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“Just got in a few minutes ago myself. I already let her out. We played a while in the backyard.”
I dare to take in the sight of him for a few beats.
Distraction indeed, I ponder, remembering what Ava just said. He’s wearing shorts and a t-shirt that fits him just a little too snugly—that special cut of t-shirt that only men with killer bods can wear properly. Given the choice, I’d of course prefer the shirtless Dax who greets me in the morning. But wow, that t-shirt looks like it’s having way too much fun pressed against his muscles.
Oh, how I wish I was a t-shirt right now.
I let myself enjoy the flutter of butterflies for a moment, savoring the feel of an emotion other than worry.
“Thanks for letting her out for me.”
“No problem. You doing okay?” His brow creases with concern.
I almost cringe at the question because I’ve been hearing it too much this past week. I’m lucky to have people around me who care enough to ask.
But since Dax doesn’t even know about Harris, that means that he’s asking because I probably look like something the cat dragged in.
Or the dog, I suppose I should say, considering present company.
“I’m fine,” I say flippantly. I’ve never been one to dump my problems on a man, learning my lesson from the last time I dared to.
I open my kitchen cabinet and pull out a bottle of red wine, finding myself muttering, “What kind of a woman am I if I don’t have anything in my cabinet stronger than a bottle of pinot noir?”
He winces. “Rough day?”
I shrug as I search for my corkscrew amid the clutter of my utensil drawer. “I just—haven’t slept much this week. A lot on my mind.”
He frowns. “Take it from me. Alcohol is only going to make you feel worse.”
I sigh. “Well, I don’t have to open the diner tomorrow morning, so I can drink some wine, or you can hit me on the head with a brick. Because I’mthat desperatefor sleep.”
“Is the work situation keeping you up at night?”
“Work situation?” I crinkle my forehead.
“Your boss selling the place. What’s her name again?”
“Harriet.”
“Yeah. My memory’s the worst for names. Harriet. Is that on your mind?”
I find myself laughing. Because the fact is, a week ago, losing my job at the end of the summer was the crisisdu jour.
But now? It barely registers as a blip on my radar.
“I can’t imagine you’ll have a hard time finding another job with an MBA from Stanford,” he adds.
My eyebrows rise at his statement.
“I saw your diploma on the wall when I was getting a towel last week,” he explains quickly.
“Oh!” My eyes widen. “Of course. Uh, yeah. I’ll find a job. I might have to find something in Savannah though. There aren’t too many jobs on Tybee. Except for the seasonal ones, that is. But that’s really not keeping me up.”Anymore, I add in my head.
“So if it’s not the job keeping you up, what is it? Boyfriend?”
I tuck my chin in. “Boyfriend?” What would make him think I have a boyfriend?
“Yeah.” Then he gives me a disarming smile. “Maybe he doesn’t like the idea of you sharing your roof with another guy?”
