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“What about those sales projections for next spring? Were you able to input them?”
“Once I figured out your chicken scratch, yeah. The graph you set up is pretty sweet. Makes it almost effortless.”
More points for the handyman. “Thanks, Trav. I appreciate it.”
Once Travis disappeared into the back, she sighed happily. Things were going well. So well, in fact, that when the phone rang and she snatched it up, she almost chirped her standard greeting.
“Hey, princess.”
A grin stole across her face at Dillon’s voice. “Hey, stranger.”
“How are you? You sound happy. Business going okay?”
“Better than okay. Fabulous actually.”
“Really? Tell me.”
“I’d rather tell you in person.” She heard a muffled yell behind him and slitted her eyes. “If you can get away.”
He swore under his breath and she heard a muted conversation take place between him and someone else, presumably the yeller. “I’d love to, but we need to put the finishing touches on this place today. There’s this benefit coming up…they want to unveil photos of the finished house.”
“The Helping Hands benefit,” she said, smiling at Travis as he waved and headed out. “It’s all over town.” The yearly gala was a pretty big deal. Amazing that the house Dillon had been busting his ass on was going to be featured. Equally amazing that he gave back so much to the community.
She resisted a little sigh. He made her stomach quiver. Either that or the soup she’d had at lunch was off. But no, it was Dillon. Had to be.
His pause hung heavily on the line until he hissed out another oath. “Yes. Hang on a sec, baby. All hell’s breaking loose here.”
“Sure.” Baby. He’d called her baby. And she wasn’t screaming at the term. Clearly she’d made major progress.
Or else she’d reached the point of no return. Next they’d be spooning and calling to say “I lo—like you” just because.
“Okay, sorry. It’s always nuts at the end.”
“I can see you tomorrow—”
“No. I already missed a night.”
She couldn’t suppress her grin. So he’d missed her too.
“Can you come by the house later? When the store closes?”
“Your house?” This was big. They hadn’t quite made it there yet. Maybe the place was tiny or rundown or something, though with his skills she didn’t see how that could be possible. He could probably turn a shed into a chalet.
“No, the donor house. I’d like to show you around. If you’re into it,” he added, suddenly nonchalant.
Her smile grew. “I’m into it,” she said softly and wrote down the address he gave her.
After closing, she went upstairs to her apartment and packed a soft-sided cooler with her brass candlesticks, a checkered tablecloth, and an alfresco meal for two. She had no idea if the house had room for them to have a picnic, but she’d love to share a meal with him outdoors even if it took place on the tailgate of his pickup.
She grinned at her reflection in her rearview mirror as she put her car in gear. Imagine that. Alexa Elizabeth Conroy, picnicking and pickupping with a guy she was sort of in a relationship with. Who’d’ve thunk it?
Falling for Dillon—and she couldn’t deny she was, because even accomplished self-deluders had to have a break-even point—had been the easiest thing she’d ever done. Somehow he’d been there to shore her up when she’d started to crack, and for that she owed him. Hell, it was partially due to him that she’d gotten such an insanely amazing job that afternoon and would be working her ass off to meet her deadline.
Her mouth curved. She intended to show him her gratitude handsomely tonight.
She found her way to the house and parked at the end of the drive behind a sprawling motorcycle. There were no other vehicles around. No noises of construction workers, which she had to admit she was a little disappointed about. Considering she’d never been to a work site before, it seemed just cruel for her not to get to see at least one buff, sweaty man.
Hauling the strap of her cooler over her shoulder, she shut the door and glanced down at herself. Her pencil skirt and off-the-shoulder top probably weren’t the best for picnicking. At least she’d thought of bug spray, which she’d applied liberally after slathering her bare shoulders, neck, and face with sunscreen. It had to be ninety degrees in the shade.
