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“Oh, we do that too, just not with toiletries.”
“Like what?” I asked, amused.
“Stuff napkins in all their shoes so they don’t fit.”
“Oh my god,” I said, laughing.
“Gluing the end of the toilet paper to the roll so they can’t get any off. Swapping out all their clothes drawers. Turn off their fan and put glitter on the blades so when they turn it on … poof.”
“Diabolical.”
“Those are the nice ones. There are more that are not so nice.”
“I don’t think I want to know.”
“You definitely don’t, and my mama taught me better manners than to mention such things to a date.”
“A date, huh?” I asked, praying I didn’t sound hopeful.
When he stilled, fear gripped my guts. But I put on my big girl undies and forged ahead.
“You know,” I started, “I’m not sure if I’m mad that they set us up.”
“I’m not sure if I’m with you on that one.”
“Ouch,” I said lightly enough to be considered flippant.
His cheeks flushed, which was quite a sight on a man of his stature. “No, I didn’t mean—I only meant that they went too far. Not because I didn’t want to see you.”
“So you did want to see me?”
“No. I mean, yes, but not like …” He sighed.
God, it was like pulling teeth. Maybe it should have been easy. Except I got the feeling that if he’d quit being weird, it’d be easy as pie.
I considered that he didn’t want it to be easy, and the thought made me preternaturally sad.
But in a grand farce, I laughed the whole thing off, channeling my inner Poppy in an attempt to say what I wanted while keeping it light enough that rejection wouldn’t make the rest of dinner unbearable.
“I’m sorry to tease you. It was just that I was thinking our families are so adamant to get us to date that maybe it wouldn’t be the worst idea. Even if it was just to test the theory of moving on.”
That flush he’d worn slid away. “I …”
“We do have a lot in common,” I said lightly, keeping a playful smile on my face. “Who better to fumble through it with?”
A long pause while I held my breath ended in the two worst words in the English language.
“I can’t.”
My heart took a dive. “Oh.”
“I’m sorry. I just … I don’t have time for anything but my family and my job. There’s no room for anything else. Anyone else.”
I smiled through that thumping organ’s descent, shrugging like I was unflappable. I wondered what percentage of his answer was about Mandy, but decided I didn’t want to know. “It was worth asking.”
“I’m sorry. I—”
I waved a hand. “You don’t have to do that. Really. Just had to ask.”
Some unknown decision warred behind his eyes, waited somewhere behind his lips. But before he spoke, the server interrupted with our food.
Small mercies.
Through dinner, I carefully steered the conversation away from all things meaningful. We talked more about his woodworking and my bees, about his family and mine. We talked about this, and we talked about that, filling the air through our meal, through the check, until we were outside the restaurant where we’d started.
Keaton waited with me while the valet pulled my car around, at which point his brow climbed.
“It’s Grant’s,” I noted.
“I figured. Damn, that’s a good looking car.”
“Maybe someday I’ll take you for a ride.”
He laughed. “I’ve driven cranes and bulldozers and a hundred other vehicles, but not a single thing with finesse like that. Wonder if you couldn’t show me a thing or two.”
Neither of us acknowledged the potential double meaning, but we both felt it. I thanked the valet and tipped him with Grant’s twenty, and when I didn’t move for the car, he gave up escorting me and went back to his stand.
Keaton and I stood under the awning for a moment, just looking at each other.
I broke the silence, saying, “Well, thank you for dinner.”
“It was my pleasure. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“All right.”
We hung in that awkward place for a heartbeat before he shifted toward me. His arm found my waist, his hand sliding around with the intent of a hug. Surprised, my instinct took over, raising my arms to loop around his neck, fitting us together too easily. Rather than pull away, he wrapped his other arm around me and squeezed, holding me close, holding me tight. Our bodies were flush, my nose in the curve of his neck where he smelled so strongly of amber, my lids fluttered closed. I took a long, deep breath like I’d daydreamed about for months.
He let go of me first, but didn’t move back, keeping me firmly against him. I leaned back so I could see his face, and the look he wore was thick with longing, touched with a spark of fire. As our eyes connected, we stepped back, bringing our limbs to our sides in a snap that was so sharp, I practically heard it.
