’m pregnant, not incapacitated,” she grumbled, stepping aside just the same.
He set up the table in the small open space in the prep area and they spread out with their lunch. Alexa stiffened each time a customer came into the shop—which happened twice—but she slipped into her business mode without faltering.
While Alexa led a customer over to the glass-fronted refrigerated case, Nellie leaned close to Dillon. “She’s a tough nut to crack, but don’t give up on her. I guarantee she’s worth it.”
He didn’t doubt that for a second, but the benefit was coming up fast. Once the gala talk overtook over the town, the chances of his remaining handyman Dillon James in her eyes were nil. This whole pseudo-relationship was living on borrowed time—probably why it felt so incredibly precious.
That’s not why, and you know it.
“You’ve been friends a long time,” he said instead.
“Yeah. Since high school.” Nellie toyed with the pop-top on her caffeine-free soda. “She’s had a rough year. First me and Jake, then Roz. She needs someone in her life, Dillon.”
“She has you,” he said, fully aware of what she meant. But he couldn’t face the hope in her trusting eyes when he was nothing but a deceitful jerk. Worse, a deceitful jerk sinking deeper by the moment.
“She does. And I’d do anything for her, but I’m not there for her in the middle of the night. She’s terrified everything’s going to shatter around her.” She glanced at Alexa as she chatted animatedly about the small pots of tiny silk red and white flowers she’d set by the cash register.
“They’re great for offices, when you need a little cheer to spruce up the space,” Alexa said to her customer. “I’m thinking of doing actual arrangements in the same style, so that people can have a real one for home and the faux one for work. Helps make the day brighter, you know?”
“Oh yes, I do. That’s a great idea!”
Dillon smothered a smile as he glanced back at Nellie, who cupped her stomach while she watched Alexa. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” Nellie smiled. “Mother Hen syndrome. It waxes and wanes. Would help if you agreed to marry her and love her always.” When he started to cough, she giggled and leaned forward to thump him on the back. “Sorry. Kidding.” She beseeched him with big eyes. “Though you could get your wedding flowers cheap. Just saying.”
He had to chuckle. “I’ll take that under advisement.”
His phone rang and he pulled it out, seeing the number of his event planner, Julie. She usually didn’t contact him unless she’d hit a snag with the benefit, which he absolutely did not need. “I have to take this. Sorry.” When Nellie waved him off, he answered the call.
They chatted about the usual sort of thing—ways to motivate more donors to contribute to the charity auction, advertising possibilities, and an issue with the caterer—and he wondered why she hadn’t just waited until their next planning meeting. Now that the benefit was getting closer, they’d scheduled more of them to finalize last-minute details. He’d blown off the last couple of them, because he’d been busy. With Alexa.
