Chapter Eleven
He had to stop kissing that girl, that’s all there was to it. Now, because he’d kissed her, and he’d kept thinking about kissing her, and he’d been off his game, Dax had managed to get himself stuck hosting a small barbecue. He’d rather guide a canoe over Niagara Falls, but that’s what happened when a woman distracted a man—he said and did dumb things.
It happened the day after that kiss. He was up early. He hadn’t slept well because he’d been thinking about it all night. And he had some furniture to deliver that morning and was worried the varnish hadn’t dried.
He stopped in at the Green Bean to devour a bear claw and read the morning paper, starting with page one and then concluding with the MLB box scores, none of which he retained thanks to Kyra and her lips, then headed over to John Beverly Home Interiors.
He pulled around to the back just as Wallace was arriving at work in his red roadster. Wallace was wearing bright yellow pants today with a pink polo shirt, a belt with pineapples dancing across it, and boat shoes. It was a little blinding.
Wallace lowered his mirrored Ray-Bans to look at Dax. “What a treat for my morning eyes,” he said. “Wouldn’t I like to wake up to you every morning.”
“Yeah, well, the feeling is not mutual,” Dax said.
“So cruel,” Wallace said, smiling. “What’d you bring me, handsome?”
“A dresser,” Dax said. He opened the gate of his pickup and brought it down, putting the drawers in so Wallace could inspect it.
“Beautiful,” Wallace said as he ran his hand over the top.
Not only had Dax cut a top with wavy edges, he’d distressed the whole piece to give it a rustic look. People up here liked that look in their lake houses. As if they’d salvaged their furniture from pioneers.
“It looks like a piece right out of Alice in Wonderland. Or The Wild Wild West,” Wallace said.
“Huh,” Dax said, looking at the piece again.
“Either way, I adore it, as usual,” Wallace said and sighed longingly as he glanced at Dax again. “To think of all that talent bound up in the body of one tight T-shirt. Come in, let me write a check.”
As Wallace retreated to the office to cut the check, Dax examined a vase with some paper hydrangeas, his thoughts drifting back to last night. He was so distracted by those thoughts, so caught up in remembering how her mouth had felt against his, and her body had felt against his, and how much he’d liked it, that he missed the approach of Janet and didn’t see her until she popped up right in front of him. “Well?” she demanded. “How was your date?”
The kiss business was bad—Dax had forgotten all about Heather.
When he didn’t answer immediately and effusively, Janet punched him in the arm. “Come on, Dax—how’d you like Heather?”
“She was nice,” Dax said. Maybe he should ask Wallace to start mailing his checks to him so he wouldn’t have to come in at all.
“She really liked you,” Janet said, waggling her eyebrows at him. “She said she was hoping you’d go with her to this new jazz club in Black Springs Saturday. I told her I was sure you’re free.”
“Why would you say that, Janet?” he asked, annoyed.
“Because I’m sure you are,” she said with an indifferent shrug.
“Well, I’m not.”
“Why not?” Janet demanded.
Why had he ever let himself be talked into this mess? “I’ve got a thing Saturday.”
Janet stared. And then she laughed. “You don’t have a thing. Come on, Dax, don’t make me laugh. You don’t have anything but that dog. You shouldn’t be so shy. You have to get out there and meet people—”
“I’m having a barbecue, that’s why,” he blurted before Janet could browbeat him into a jazz club.
Janet gasped. And then she laughed harder.
“What is so funny?” Beverly McCauley Sanders, the owner of the shop, came in through the front door as Janet was practically writhing on the floor in a skirt that was just too short.
“Dax is hosting a barbecue!” Janet wailed.
“What?” Wallace screeched as he came out of the office with a check.
This was Dax’s own damn fault for having opened his mouth. “What’s the big deal?” he asked irritably. “I’ve got new neighbors. I’m being . . . neighborly.”
The three John Beverly employees looked at each other. And then howled again.
“What?” Dax demanded irritably.
“Don’t mind them,” Bev said soothingly as she fought to contain a huge smile. “Where are you having this barbecue, sugar?”
“At my place.”
“In your hobbit hovel?” Wallace squealed with delight.
“It’s not a hovel, it’s cozy. And it’s a small barbecue,” Dax said defensively. “Just some folks living near me.”
“You know what?” Bev asked. “John and I will be at my mom’s on Saturday. We’ll come by, too.” Bev’s mom and dad were Mr. and Mrs. McCauley, who, he’d also forgotten, would be included in the general folks living near me. Dax should have thought of that complication, but no, he’d turned his head to mush by kissing a very attractive woman.
“We’ll all come by!” Janet said.
Dax began to panic. “That’s not what I had in mind.”
“It’s not a big deal, sweetie,” Bev said, waving her ring-heavy fingers at him. “Just throw some more dogs on the grill. I’ll bring my famous potato salad.”
“It’s not famous,” Wallace said. “It’s right out of Betty Crocker.”
“I don’t have a grill,” Dax said.
Wallace gasped. “What is this, some sort of Boy Scout cookout? Hot dogs on sticks?” He pressed a hand to his throat.
“It’s a small group,” Dax said.
“Darling, you still have to have a grill,” Wallace said. “I have a tabletop grill. I’ll bring it. But I am not eating hot dogs. Do you know how processed they are? We need turkey burgers.”
“I can bring turkey burgers,” Janet said.
“This is really not what I had in mind,” Dax said again, sounding pretty hopeless even to himself.
“Don’t you worry about it,” Bev said and gave him a pat to his cheek. “It’s going to be fine. It’s a barbecue, not brain surgery. Shall we say four?”
“Sounds perfect,” Janet said.
“Great! Now, let’s get to work!” Bev said and whirled around, her silky tunic swirling with her.
That’s how Dax was stuck with planning a barbecue for Saturday. He hadn’t actually grilled anything in years, and he hadn’t exactly had people over in at least as long. This was going to take some planning. He’d have to make a list or something. He’d have to get things he’d never use again, like pickle relish and charcoal.
He returned to Number Two and sat in his truck, thinking about this damn barbecue and the predicament he’d gotten himself into. But he had to hand it to himself—he’d given himself the perfect excuse to see Kyra again.
The jury was out as to whether this captivation was a good idea or not. Dax didn’t feel like his heart had quite healed from the split with Ashley. He didn’t feel like he had the strength to go through it all again. But there was something about that woman with the dark hair and the nutty little kid that had gotten under his skin. So Dax screwed up his courage, pulled out his phone, and scrolled through his contacts. There it was: Kyra the Neighbor.
He texted, Having a barbecue Saturday. Small group. You and coconut free? He stared at the text, wondered if he ought to edit it, and chewed on that a moment until he got impatient with himself. Once a guy started editing texts, that was it—he was hooked. It had been a couple of kisses, goddammit, not a date. This wasn’t a life decision, this wasn’t a commitment. It was a damn barbecue. He punched Send.
He waited.
And waited.
Approximately two hours after he’d sent the original text, his phone pinged. He pulled it out of his pocket. Yes, she wrote. Thanks! We’ll bring cookies.
Dax smiled. Otto’s tail began to thump. He looked at the dog staring up at him from his sprawl across the kitchen floor. “What are you looking at?” Dax demanded, and went back to work designing a new hutch.