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My super pathetic sigh expressed the heavy weight of all of today’s unmet expectations.
“Correction: I’m not asking; you need a beer. No one who makes that noise should be left alone to wallow.” He pushed a stray hair, stiff with spray, back from my cheek. Concern and tenderness radiated from him.
His body pressed to mine, combined with the reverent touch, stirred up things inside me. Warm, soft, yummy emotional things that had no place in a business relationship. But if I was cautious, they might be the basis of a friendship with a man whose fear of commitment was legendary.
I put my hands on his shoulder and pushed him back to create space between us. Better. I could think rationally when we weren’t glued together, from pelvis to chest. I tucked my bare foot into the shoe and reestablished my footing.
I considered his offer. Grandma always said sharing a drink with a person was the first step on the road to a long friendship.
I cocked my head and pursed my lips as if I was making a hard decision. “A beer sounds good.”
“So, where are we going?” He shoved his hands in his front pockets, and I had to command my eyes not to follow the motion down past his belt buckle. Because checking out his ass had been bad enough, eyeing his package—nope, not happening.
“There’s the steakhouse on the square: Bowie’s. It’s nice.” He’d fit in there with all the other out-of-towners.
“Nice. Ugh, I hate that word. Where would you normally go after a rough day at work?”
“The Pub.” Mentally, I smacked my forehead with my palm. I shouldn’t have mentioned The Pub.
“It sounds perfect.”
“It’s a local place.”
He would be horrified. No, correction, I would be horrified.
“Are the regulars going to tar and feather me when they find out I’m from California?”
“No.” Not if I vouched for him.
“Chase me out of town with flaming torches?” His crooked, boyish smile cracked me up.
“Probably not.” The county had a burn ban in effect because of the recent drought, and in Elmer, we took fire safety seriously.
“Egg my rental car?” He hooked a thumb back toward the luxury sedan parked on the street.
“I’ll protect you and the car.”
“Great, I’ll follow you.”
I was still laughing as I got behind the wheel of my SUV to lead him to The Pub. Lara would die when she saw Wilson in the flesh and those wranglers.
Chapter 7
Wilson
Icheckedthestreetsign as I made the left-hand turn. Cypress Creek Drive was a narrow, twisted lane. Oak branches arched over the road, and their roots buckled the pavement in places. It wasn’t a street a tourist would have had a reason to take. Unless they were following their real estate agent to a bar.
I groaned. So much for my clean, clear, crisp line between work and personal life.
This right here muddied the waters. Not something I did.
But all day I’d had the inexplicable urge to make things easier for her. Short of buying that house, I probably would have done anything to help her. Going for a beer seemed like a good idea—safer than the hug I wanted to offer.
One beer. Then I’d head home. Professional distance reestablished.
I followed her car up the narrow road and into a residential neighborhood. It was early evening. Porch lights flipped on, and kids played basketball in some driveways. It reminded me of where I grew up in Illinois. So normal. There were more pickup trucks than back home, but I recognized the working-class roots.
The road twisted back and forth up a hill. Here, near the top, the homes were bigger and the cars fancier. Not like LA, but more upscale than down below. The road dead-ended at a gravel parking lot on the edge of a large pond made by a spillway bridge. Soft lights hidden in the oaks gave everything a dull glow.
