by Susan Hatler
“I guess so.” I reluctantly removed my hand from his—even though it had felt warm and cozy there—and then rubbed my nose. Addie Wilcox and her wreath. First, she’d made me worry about her telling my mom where I was and now her wreath had set off my allergies. So much for her claim of spreading good cheer as she decorated for Christmas. “I’ll get my supplies from the SUV,” I said, dusting myself off.
I started toward the door, doing my best to act dignified after my fall into the antacid-colored chair. I caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror and groaned. It was hard to be dignified when you have massive dust on your booty.
I went to the car and fetched the cleaning supplies I’d brought with me, keeping one eye out for Addie the whole time. The decorating crew had moved further down the street toward the town square, but there was no guarantee she wouldn’t see me. The woman had eyes like a hawk. I held the box up high to hide my face as I went back into the salon.
Remembering Addie’s comment about The Chop House, I set the things down, whipped out my cell, and dialed my brother’s number. No answer. I decided not to leave a message. This situation was way too complicated and I needed to hash it out with him. I tucked the phone into my pocket and saw Dallas fiddling with the tile-removing machine.
I moved out of the way as he reached for a button. The machine came on with a loud rumble. “How long is this going to take?” I asked.
“Hours,” he shouted back.
Great. What should I do? Deciding I should salvage the mirrors, I used a screwdriver to remove the old-fashioned frames from the wall. Pieces of the sheetrock crumbled as I removed the mirror. I released a long breath as I realized I’d have to patch the large screw holes. Then I could paint the walls in a neutral color.
The machine behind me whirred and whined, a thin and high sound that set my teeth on edge. I still wasn’t sure we should keep the mirrors, but I couldn’t just stand there while he was working. I bent to check out the base of the orange chairs. They seemed fine. But what did I know? It’s not like they needed a cut and color, something I was actually qualified for. Maybe I could replace the top portions of the chairs. That would save both money and time since they looked like they still functioned fine.
I gave the foot lever an experimental press. The chair came upward with a harsh grating sound and suddenly started spinning like a top.
I shrieked and fell back, holding the screwdriver out like it would somehow ward off disaster. But the chair only spun faster. A pair of hands came from behind me, drawing me back up against a hard and lean body. With my heart pounding, it took me a minute to realize my back rested against Dallas’s chest.
“What did you do?” he asked, his mouth pressed beside my ear.
“I-I just tapped it,” I said, flushed. I’d pressed the foot lever and now I was pressed against Dallas’s body with his hands gripping my arms. Was it hot in here?
He pulled me away from the chair, which was whirling faster than ever. “Any idea how to turn it off?”
I glanced down at the foot lever. “The lever?”
He released me and I brought my hand to my forehead, feeling dizzy from the interaction. Dallas rushed forward, stomping down on the lever. The chair stopped spinning and I exhaled in relief. That relief was short-lived when the chair started sliding up and down, whining loudly as ominous black smoke puffed out of the base. Uh-oh.
I stared at the orange chair in horror. This was way worse than acid indigestion. I was so sure that the entire salon was about to go up in a literal puff of smoke that I couldn’t even move.
With a high-pitched whine, the machine startlingly cut off with a loud crack and pop and then the lights went out. All was suddenly quiet.
Dallas turned to me, his eyebrows rising. “I think the chair is protesting its color.”
I appreciated he was trying to make a joke to ease the mood since I felt beyond humiliated. I was supposed to be helping, not causing chairs to freak out. “What can I do?” I asked.
“Don’t worry about it.” He touched my arm, giving me a reassuring smile. “Let me check the breaker box to see what’s going on.”
He strode to the back room, his legs clad in those tight jeans and I followed, watching him open a metal box on the wall. His eyes narrowed in concentration and there was dirt smudged on his left cheek. He looked all rugged and insanely sexy. My heart threatened to jump right out of my chest as he leaned against the wall, his shirt tightening along his upper body. Yum.
“This is not good,” he said.
I had to agree. I mean, I was ogling him like he was a Dutch baby, one of those delicious pastries they sold over at the barbecue place and which I never could resist. Gulp.
“What do you mean?” I asked, my voice unsteady.
“I reset the breaker but it keeps popping. Probably a short-circuit. We need to get an electrician to look at this.”
Anxiety hit me like a freight train. “How long before the power can be turned back on?”
He began flipping switches. “Depends on how fast someone can come out. I’ll make a call. Everything I need to do requires power. If an electrician isn’t available then there won’t be anything more to do in here today.”
“I’m sorry.” I didn’t want to admit it but he was right. I sighed. My toe kicked across the floor. An idea came and I brightened. “I could take the chairs out without the power on, but I’m sort of afraid to touch them now.”
“It’s a good idea to get those things out now, especially if the wiring to them is potentially dangerous. I’ll grab my tools after I call about the breaker box.” He sauntered toward the door, looking confident and unperturbed about the huge mess I’d made. He tried several electricians, confirming nobody was available this late on a Saturday. Luckily, he booked someone for tomorrow but the guy was charging us double for a Sunday.
Determined to fix my own mess, I raced to a chair—not the one that went wild on me—and knelt down by the base. I stuck the screwdriver into a screw and began to twist. It didn’t move. Argh! The screw seemed to have rusted into place. I grunted, pushing down with all my strength. But, nothing.
Dallas’s boots appeared before me. “I have power tools.”
I glanced up at him, biting my lip. “There’s no power.”
“They run on battery packs.” He grinned, kneeling down beside me. “Let me help you.”
“No, I’ve almost got it,” I lied, wanting to be able to fix the problem myself. Sweat popped across my forehead as I bent to work the screw again, holding my breath as I tried to get it to turn even a millimeter. Finally, I withdrew. “Okay, have at it.”
He stuck the drill into a screw, hit a button, and the screw whirled up easy as pie.
“Thank you,” I said, giving him a weary smile. I held the bases in place as he got the screws out and cut the wires off the bases so they could be hauled out.
As we worked together, I found his head close to mine as he attempted to free a stubborn screw. I glanced at him. Not only was he sweet, helpful, and capable, he was also hot. So insanely hot. He always had been. Back when I was a teen, I’d had many dreams fantasizing about the two of us being together. But knowing my mom blamed him for Grace’s death made it hard for me to hang out with him after the accident. I’d never blamed Dallas, but I didn’t want to betray my mom. Connor never took sides, but he wasn’t the only living daughter.
The last screw came out and he helped me hold the base up as I made it to my feet. The salon was growing darker by the second and I shot a look at the windows. I hadn’t realized how much time had passed while we’d been working.
“I think that’s all that can be done today,” he said.
I nodded, tearing my eyes away from the window. “I agree.” My worries came flooding back. This latest development didn’t bode well. Neither did Addie spotting me.
“So, how about dinner?” he asked, brushing his hands on the front of his jeans.
My belly flipped. “You mean like a date?”
“Would you like it to be a date?”
Yes. “No.”
“Well, let’s just call it dinner then. I need to eat. You need to eat. Let’s go together.”
“I don’t know . . .” I glanced around at the space. I still needed to convince him to let me have this space for my salon. But I felt way too tempted to say yes. Although, rationally, I probably could find out what might make him change venues if I brought it up in a casual dinner conversation.
“It’s just dinner, Morgan. I’ll take you for barbecue and get you a Dutch baby for dessert.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but I could envision the pile of chopped meat with a sweet and spicy sauce and some slaw on the side . . . and those Dutch babies. If I said yes, it was only for the business. So I could feel him out to get an idea of what might drive him absolutely crazy so he’d want to find a new space.
I took a deep breath. “Okay, it’s a date. I mean dinner.”
It was just dinner. Unfortunately, I was already looking way too forward to it.
Chapter Four
“Am I out of my mind?” I asked my reflection in the bathroom mirror. “I must be,” I said, letting out a sigh as I brushed my hair and then tossed it over my shoulders.
I struck a pose, throwing a flirty smile at the mirror. My smile was so wide it showed every tooth and a lot of gums. Not exactly sexy. How long had it been since I’d gone on a date? Too long. The last guy I’d dated had been a client from the salon in Miami. We went on a few dates, decided we didn’t have much in common, and then we both moved on. For me, dating had always been so blah.
Not that dinner with Dallas was a real date, I reminded myself.
I applied my favorite fuchsia color to my lips and then practiced a toned down smile in the mirror. Less scary. Much better. I dressed in a red sweater with a boat neck, black slacks, and my favorite black boots with their sharp heels.
Finally ready, I stepped back from the mirror just as the doorbell rang. Thank goodness Ruby was still at work. She’d probably be thrilled I was going to dinner with Dallas and she might read more into it than was there. She was such a romantic, but this was only a business dinner. I grabbed my purse and headed for the door.
I swung the front door open and my belly did a flip. Dallas stood there, dressed in dark slacks and a long-sleeve button-down shirt. He wore his leather jacket and he’d taken the time to shave. The scent of his aftershave drifted toward me on a breeze of cool air and I inhaled the woodsy and masculine scent that was all Dallas.
Our gazes connected and locked. Shiver.
“You look beautiful,” he said, his voice low.
“You don’t look bad yourself,” I said, keeping my answer brief so I wouldn’t blurt out how well those clothes fit him or how that jacket brought out the caramel color in his brown eyes. My legs turned to cooked spaghetti and I fought to regain composure.
“Shall we go?” He stepped aside, putting his hand on the small of my back as I fell into step beside him and we walked down the front path toward his truck.
He opened the passenger door for me, making butterflies go crazy in my belly. Such a gentleman. Not a date, I reminded myself.
He hopped in the driver’s side, cranked the engine and then we set off.
I glanced out the window at the surrounding mountains. “I love how the snow looks like powdered sugar on the mountain tops.”
He nodded. “You didn’t get much winter in Florida.”
“No.” I smiled, peering out at the winter beauty with delight. “Hurricanes? Yes. Snow? Unfortunately not.”
“Miami, right?”
“Yes.” I nodded, my brows coming together when he made a right turn, instead of heading downtown as I’d expected. “The barbecue place is the other direction.”
He chuckled. “I know, but we’re too dressed up for ‘cue and slaw. I’m taking you somewhere nicer.”
“Nicer?” I asked, biting my lip. That sounded way too sweet and the last thing I wanted was for this to be like a real date. I squirmed but decided it was fine. I had that plan and I needed to carry it out, pronto.
He took a hard right turn and we headed up a hill. I opened my mouth to comment on the pretty Christmas lights on the houses but then suddenly realized where we were headed. Dallas pulled into the parking lot of The Chop House, the same restaurant where Addie Wilcox said my folks were supposed to have dinner tonight.
That was when it hit me that I’d completely forgotten to call my brother again. Being around Dallas was way too distracting and he’d already gotten out of the truck and opened my door.
I gawked at him. “Um, I didn’t expect to come here.”
“You used to like the unexpected as I recall.” He reached for my hand and before I even knew what was happening my boots were on the ground.
His touch sent warm flares streaking up and down my body and to complicate matters he was standing so close to me that his aftershave filled my senses again and I forgot to protest. He kept my hand in his, guiding me toward the door in a gentlemanly fashion.
My gaze shot around the parking lot but didn’t see my parents’ car. I breathed a bit easier, but not much. I had no idea what time they were heading in for dinner, or if they had parked on the other side of the lot. Maybe Addie Wilcox had gotten it wrong, I reasoned.
We reached the front door, which was a carved slab of burled oak set into the recessed doorway of the restaurant. The Chop House had been modeled after a hunting lodge, but promised a fine dining experience and as we stepped in it was clear that was what they delivered.
The foyer was expensively tiled. Small leather sofas and deep chairs were in casual groupings, inviting those who had to wait to take a seat. The smell of leather combined with the scent of food and the perfume and cologne of the people ahead of us in the short line.
As we waited, Dallas kept hold of my hand, which I liked way too much. To distract myself, I looked upward, taking in the high, beamed ceilings. The host station looked hand-carved from some rich, deep wood and was set up to look like a reception desk at a high-end hotel.
The hostess, an elegant woman with her blonde hair pulled up in a French twist, greeted us and checked Dallas’s name off a list—telling me he’d called ahead and that the change to a nice restaurant had most definitely not been spontaneous—and then she led us through the restaurant.
My heart did a triple flip in my chest when I saw Addie, and a bunch of her equally gossipy cronies, seated at a table near the stone fireplace. I veered to the other side of Dallas, who squeezed my hand as he blinked in confusion.
I gave him a sheepish grin.
He lifted an eyebrow but didn’t ask. Thankfully.
She led us to a private table and smiled. “Your server will be with you shortly.”
“Thank you.” Dallas released my hand and waited for me to be seated.
I dropped into the chair, peeking over my shoulder to see Addie looking down the aisle in our direction. Dallas stood right beside me, so I wasn’t sure if she could see me or not. Desperate now, I switched chairs, moving into the deepest, darkest corner as fast as possible.
Dallas slid into the seat across from me. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” I lied. My gaze traveled across the room to the table opposite the fireplace—and Addie’s table—and that’s when things went from bad to a whole lot of worse. My folks were there! I grabbed the menu and parked it on the right side of my face, peeking over the top of the menu toward my parents, who were chatting away. “I’m just hungry, that’s all.”
Dallas’s finger hooked the top of my menu and pressed down. I yanked the menu back up immediately. “Tell me what’s going on, Morgan.”
I faked an innocent expression. “What do you mean?”
He leveled me with his eyes. “You’re acting weird and Addie Wilcox is leaning way out of her chair to stare over here.” His gaze traveled from me to Addie’s table. “Correction. Addie has leaned so far out of her chair, she’s fallen
off.”
I groaned. “Please tell me you’re joking.”
“Wish I were.” He shook his head.
I peeked around the side of the menu to see Addie splayed out across the beautiful hardwood floor. One of her friends reached down to help her up. My gaze flicked to Dallas. “Did she see me?” I asked, terrified.
He opened his mouth to answer, just as a uniformed woman appeared before us, setting a leather clad wine list on the table.
“Good evening.” She nodded to each of us. “I’m Emily and I’ll be serving you tonight. May I interest you in a wine flight? We have a lovely trio of reds beautifully paired for steak and chops, and we also have some incredible whites, more on the dry side, that pair well with our pasta, seafood and chicken dishes.”
Dallas looked at me. It hit me then that this place was shockingly expensive and he had indicated that he wasn’t exactly rolling in money. Guilt hit me suddenly. He was opening a business and probably couldn’t afford a nice dinner like this to boot.
I took a deep breath. “I insist on buying us a bottle, or the flights. I mean, since you offered to buy my dinner.”
He shook his head. “Nope. This is all me.”
Emily clasped her hands in front of her. “Would you like some time to look over the wine menu?”
Dallas glanced at me. “Want me to choose a red?”
“Sounds good,” I said, my nerves on edge.
He ordered a bottle and then coughed into his hand. “Ahem, red alert.”
I tucked my chin, wondering if he was making some kind of wine joke. If so, I didn’t get it. “Have you taken any medication? You shouldn’t mix that with alcohol, you know.”
He flared his eyes and tilted his head in the direction of the fireplace. “No, red alert. As in, Addie Wilcox is heading this way.”
“What . . .?” I gasped and then did the first thing that came to mind. I dove beneath the table. My cheek pressed against Dallas’s well-muscled calf for a second and then I scooted backward on the floor, trying to stay as deep into the shadows as possible.
