by Brinda Berry
“Your boyfriend wouldn’t like that?”
She stares at me with her mouth forming a tiny, thoughtful rosebud. Finally, she shakes her head. “No, it’s just that I’m going out.”
“On a date?”
“I don’t think that’s any of your business.”
“With the boyfriend? What’s his name?”
“Again, none of your business.” Her eyebrows crinkle with a cute, confused look.
“You do have a boyfriend, right? That’s what you said the other day.”
She examines the toe of her boot, swinging her foot to and fro. “I wasn’t exactly...truthful.”
“Oh yeah?” I love watching the embarrassment wash over her face as one corner of her mouth lifts. “Any reason you weren’t straight with me the other day?”
She straightens and looks at the clock. “I lied. Okay? It’s one of those things that’s really nobody’s business. But I am meeting somebody for coffee tonight, and I’ve got to go. Are you giving me the check or not?”
“Coffee, huh?” I get my wallet out and remove the check. “Thanks for bailing me out. I owe you.”
“No problem,” she says with a shrug. She stands and moves to close the distance between us.
I get to my feet and place the check in her outstretched hand. “Have dinner with me. Tomorrow night. As a thank you for bailing me out.”
“Babysitting.”
“Wednesday night?” I take a step forward and catch a whiff of her perfume.
“I have a paper to write.”
“Thursday.” She can have coffee with some guy but not dinner with me?
“Still writing the paper.”
“You’re saying no because of my stripper comment. How am I going to redeem myself from that?”
“Dylan.” She folds her arms under her breasts. Her sweater falls, baring one shoulder in an alluring invitation.
My mouth goes dry as my gaze lingers on her smooth skin then moves down the graceful line of her throat to her collarbone. I force my gaze back to her face. “You know you want to.”
“I really don’t have time. And you tried to fire me when you were in a bad mood the other day. What’s going to happen when you and I don’t get along on a date? I’ll be out of a job.”
“One dinner.”
“No,” she says stubbornly. “Absolutely not. You and I? Worst idea ever.” She shakes her head.
“Let the stripper comment go. Come on.” I tilt my head. “Two people having a meal. That’s all. What could happen?” I grin. “Or is that what you’re afraid of?”
She flushes and looks away. “I can’t stand here all night arguing with you.” She waves the check she still holds. “Thanks.”
“Who’s the coffee date with?”
“Toby.”
My world grinds to a halt at the thought, and I’m suddenly a bull seeing red. She’s ridiculous and careless and naive. “You barely know that guy.”
“It’s coffee.”
“That’s what he says. He thinks he’s going to get a thank you for the lift the other day.”
She narrows her eyes. “Coffee. At a coffee shop. That’s not code for a hookup. And he did fix my tire.”
“I don’t trust him.”
Emerson rolls her eyes. “Get real. Not everyone is trying to get into my pants.”
“Oh, trust me, that guy is.”
“Because he’s buying me a coffee?”
“Because he went out of his way to be your hero the other day. People always have motives. You think he only helped you out of the kindness of his heart?”
“Like you helped me?” She runs her hand through her hair and the sweater moves silkily across her body.
I itch to haul her against me, kiss her until she forgets about meeting Toby the motorcycle boy. “That’s different.”
“How?”
“Because you know me. I don’t have a hidden agenda.”
She reaches for her purse that sits on a corner of the end table. “And you’re not trying to get in my pants, right? I mean...if I offered, you’d turn me down.”
“Of course not.” I’m not sure of what I’ve answered.
Emerson laughs, the sound brittle as crackling dry leaves. “I’m going for my coffee now. I’ll be at the house on Friday, doing my job.”
She’s ending the conversation between us. I want to push and get my way, but she’s as stubborn as I am. The more I push, the further away I am.
Okay. Friday. I’ll bide my time. “See you in a few days then.”
For one split second, I see a flash of disappointment in her eyes, as if she thought I’d argue some more. She walks me to the door and holds it open. “Thanks for bringing the check.”
“Anytime.” I squeeze her shoulder lightly as I walk by and on impulse, lean over and kiss her cheek.
She sucks in a breath and her eyes widen.
I’m glad I caught her off-guard. Glad that maybe I’ve shaken her up a little before this coffee rendezvous. Glad that maybe she’ll be thinking of me when she’s with him. “It’s the least I could do. You’re a sweetheart. I’ll walk you down and put the spare in your trunk.”
Emerson won’t make eye contact with me as she walks through the door I hold open for her.
I like to think I’m a smart competitor when it comes to the things that really matter. Spending time with Emerson has moved up in the rankings of my priority list. It’s time for a game plan.
Chapter Five
Somebody Loves You
Emerson
I suppose heaven is sort of like Cuppa Cuppa Coffeehouse.
Its toe-curling, toasty atmosphere makes me want to stretch out in front of their log fireplace and take a nap. Some kind of jazzy song plays over the speakers in a low hum. Customers sit at tables and drink out of mugs the size of soup bowls.
Cuppa Cuppa is one of my favorite places. People—mostly your brainy, serious types—hang out here, as opposed to the business crowd trying to make connections. I adore that everything here is cozy and real.
My gaze floats around the room searching for Toby’s dark blond dreadlocks. When I don’t see him immediately, I scan the room again.
And then a third time.
My gaze lingers at the table where a broad-shouldered guy sits reading a worn paperback. He fits with this crowd, his flannel shirt looking slightly worn and comfortable, his boot-clad feet crossed at the ankles, his body language telling me he could be at home here or anywhere.
The guy glances up, Caribbean ocean-green eyes zeroing in on me. He gives me a welcoming smile.
Toby. Toby without the dreadlocks. Toby who is quite the looker.
I cross the room in a hurry since I’m already late and feeling guilty that he’s had time to start reading a book. “Sorry I’m late.”
He stands halfway and pulls out the chair next to him at the square table. “I was worried you might’ve changed your mind.”
“No, course not.” I stare at him as I take my seat, not quite believing how different he looks.
“Thanks. Didn’t recognize you when I walked in.” I immediately regret saying it because he looks slightly shy all of a sudden.
“Haircut,” he says, rubbing a hand over the missing locks on the back of his neck.
“It’s really...nice. You look great.”
“It was time. I’ve had the dreads for a while and I have a few job interviews coming soon. People judge, you know?”
“It’s nice. Life is all about recognizing the need for change.” Now I feel like I’ve made a big deal out of it. I nod at the book lying face up on the table. “Catcher in the Rye?”
He bunches his eyebrows. “Not really my kind of book. It was on the table.”
“Ah,” I say with a grin. “Not really my type either.”
He leans in close. “I like the fantasy genre best. You know, George RR Martin and Tolkien.”
“I read fantasy, too. I’ve recently discovered Jack Whyte. His fantasy books blow my mind.�
�
He leans his head down and looks left to right. “Don’t say that too loudly here though. The table next to us just said something about allegory in Moby Dick,” he says in a conspiratorial whisper.
I laugh under my breath. “Well, I will avoid any book that requires Cliff notes.”
He glances over at the counter. Drink specials are written on a huge blackboard behind the counter staff. “What will you have? I’ll get us something to drink.”
I study the choices and decide on a mocha latte with whipped cream. As Toby walks to the counter, I take a minute to sit back and relax. He turns to glance at me and smiles broadly. It’s a nice smile, genuine and easy. My Benedict Arnold thoughts immediately jump back to the past hour and Dylan’s smile—devilish, like he’s planning some assault on all your defenses.
A girl sits next to Toby at the counter. She examines him and he’s oblivious. He never turns his head in her direction.
Finally, the girl says something to him and he answers. Then he immediately turns his entire body to watch the lady behind the counter make coffee.
When he gets back to the table, I accept my drink and shake my head. “You know the girl beside you?”
“What girl?” He blows on his coffee and takes a sip.
“The brunette trying to talk with you. The one who was smiling, flirting, falling off her chair to get closer to you? That girl.”
“Nah,” he says. “She was asking about the best kind of coffee here.”
“Right,” I say with an even bigger grin.
“Besides, I’m with you. You’re the only girl I want to talk to tonight.” His voice is serious. It’s not a line.
“Well that’s flattering, but this isn’t a date.”
“Not trying to scare you off. Just coffee,” he says in a serious tone, a complete opposite to the way Dylan flirts with me. I know it’s because Dylan flirts with every female between eighteen and eighty.
Change of topic. “So, Toby, what’s your major?”
“Engineering.”
“Wow. That sounds tough.”
“Not really. I like knowing how things work.”
My gaze darts to his hands. Black grease smudges the cuticles, but the rest of his hands are clean. Just the opposite of Dylan’s hands that deal with paperwork all day.
Focus and stop comparing! “Do you like working in the garage?”
“It’s all right. My dad’s cousin owns it, so I’ve been working there since I was thirteen.”
“That’s young.”
He shrugs. “Old enough to learn a job. And I was interested, so it was good. Enough about me.” He leans in. “What about you? Your major?”
“Economics.” I take another sip of coffee.
“Hmm... And what do you want to do with that?”
“Law school. I want to practice corporate law.”
“Impressive.”
“Oh, well, don’t be too impressed. I have to pass my statistics class first.”
“Maybe I can help you with that. I’ve had stat already and math is one of those things that clicks for me.”
“That’s nice. But you’ve got to be as busy as I am.”
“I was hoping you suggested this coffee so you could get to know me better. I have this sixth sense about people and I’m never wrong. You, Emerson, are somebody special. I’d like to take you somewhere besides a coffee shop.”
My belly does a pleasant flip at the thought of being special. “Oh yeah? Just where would you take me.” I rest my elbows on the table and tilt my head. I straighten when I realize how flirty I sound.
He takes a sip of coffee and nods. “I know just the place.”
My curiosity gets the better of me. “So, tell me about it.”
“Go out with me and you’ll find out.”
“You’re not going to tell me?”
“Don’t you like surprises?”
“Not really.” I stir and the whipped cream swirls into the coffee. I keep my head down for a moment, staring into the enormous cup. I concentrate on the crack edging the lip of the porcelain and smile. I know I’m teetering on the edge of saying yes. My brain shouts that we could talk fantasy books and hang out. He could tutor me in econ before my grade skids any lower. I could be comfortable with Toby.
But no. That’s not what he’s interested in with me and I know it.
I grimace and look at my phone. “Speaking of classes, I really should head out. I can barely keep my head above water.”
Toby stands with me. “This is the nice brush-off, isn’t it?” He grins with a corner of his mouth twitching up. He has that easy smile that makes people comfortable.
“No, not at all.” I press my lips together. For a second, I almost say I’ve changed my mind. I deserve to hang out and have fun with someone. But hanging out would lead him to believe it could be something more. That would be a mistake because everyone close to me gets burned at some point. And then they leave.
I suck in a fortifying breath. “This is my life. I run from one place to another to squeeze in everything.”
“It’s okay.” He shoves his hands into his pockets. “Maybe when things slow down for you.”
“Yeah. Sure.” I grab my purse and stroll toward the door. “That girl is still watching you from the coffee bar. I’m telling you to go get her number.”
He puts his hand on my elbow and never looks to the girl. “Come on. I’ll walk you to your car. I probably need to head out, too.”
The place is now packed. It’s refreshing to step outside and draw in cool air. I peer into the darkness. “I’m over that way. You don’t have to walk me to the car. I’m good.”
“Wait,” he says, putting a hand on my arm. “Shh...” Toby freezes and stares at something to his right.
He descends the last two steps, the wood porch creaking softly. He kneels on his haunches and holds his hand out toward the boxwood shrubbery that lines the front of the porch. “Hey there, boy. Come on out.”
A string of lights line the balustrade and railing of the front steps. My eyes adjust to the darkness and I finally make out the dark shape lingering at the edge of the steps. A dog watches us, his tail wagging to make a scrub, scrub, scrub sound as it hits the bush.
The dog is tall and midnight black. He moves to lick Toby’s outstretched hand, and I suck in a horrified breath. The dog is tall but bone thin. The outline of each rib makes him look like a walking skeleton.
Toby slowly rubs a hand over the dog’s head. “Hey, bud. How are you? Not gonna lie to you. You look like hell.” His voice is soft and soothing and steady.
I bend my knees to crouch beside Toby. “He looks horrible.”
“He’s waiting for somebody to feed him.”
The dog turns his gaze on me and my heart stutters for a half beat. “We can’t leave him.”
Toby rubs the dog between the ears and it places one paw on Toby’s knee. “No. But I’m on my bike, so I can’t really take him. I’ll have to find some help.”
I put a hand out to rub the dog’s head. Damn. Even his head is bony. “I...um...” I’m biting my tongue, trying to stop myself from verbalizing the response in my brain. Help this miserable creature. How heartless are you?
“Can you wait with the dog while I try a buddy of mine?” He stands before I can answer and pulls out his cell.
The dog and I are eye-to-eye, and I’m sure the poor thing heard my internal battle because he moves to lick my hand again. My chest aches for him. “I’ll take him somewhere.”
Lick. Lick. Baleful stare. Snuffle.
This dog is sure working me. Saliva drips onto my hand and I wipe it on my knee. He gives me a doggy grin. “I can’t take him home. No pets allowed.”
Toby pockets his cell in the pocket of his leather jacket. “He can stay with me until I find something for him. You mind dropping him at my place?”
“Sure. Why not.” I stand and take a few steps. The dog moves with me. “Yes, doggie, it’s your lucky night. You get to liv
e at Toby’s house.”
Toby chuckles. “We’ll see. I’ll probably need to find a place for him. I’ll get my bike and pull in front of you so you can follow me.”
Without another word, I lead the way to my car and the dog tags along only a foot from me. It’s like he knows I’m his ticket to a happier existence. I open the door and the bony dog hops into the backseat. “You like to ride, huh?”
He pants while staring straight ahead.
Toby pulls around to the side lot on his motorcycle, prompting me to get in and start the engine. The dog places his chin against the side of my seat.
The drive through town is awkward, with me nudging the dog’s head back with my elbow, the dog tickling me by sticking his nose repeatedly in my side, and the moment when he scares the pee out of me by inserting his muzzle to the left of my head. Despite my efforts to distance myself, the dog has decided to adopt me.
At one stoplight, he attempts to insert his thin body through the console area. “Enough,” I say in a gravelly tone that mimics a dog growl.
He sulks back and I immediately feel guilty.
Toby pulls into a neighborhood with older houses. Most of them are shotgun style, running the length of the lot in one long rectangle. The driveway is narrow and he parks under a one-car awning.
I park and get out. “Where are you going to put him?” There’s no fence and no doghouse. I tug the opening of my jacket closed and bite back any more questions.
“Inside. I wouldn’t leave him out here.”
“Good.” I eye the dark windows of Toby’s house. Either he lives alone or the roommate is out.
Toby opens the back door of my car. The dog doesn’t budge.
I hold out my hand. “Come on, doggie. Toby doesn’t have all night.”
The dog squeezes into the corner of my back seat, as far from the open door as possible.
Toby sighs and then blows into his hands. “You’ve made a friend in a short time. Come on bud, it’s too cold for Emerson.”
“You have any food inside?” I glance at his windows.
“Good idea. Be back in a second.”
Toby disappears into the house and the dog eyes me warily. “I need to get home,” I say as I sit at the edge of my back seat. The dog moves toward me and places his chin on my lap.
