Dawson was starting to become familiar enough with Clara’s various expressions that he could tell if he was going to get a brush-off from her or an actual answer. When she’d told him that she didn’t like PDA, he’d taken it in stride. Some people didn’t. As for him, he’d had no problem with it. Early in his relationship with Romy, they’d been plenty affectionate in public. But as their marriage wore on, they seemed to see each other less and less, so the opportunities had been few.
Clara saying that her ex had “rules” was hard to ignore, and his curiosity had only been growing by the minute. Was her ex some sort of control freak? If so, then he was glad their relationship had ended. Whether anything worked out between him and Clara, she didn’t deserve that sort of relationship. Besides, she was too smart to get involved with someone like that, right? Although, he’d heard of stories of men dating toxic women, and vice versa.
Right now, she was staring at him like he was crazy, and he knew he wasn’t going to get an answer to his question. Although he didn’t mind her staring at him; he could get used to that pretty quickly.
“It’s probably not fair to compare my ex to another guy,” she said at last. “Everyone’s different, that’s all.”
He tried to hold back a smile. “So you keep telling me.” He wanted to reach for her hand again but decided he’d better wait for her to make the next move. She seemed interested, and they’d had some good conversations amid all the bantering, so that gave him some hope. Hope for what, he wasn’t sure. The long list of failures Romy had written up came to mind, and he hadn’t conquered any of them. Why would he want to put those faults onto another woman?
“Where did you go?” Clara said, touching his arm. Her fingers were warm, soft, and he wondered if this gesture could be considered the “next move.”
Dawson blinked. “What do you mean?”
Her fingers moved down his arm, then dropped away. “You just sort of looked like you’d left the country or something.”
“Oh,” he said, lifting his hand and rubbing the back of his neck. “With all this talk of exes, I was reminded of my list of failures.”
Clara’s brows drew together.
“You know, when your ex writes up all the things she hates about you.”
“Um . . . I don’t know,” she said. “That sounds pretty brutal. I hope you burned the list.”
What was it about Clara’s blue eyes? They were so steady and unwavering. “Nope. It’s in a file somewhere.”
Clara shook her head. “She really wrote a list?”
“It was more like a series of paragraphs, three pages to be exact,” Dawson said.
“Can I help you find something?” a woman’s voice cut in.
Dawson looked over to see the bookstore employee approaching them. It was the same brunette who’d helped him before—Felicity. The other customer in the store seemed to have left. He was about to say no thanks, then thought better of it. “Do you have the book called My Lady Jane, by, um—”
“Oh, the one with the three authors,” Felicity said. “Brodi Ashton is one of them. I’ll check. That one has been popular.”
While Felicity left them alone again to walk to the register at the sales counter, Clara picked up the Fish & Game magazine he’d set down. “I’ll buy this for you, my treat.”
When he started to protest, she put her hand on his chest. “You paid for dinner last week, and lunch today. It’s my turn. Besides, I think a good fishing story is the perfect antidote against letters from ex-wives.”
Normally, Dawson wouldn’t have agreed. Nothing was an antidote against his list of failures. But how could he argue with Clara’s hand on his chest? He put his hand over hers and squeezed.
“Okay,” he said.
“Okay.” She laughed and pulled her hand out of his grasp, then walked to the register, magazine in hand.
He watched her for a moment, then followed her.
Felicity had found a copy of My Lady Jane. When she looked up, she said, “Weren’t you the guy in here the other day buying a couple of romances?”
Dawson squared his shoulders. “Yep. That was me. I enjoyed both of them.”
Even though he wasn’t looking at Clara, he could practically see her holding back a laugh.
Felicity didn’t even crack a smile. “Great to hear. You’ll enjoy this one too, especially if you like horses.”
Clara looked over at Dawson with anticipation, but he couldn’t meet her gaze, because then he’d start laughing.
“It will be $21.55 for both,” Felicity said with a nod.
Clara plunked a debit card on the counter and gave him a don’t-argue-with-me look. He stepped back and let her complete the transaction. When Felicity handed over the sack with both items inside, Clara passed it off to Jeff.
“Thank you,” he said, feeling like a kid thanking his mom for ice cream. Although Clara was nothing like his mom.
They left the shop together, with Dawson thinking fast about how else he could prolong this afternoon with Clara. He had plenty of work to do, but he was reluctant to say goodbye to Clara.
His phone buzzed, and he looked at the incoming call. His mom was calling; it was like she knew he’d just thought of her.
“Uh oh,” he said, slipping his phone back into his pocket after selecting the “Can I call you later” option. They were almost to his truck, and Clara’s car was only a couple of spots away.
“What is it?” she asked.
“My mom,” he said, slowing his step. “She’s onto me.”
Clara slowed with him and gave him a quizzical look.
“I sent her a text asking her when the next book club is,” he said, “and told her I might have a friend who’s interested.”
“You can call her if you need to,” Clara said. “I’ve got to get home and get my Sunday afternoon nap in. It’s one of my rules. You know, Sunday naps.”
He lifted his brows.
She shook her head.
He stared at her, and she stared back, one side of her mouth lifted in a smirk. Too bad she hated PDA, or he might be tempted to kiss her right in the middle of the sidewalk. Still, he leaned in, just a little, to see what she would do.
She stepped away. “Enjoy your magazine,” she said, moving farther and farther from him.
“Wait,” he said. “When are we going to read the book?” He held up the sack.
“I might start tonight,” she said, lifting her brows as if she were challenging him.
“Me too,” he said. He’d slept longer than usual, which meant he’d probably be up later too.
“Sounds like a plan,” she said. “Have a good rest of the day.”
Dawson lifted his hand in a half-hearted wave. By the time he reached the driver’s side of his truck and climbed in, she’d already driven away. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes for a second. Yep, he could still see that sassy smile of hers in his mind.
He secured his Bluetooth and called his mom.
“Hello, son,” she said as soon as she answered. “Who is this woman?”
“What are you talking about?” he said, pulling onto Main Street.
“I just ran into Jeff Finch, and we got talking,” his mom said. “Then I put two and two together about your questions on book club.”
Dawson stifled his groan. If he was unequivocally dating Clara, then he’d be fine with this conversation. But so far, everything he’d suggested about his parents had been shut down. First, the symphony, then the book club suggestion. Although that still had potential.
“Her name is Clara Benson, and we’re friends.”
“Uh-huh,” she said, sounding doubtful. “Does this have anything to do with the real reason you turned down the symphony tickets and refused to come to the luncheon that included Paula Smith?”
“Paula Smith doesn’t factor into this,” Dawson said, slowing his truck and stopping at the light. “I’m not going to date Paula, period.”
“Tell me about this Clara woman.”
His mom didn’t mince words, which sort of reminded him of Clara, when he thought about it.
“She’s a kindergarten teacher,” he said. “She moved to Pine Valley a few months ago to start over after her grandma died.”
“That is quite the change,” his mom said. “Jeff says she’s a redhead.”
Dawson wanted to laugh. Where was his mom going with this? “I don’t see Jeff telling you that, unless you asked him what she looked like.”
“Hmm,” his mom said, and Dawson could just picture her pursing her mouth, creating those little vertical lines. “You’re a tall man, and I just don’t picture you with a short redhead. You know that redheads have personalities that can be demanding? Especially the women.”
Dawson was trying really hard to not let his mom’s words get under his skin. She was tall, willowy, and blonde—which now came from a bottle to cover up any grays. “If you ask me, it’s refreshing to date a woman who isn’t afraid to speak her mind. It really takes the guess work out of things, and I’m not anticipating a three-page letter any time soon that picks apart every single one of my flaws.”
His mom went silent. Dawson hadn’t meant to take such a deep jab, at her and himself. In Romy’s letter, she’d included several things she’d been upset with about his parents.
“Well, you know me,” his mom said at last, her tone softer now. “Don’t judge someone until you get to know them. But I thought you said you weren’t dating.”
He exhaled. “We’ve hung out a couple of times.” Like five minutes ago. “She was recently in a serious relationship, and well, you know my history, so she wants to keep things casual for now.”
“And you?” his mom prompted.
Dawson paused. “I agree we should take things slow, but I like her. Believe me, I’m as surprised as anyone would be. And it has nothing to do with the color of her hair.”
His mom clicked her tongue.
“I don’t know where any of this is going,” he continued. “But if you meet her, I expect you and Dad to be on your best behavior.”
“Oh, Dawson,” his mom chided, but there was humor in her tone. “You won’t have to worry about me. I’m always polite to your dates.”
“Agreed, but you could also be friendly.” Dawson had arrived at his condo parking lot. He pulled into his assigned space and shut off the ignition. “Clara’s bright, intelligent, and she’s been through a lot of hard things, so I’m not really ready to hear someone criticize her.”
“I wasn’t—okay, I’m just curious, that’s all.” His mom sighed. “You went through the wringer with Romy, and no one would blame me for watching out for my son.”
It was Dawson’s turn to sigh. “I’m fine, Mom. You’re the one who’s been trying to set me up. Clara is the first woman I’ve even been interested in since my divorce. And don’t worry, I’m quite enjoying being friends with her.”
His mom cleared her throat. “All right then, dear. I look forward to meeting Clara sometime.”
She couldn’t be making it more obvious that she didn’t exactly approve, and she wanted to meet Clara in order to put in her two cents. Dawson had no doubt that Clara could hold her own around his mom, but he didn’t want his mom to get the idea that she could in any way influence his love life.
Love life. Dawson hadn’t thought of himself in that context for a long time . . . maybe ever.
After hanging up with his mom, he climbed out of his truck and snatched the sack from the bookstore. He smiled to himself as he thought about how Clara had bought the book and magazine for him. She was definitely not a pushover or looking to be treated like a princess.
It was a different experience walking to his front door and not seeing any sign of Leslie lurking around corners. He entered his apartment, set the sack on the counter, and powered on his laptop. While he was out, Mandy, his paralegal, had emailed back the final formatted brief. It should only take a few minutes to double-check a few things, then on to the next case he had to review. Mandy had researched the details of both sides of the case and sent over her summary and links to more information. He had to go through it all before his Monday morning appointment with a new client who’d been sued by her former brother-in-law for her dead husband’s portion of the family business.
An hour later, he realized he wasn’t as focused on reviewing Mandy’s research as he should have been.
He kept thinking about his mom’s assumptions about Clara, and he realized they only made him want to spend more time with her. He wondered if it was too soon to text her. He eyed the sack from the bookstore, then took out My Lady Jane. He’d read a chapter or two, then text Clara to see if she’d started.
Dawson settled on his couch and opened the book. He wasn’t an expert on British history, but the authors made it clear that the story was based on a fractured re-telling, with, people who shape-shifted into various animals. It was all rather ridiculous, but Dawson found himself laughing aloud in the first chapter.
He reached for his phone and texted Clara. This book is hilarious.
Her reply came a few minutes later. You already started? I’m impressed.
I have to get back to my legal research for a case soon, but I’m finding Edward a misguided, yet compelling character.
Wow, you should be in a book club. Misguided, yet compelling?
Dawson typed back a face-wink emoji.
Clara was too smart, as usual. Ok. Nice distraction. What did your mom say?
Dawson abandoned the texting and called her.
She answered on the first ring. “That bad, huh?”
“Nothing bad,” Dawson countered. “My mom would have figured things out eventually, but she ran into Jeff Finch today.”
“Uh oh.”
“It’s all good,” Dawson said. “Don’t worry. I told my mom we’re just friends.”