“Except for the bear?” She plucks it off and sticks it on my scoop. “You did well.”
“You know, Addison, that’s one thing I’ve always liked about you—you have great taste in desserts. I always knew I could find leftover peanut butter ice cream in the freezer after you and Jessa had a sleepover.”
She takes a bite, watching me rather intently. “I always picked it because it’s your favorite.”
I pause with another bite halfway to my mouth. “You did not.”
“I did.” She shrugs. “My favorite is just chocolate.”
I honestly don’t know what to say to that.
“Do you even like chocolate peanut butter?” I ask with a laugh.
Addison nods and then takes another bite as if to prove it. My gaze falls to her lips. She goes still, and I slowly raise my eyes to hers.
“Why would you do that?” I ask.
She looks down and studies her ice cream. “Because I liked you.”
“When you were in high school?”
“Yep.” She then scoops up a great big bite, purposely making it impossible for her to say anything else.
“Huh.” I raise my brows and grin.
“Oh, stop,” she says when she swallows, rolling her eyes. “Don’t act like you didn’t know.”
“I didn’t know.”
And now I kind of wonder what would have happened if I did.
She stirs the melted edges of her ice cream. “Well, I can see why—you certainly had enough distractions.”
I study her, not liking something about the way she says it. “Addison.”
She looks up. “What?”
“Is that what you think this is? A distraction?”
She presses her mouth into a thin line—as if she can’t decide if she’s going to smile or frown. “Isn’t it?”
“You’re not a distraction, not to me.”
The smile wins. “Yeah, okay.”
“You’re not,” I insist, slightly offended that she would think she is. How can she not tell how I feel about her?
She meets my eyes, nodding—humoring me.
I let out a wry laugh and sit back in my seat. “Okay, I’ll prove it to you.”
“And how exactly are you going to do that?”
“Drive to my house.”
“Your house?”
I meet her eyes. “That’s right.”
“Carter,” she says, putting on an exaggerated southern accent. “I am not that kind of girl.”
“First, that accent thing is sort of hot, so don’t do that if you’re not that kind of girl, and second, I’m not that kind of guy.”
And she laughs. Laughs.
Feigning offense, I hold out my hands. “Seriously. You know my mother—she taught me to treat women with respect.”
She snorts, her eyes sparkling with wicked disbelief. “Oh, I’ve heard whispers about you, Carter Dalton. You’re not going to pull the wool over my eyes.”
“Okay, I’m not an angel. But I’m not the mustache-twisting villain you’re trying to insinuate.”
Addison glances into the backseat, where Cocoa watches our ice cream with pleading eyes. “You’ll protect me, won’t you?”
In response, the puppy licks his chops.
“Good enough.” She looks back at me, sets the ice cream in her lap, and starts the car.
* * *
I’ve got to be out of my mind. What is Addison going to say when she sees the GTO? What if she thinks I’m insane? Or worse—some kind of obsessed stalker.
I might as well have a collage of her school pictures taped to a wall in my basement.
“You’re awfully quiet,” she says as she pulls into my drive. “Did you give yourself brain freeze?”
“Brain freeze is for lightweights,” I joke.
We get out of the car, and she pauses by her door, looking up at the house. “This is so strange.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve been here a thousand times, but now it’s yours.”
I chuckle though I’m oddly nervous—because Addison’s right. It’s different. She has been here a thousand times, but it was never just us.
She opens the back for Cocoa, and we go in through the garage.
“It’s a little cluttered,” I apologize. “Watch your step.”
She grabs my hand to step over a precarious pile of two-by-fours. “A little?”
Instead of letting go when she’s across, I pull her to me. Her eyes go wide and then flutter to my chest. Cocoa, being the big oaf that he is, completely ruins the moment by barreling over the pile and causing an avalanche of timber.
I close the garage door and escort her into the house, wishing I’d straightened up earlier. It’s not that bad, not really, but I’m not the most organized person.
She shakes her head. “Oh, if your mom could see this place.”
“Feel free to straighten if you feel the need.”
She sets her hands on her hips. “I get it. You brought me here because you need a maid.”
“Only if you wear the outfit.”
Her mouth drops open, and she swats my arm. And maybe I am a villain because I thoroughly enjoy the way her cheeks turn pink.
Laughing, I direct her to the French doors that lead outside. “Come on, Cocoa.”
The puppy practically knocks me over as he takes off. It’s a good-sized yard, and the fence is sturdy. He should be fine for the next thirty minutes or so. I step outside and reach back for Addison.
“Where are you taking me?” she demands when we leave the patio.
“Close your eyes,” I tell her when we get close.
“I don’t think so.”
I set my hands on her shoulders and lean down to meet her at eye level. “Just do it.”
“Fine.” She closes her eyes, and it takes every ounce of my willpower not to kiss her.
She reluctantly lets me lead her. I open the door to the second garage out back, turn on the lights, and pull her inside. “Okay. Open.”
It takes her a minute to take in the scene. She blinks a few times as her eyes adjust from the dark backyard to the bright, fluorescent overhead lights. I know the moment she sees the car.
She stares at it for several seconds, looks at me, frowns, and turns back to the car. “Carter, that’s a GTO.”
“A 1970 GTO.”
Addison is even cuter when she’s flustered, and if I weren’t so nervous that she’s going to think I’m off my rocker, I’d probably laugh.
Setting her hands on her hips, she turns back to me. “You were telling my dad the truth? You’re going to try to sell me a car?”
I look away and rub my neck, staring at the object in question. “Not exactly.”
“Then what?”
“I was fixing it up to give to you—no, don’t say anything yet,” I tell her when she looks like she’s going to object. “Remember that old Nova I had? I traded it for this—and I definitely got the better deal so don’t freak out. The labor’s free and parts are cheap. Mostly, it’s for the experience.”
I can feel her staring at me, but I’m too gutless to meet her eyes.
“And, you know…” I rub the back of my neck. “I knew you’d like it.”
“You bought me a car.” It’s not a question exactly, but she sounds so dumbfounded, it almost seems like one.
“When you say it like that, it sounds a little insane.”
“It is insane.” She shakes her head. “And…wow.”
Unable to keep avoiding her, I finally work up the nerve to look her way and flash her a smile that women usually find charming. “Is that a good wow or a bad wow?”
Her pretty green eyes meet mine, and relief hits me like a ton of bricks. She’s smiling. She doesn’t think I’m unhinged.
Well, maybe she does, but she’s happy nevertheless.
“Carter,” she says, moving toward me. “You’re crazy. You can’t just go buying girls cars.”
And then she’s wrapping her arms
around me, and I’m hit with a case of déjà vu that’s probably thanks to all the times I’ve pictured this moment.
“I can if the girl is you. And I—”
“Stop talking,” she commands. Then her hand is on my neck, her mouth meets mine, and the car is forgotten.
22
Kissing Carter Dalton is kind of like eating one bite of chocolate cake. You tell yourself you just need a taste, that you have the willpower to stop with just that taste, but then you end up scarfing down the entire piece, and you wonder what the heck happened.
Well, let me tell you. It’s been weeks since I kissed Carter in his garage, and do you think I’ve wizened up and put a stop to this foolishness? That I told him this simply, absolutely, positively must stop?
Please—of course not. I’ve only dug myself in deeper.
I don’t even know what we are. Are we friends who accidentally bump lips on occasion? Are we dating? Are we exclusive?
Your guess is as good as mine. We talk about everything—but never about us. Because “us” is scary. “Us” is official. “Us” is trouble.
“Us” is distracting me from work.
I shake my head, trying to get my mind back on the task of addressing a thank you card to Mr. O’Brian. We finished up his ‘70 Ford Torino GT last week. I like to touch base and let the customers know we appreciate their business.
“Are you excited to meet Trevor?” Lydia asks from her desk. Apparently, she’s noticed my distraction—thank goodness she thinks it’s wholly due to a certain ballplayer who’s due to arrive sometime this morning. And while that has something to do with it, it’s more my mind keeps drifting to the beautiful predicament I’ve gotten myself into with Carter.
But Carter aside, the arrival of the roadster is playing out a lot like Christmas morning. All the guys are eager, and we’re barely getting anything done. The roadster itself is fun, but the fact that Trevor McCallin is delivering it himself is what has everyone abuzz.
My phone rings at fifteen-past ten, and I answer it, only half paying attention. “Kentford Restorations, this is Addison. How may I help you?”
“Hi there, Addison,” a man says. “This is Trevor McCallin. I just wanted to give you a heads up that we’re about fifteen minutes away from your shop.”
I twirl my chair away from my desk, and a major case of jitters sweeps over me. I’ve never spoken with someone famous before. “Sounds great, Mr. McCallin. Do you need directions?”
“Not unless the GPS steers us wrong.”
“We’re pretty easy to find,” I assure him, proud of myself for sounding so professional.
“See you in a few.”
I hang up and leave the office, with Lydia on my heels. Because they’re barely working, the guys notice when I step into the garage, and they all swivel their heads my way—well, all but one. Carter studiously ignores me, keeping his eyes on his project.
A forbidden thrill runs through me. No one knows about us—none of the guys, not Jessa or Franklin, and certainly not my dad. I would be lying if I said it didn’t add an extra layer of excitement to our…whatever we are.
“Trevor is about fifteen minutes out,” I announce to the shop. “I just got off the phone with him.”
Isaac grins and saunters my way. “You know, Addison, he was voted most eligible player in Sports Circuit magazine this year.”
I roll my eyes. “Good to know.”
“I’m just saying, if you’re looking for a guy…how about you shoot for the top?”
Apparently unable to help himself, Carter grunts at the suggestion.
I hold my breath, wondering if anyone will notice. A smile dances across Isaac’s face as he shoots a look toward his friend.
“No baseball players,” Dad says, stepping into the shop.
I turn to him, setting my hands on my hips. Feeling unusually feisty, I say, “Who can I date, Dad?”
He raises his brows, surprised. “If you’re looking for suggestions—”
“I’m not.” I force a smile so he’ll think I’m less frustrated than I am.
He shrugs and then instructs the guys to open the back bay doors. As soon as they’re all distracted, Carter glances my way. A secret smile plays across his face, and my heart beats just a little bit faster.
After several long seconds, he pulls his eyes away from mine.
I turn on my heel, heading back to my empty office before I do something stupid and blow our cover. I’m sure anyone could take one look at the two of us and know something is up.
The shop gets quiet as the guys leave their posts and wander into the parking lot, waiting for Trevor and the roadster.
I’m barely inside the office when there’s movement behind me. I turn, surprised because I thought everyone went outside.
“Carter,” I breathe when he closes the door, wraps his arm around my waist, and nudges me against the wall.
“I’ve wanted to get you alone all morning.”
“Anyone could walk in,” I remind him, but I don’t push him away. In fact, my hands are on his shoulders, tugging him toward me.
“Careful,” he warns.
He’s been sanding, and the dust tends to go everywhere. It could certainly transfer to me, leaving incriminating evidence if I get too close.
Instead of answering, I press up on my tiptoes and pull his mouth to mine. It’s a stolen kiss—fast, fiery, and far too brief.
“I’ll cook you dinner tonight,” he promises just before he pulls away. “Bring Cocoa.”
I barely have a chance to agree before Carter is out the door, leaving me alone and breathless.
“Addison,” Lydia says as she steps inside a minute later. “Trevor’s here.”
Flustered, I shove a strand of hair behind my ear and nod. “I’ll be right out.”
When I make it to the back, the guys are unloading the car off the enclosed trailer. Trevor McCallin, a man I’ve only seen on TV, stands next to my father and Carter. He wears a friendly smile and nods as Carter talks. I pause just inside the shop and take a minute to study him—it’s not every day I come face to face with a sports celebrity.
The man is built like a ballplayer should be—tall, broad shoulders, narrow waist. His backside is nice too, but I’m too much of a lady to let my eyes linger there for more than a second. He wears his hair stylishly short, and it’s that particular shade of blond that could go brown in the winter months. According to Google, Trevor grew up in the Midwest, and there’s a wholesomeness about him. I can picture him on a farm, hauling hay all afternoon, just as easily as I can see him on the baseball field.
“Addison,” Dad says when he spots me lingering by the bay doors. “Come meet Trevor.”
“Hi,” I say to him as I make my way over. “We spoke on the phone.”
Trevor takes my hand and gives it a friendly shake. “I recognize you from TV.”
I laugh, never sure what to say when people mention it. It’s not like I’m famous or anything—I’m not. But I’ve ended up on a few shows along with my dad. Only someone obsessed with the business would ever know me.
“That’s a coincidence—I recognize you from TV too,” I say, earning a bright smile.
With a start, I realize I’ve gravitated right to Carter’s side as I talk to Trevor. It would be entirely natural for him to slide his arm around my waist, but I take a deliberate step away, putting some much-needed space between us.
“Carter was just telling me what he envisions for the roadster.” Trevor motions to the sad-looking car the guys are rolling into the shop. I’ve seen restored ones sell at auction for more than two hundred thousand, but this thing is in sad shape. There’s visible rust, the paint is trashed, the soft top is missing, and the upholstery has lived a long, hard, mouse-infested life. We’re going to have to take this thing down to its bare bones.
“Where did you find it?” I ask Trevor.
“I mentioned in an interview that I’ve always wanted to find one, and this guy emailed my agent a few
weeks later. Apparently, the roadster had been sitting in a shed on his back property for the last fifty years.”
“Well, it’s going to get a new life now,” Dad says, grinning at the decrepit vehicle. “Let’s go into my office, and you and Carter can continue your discussion.”
True to his word, Dad is really letting Carter take the lead on this. We’re going to have to be more careful than ever.
“You want to come too, Addison?” Dad asks.
I glance at Carter and then immediately look away. “No, that’s all right. I’ve still got a lot to do.”
“Don’t work too hard, pumpkin.”
“I won’t,” I promise, and then I turn to Trevor. “It was great to meet you.”
He gives me a grin that’s graced grocery store magazine racks everywhere. “You too.”
I don’t dare look at Carter, so I walk away after that, probably seeming a little rude, but I know he’ll forgive me. Besides, he’s practically drooling over the roadster.
He’s in car heaven, and my heart gets all warm and gooey just seeing him this happy. But it also scares me because this right here is what Carter lives for—this is his life. No matter what, I won’t allow us being together to destroy that.
23
“Let’s go to a movie,” I say to Addison.
As usual, we’re sitting on my couch, cocooned in our own world. Don’t get me wrong—I love having Addison all to myself. But I’m getting tired of feeling like she’s a dirty secret. We’re always here or at her place, eating takeout, pizza, or something I cook.
She looks at me, frowning. “Like in a theater?”
“That’s generally where people go to see a movie.”
“Is that a good idea?”
I shift toward her and pull her feet onto my lap. She lets out a quiet sigh as I rub the arch of her foot with my thumbs.
“I have it all figured out,” I tell her. “I’ll go in first and find us seats toward the back. Five minutes later, you’ll show up and come find me. When the show is over, we’ll separate before we leave.”
“That’s very black and white movie of you,” Addison says with a smile.
27 Ways to Find a Boyfriend Page 14
