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“No. But a guy in New York once called me corn-fed, then acted like it was a compliment.”
“I’m not a guy in New York.”
“You used to be!” she said, poking him in the chest as though she’d caught him in a lie.
“Okay, but I never felt at home there. I’m a country boy at heart. New York is just...where I was born.” Not quite true, but that was what it felt like. A place his family lived. A place he loved from afar and visited occasionally.
Gabe caught sight of the waitress approaching with another drink for Veronica and he shook his head. The woman shrugged and headed back toward the bar.
“I’m sorry,” Veronica said. “You called my legs sexy and I made it weird.” She snagged his beer before he could grab it. “This is why I don’t date. Look at me.”
She got one swig before Gabe took it back and finished it off. “Come on, Dear Veronica, let’s go.”
Even though she collapsed onto the table with laughter, she eventually nodded. “Okay. Let’s go to my place.”
“I didn’t mean...”
“Yeah, believe me, I know.” Veronica pushed to her feet. “See? Steady as a tree.”
In fact, she was swaying a little. If she was a tree, she was more a willow than an oak. “How many of these did you have?” he asked.
“One before the show. One during. Then...two more?”
“In the space of an hour?” Gabe reevaluated his options. “How far away do you live?”
“Only three blocks away. I’m centrally located.” That set off a bout of giggling that had Gabe smiling as he wrapped her arm around his.
“Are you okay in those heels?”
“Sure. I had to learn to walk in them in New York. You know how it is. Spike heels everywhere. I bet you loved that, didn’t you? Men love that.”
He looked down at her as he opened the door of the bar. She was smiling as she stepped into the night.
“I’m not sure how to answer that,” he finally said.
“Just be honest. I write an advice column. I know what guys like. You can’t scare me.”
“Okay, then. Women’s legs look amazing in heels. Your legs look amazing in heels. But nothing beats the sight of a woman in hiking boots on the trail ahead. I could watch that for hours.”
“And have?”
“Only with permission, of course.”
She bumped him with her shoulder as they walked. “Does that mean you’re an ass man, Gabe MacKenzie?”
“I—” he ran through all the possible responses in his head and decided discretion was the better part of ass valor “—am not going to answer that.”
“You can tell me. Feel free to spill all your kinks. You wouldn’t believe what I’ve heard.”
“I’m sure I wouldn’t.” He looked around. “Are we even walking in the right direction? Where do you live?”
“Oh, shit,” she muttered, then spun him around. “It’s this way. I’m sorry. I haven’t been this tipsy in a really long time.”
He thought she was way past tipsy, but damned if it wasn’t adorable on her. “So how does one become a professional advice columnist?”
“Overbearing father,” she muttered, then shook her head. “I was a copy editor, but I also helped out with an advice column at the Village Voice. Screening letters, proofing the column, that sort of thing. When I told my dad I was moving back to Jackson, I suppose he wanted to help. He’s friends with the owner of the Jackson paper, and Dad inflated my experience a little. So here I am. A fraud who gives advice.”
“Well, you’re great at it, so how could you be a fraud?”
