The New Girl In Town. Brenda Harlen
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welcome to come over anytime to use my washer and dryer, if you want.”
“Thanks,” she said. “But I’ll stick with The Laundry Basket.”
“That’s right,” he said. “You don’t like to be on top of your neighbors.”
Her eyes narrowed on him.
He grinned. “Or was it that you didn’t like your neighbors on top?”
“Maybe it’s just some neighbors in particular that I have a problem with.”
“You’ll get over it,” he said confidently. “Pinehurst is too small a town to hold a grudge against anyone for long.”
“I’ll give it my best shot,” she told him.
He couldn’t help but chuckle. “I think I’m going to enjoy getting to know you, Zoe Kozlowski.”
“Maybe another time,” she said. “Right now, I want to get home. I have a ton of things to do in the morning.”
“Wait,” he said, as she turned away.
She hesitated with obvious reluctance.
“Let me walk you back.”
“I don’t need an escort.”
“I know you don’t,” he agreed, sliding his feet into his shoes. “But it’s a nice night for a walk and I don’t want you going home mad.”
“I wouldn’t count on your company changing my disposition,” she warned him.
He grinned. “I’ll chance it.”
“What about the beast?”
He glanced regretfully at the animal by his feet. Rosie was looking up at him and thumping his tail in eager anticipation. As much as Mason regretted having to punish him, the dog had to learn that there were consequences to his actions. “Stay.”
The bundle of fur immediately sprawled on the floor, settling his chin on his front paws and looking up at his master with sorrow-filled eyes.
Mason ignored the guilt that tugged at him as he closed the door.
“Why do you call him that?” he asked.
“What?”
“The beast.”
“Because he is one.”
“You’re going to hurt his feelings,” he warned.
She turned, a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “His or yours?”
“You have a beautiful smile, Zoe.”
He was disappointed, although not surprised, that his comment succeeded in erasing any trace of it.
“Flattery is not going to get you or your dog off the hook.”
“Why are you assuming that I have an ulterior motive?”
“Because everyone does.”
He took her hand, rubbed his thumb over the back of her knuckles. She didn’t tug away, but he could tell by the wariness in her eyes that she wanted to.
“Have dinner with me,” he said impulsively.
“I already ate.”
“I didn’t mean tonight.”
She hesitated. “I’m going to be busy with the house for quite a while.”
“You still have to eat,” he pointed out.
“I know but—”
“Tomorrow night,” he interrupted what he was sure would be a refusal. “We’ll barbecue some steaks, open a bottle of wine—”
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