CHAPTER 27
REID
“So you’re out of here after Tuesday, right?” Dori straightens from rows of plantation blind parts spread across the recently carpeted floor of the living room
—slats, cords, hardware and tools separated and organized. “Correct,” she answers, hesitant. She takes her latte from my hand with both of hers, one over the top, one under the bottom, making sure we don’t touch, heedless of what she’s revealing. If she was unaffected when I touch her, she wouldn’t need to avoid the physical contact. I stuff my free hand in my pocket, because that wayward little strand of hair hangs over one of her dark eyes, taunting me with what I did the last time it fel there.
I decided after her disappearing act yesterday afternoon that I might as wel pul out the big guns, because God knows I’ve got nothing to lose. Four days from now wil be the last I see of her; I can’t imagine our paths ever intersecting again. “Since you’l be busy then with packing and last-minute stuff, let me take you to dinner tonight instead. To thank you for being such a patient overseer.” Dori is one of the smartest girls I’ve ever met, so I know she’l see through the fact that I’m acting as if we’ve already got a date for next week and I’m just repositioning it to be more convenient. She’s not going to fal for it, but I’m not sure if she’l cal me on it.
She hides behind her hand momentarily, closing her eyes to draw that too-short strand of hair off of her face and tuck it behind her ear. She takes a soft breath before speaking. “I can’t go to dinner with you.” Ah—the simple, no-explanation approach.
Nope. She’s not getting off that easily.
“Why not?”
“My VBS kids have a rehearsal tonight.”
“Tomorrow, then.”
She fidgets with her cup lid. “The program is tomorrow night.”
I take a sip of coffee, stal ing. These are legitimate excuses. Does she expect me to continue asking? I never ask twice, let alone three times.
“Sunday night?”
“Church.”
Strike three. I can’t help it—I start laughing and she purses her lips and frowns stonily. I tap my chin. “Let me guess. Monday night your friends are seeing you off, and Tuesday, your family has something planned.” She scrapes the cup lid, not meeting my amused gaze.
Which is just as wel , because I’m feeling as frustrated as I am amused, and I’m not sure how wel my blasé guise is holding up. “Wednesday,” she says, glancing up. “The family thing is on Wednesday.”
Some teasing comment is at the tip of my tongue, but that’s not what emerges. “So you’re free Tuesday.” She sucks a little air through parted lips. Probably expecting the teasing comment. “Theoretical y.”
“Is that a yes?”
Her chest is rising and fal ing shal owly, because she’s al owed me to work her right into a corner and we both know it. She’s going to bolt anyway. I see it in her eyes as her brain casts around for a way out of it.
“Dori,” my voice is low, calming, “it’s just dinner, and then you’re off to your life and I’m soon off to mine. Unless you want me to believe that teaching me to paint wal s and instal shelves was oh-so-easy on you.” I smile my most disarming, innocuous smile. “I’ve been a splinter in your pinky for three weeks. C’mon. Make me pay for it.” I want to touch her, my fingers curling inside the pocket of my jeans, but I don’t dare.
When she nods, it takes every ounce of self-control I have not to pump a fist in the air and say hell yeah. “Okay,” she says, eyeing me. “Just dinner.”
“Dinner. Tuesday. Good.” I pul my phone from my pocket and get her number and address before she changes her mind, and then I tap the lid of my cup against hers before I go outside. “Later, boss.”
*** *** ***
Dori
What. Have. I. Done.