Baby Steps. Karen Templeton
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was C.J.”
“Why would you think that?”
“Because your face wasn’t darker than your dress five minutes ago.”
“Bite me.”
That merited a cackle. “He ask you out?”
“No, goofball—he has another place to show me.”
“Miss?” the mother asked. “How much is this play kitchen?”
“It should be tagged,” Mercy said with a smile. “Let me see if I can find it for you.” Then, over her shoulder to Dana as she edged toward her customer, “I’ve got a real good feeling about this one.”
“Oh, for pity’s sake, Merce—”
“The property, the property,” Mercy said, saucer-eyed. “Why, what did you think I meant?”
Then she cackled again, and Dana thought, With friends like this…
Dana was so quiet, so expressionless. C.J. listened to her sandals tapping on the dusty wooden floor as she wordlessly walked from room to room in the quasi-Victorian, her expression telling him nothing.
“The Neighborhood Association would be thrilled to have you in the area. Plus, it’s close enough to Old Town to pull in a nice chunk of the tourist traffic. And I think the other businesses around would complement yours—”
She shushed him with a swat of her hand.
It was beastly hot in the house, which smelled of musty, overheated wood and dust and that damned perfume; several strands of her hair hung in damp tendrils around her neck.
And he stared. As if he’d never seen damp necks and tendrils before. So he looked out a grimy window, thinking maybe it was time to bring the electronic little black book out of retirement. Except the thought made him slightly nauseous.
The tapping came closer, stopped. He turned; she was smiling. Beaming.
“It’s perfect! When can the others see it?”
“Whenever you like.”
She clapped her hands and let out a squeal like a little girl, her happiness contagious. And C.J. hoped to hell his inoculations were up to date.
A few minutes later, after they’d returned to their cars, C.J. said, “See, what did I tell you? When it was right, you had no trouble at all making a decision.”
Her laugh seemed to tremble in the heat. “True. In fact…” Her gaze met his over the roof of his car. She glowed, from the heat, from excitement, from what he guessed was profound relief. “I feel downright…empowered.”
C.J. opened his car door, letting out the heat trapped inside. “And what,” he asked without thinking, “does an empowered Dana Malone do?”
Her grin broadened. “She offers to cook her Realtor dinner.”
Nothing to lose, Dana reminded herself as perspiration poured down her back in such a torrent she prayed a puddle wasn’t collecting at her feet. As she watched C.J.’s smile freeze in place, the undeniable beginnings of that Oh, crap look in his eyes.
“But before you get the wrong idea,” she said over her jittering stomach, “this is only to thank you for all your patience with me, especially since I know how busy you are and you probably eat out a lot, or stick things in the microwave—”
“Dana,” he said gently, looking wretched. “I’d love to, really—”
And here it comes.
“—but I don’t think…that would be a good idea.”
Despite having steeled herself for the rejection, embarrassment heated her face. Still, she managed a smile and a light, “Oh. Well, it was just a thought. No harm, no foul.” Except after she opened her own car door, she wheeled back around. “Although you could have at least lied like any other man, and told me you already had plans or something.”
“And if you’d been any other woman,” he said softly, “I probably would have. But you deserve better than that.” He drew in a breath, letting it out on, “You deserve better than me. Marriage, babies…not in my future, Dana. But something tells me you very much see them in yours.”
Her eyes popped wide open. “Who said anything about…? It was just dinner, for heaven’s sake!”
Now something dangerously close to pity flooded his gaze. “Would you have extended the same invitation if I were involved with someone? Or if you were?”
“Um…well…” She blew out a breath, then shook her head.
His smile was kind to the point of patronizing. “I’m a dead end, Dana. Don’t waste your effort on me.”
She glanced away, then back, her mouth thinned. “I’m sorry, it was stupid, thinking that you’d…be interested. Especially after everything Trish said.”
His head tilted slightly. “Trish?”
“Lovett. My cousin. She worked for you for about six months, oh, a year ago? And she said…never mind, it’s moot now.”
“Dana,” C.J. said, a pained look on his face, “trust me, it’s better this way.”
Their gazes skirmished for a second or two before she finally said, “Yes, you’re probably right,” then got into her sweltering car and drove off, repeating “No isn’t fatal” to herself over and over until, by the time she got home and called Cass with the good news about the store, she was almost tempted to believe it.
Way to go, dumb ass, C.J. thought as he sat at a stoplight, palming his temple. In less than a century, man had invented cell phones, the Internet and microwave pizza. And yet after fifty thousand years, give or take, no one had yet to figure out how to let a woman down without hurting her.
But what else could he have said? That, yeah, actually he would have killed for the privilege of spending a little more time in her company? To see that dimpled smile, to hear her laugh? To simply enjoy being with a woman without an agenda?
Except…she did have one, didn’t she? Maybe a bit more soft-edged than most, but no less threatening. Or sincere. And how fair would it have been, to accept her offer, to give her hope, when he knew it wouldn’t go any further? That selfish, he wasn’t.
And then there was the little sidebar revelation about Trish being her cousin. Uh, boy…he could just imagine what would hit the fan if Dana knew everything about that little side trip to insanity.
C.J.’s brow knotted. So why didn’t Dana know? Then he released a breath, realizing that whatever Trish’s reasons for keeping certain things to herself, if she hadn’t told Dana by now, she probably wouldn’t. And there was no reason for her to ever find out, was there?
A car horn honked behind him: while he’d been on Planet Clueless, the light had changed.
And even if she did, he thought as he stepped on the gas, what difference would it make? Once this deal was finalized, he’d have no reason to see or talk to Dana Malone ever again.
Which was a good thing, right?
In a bathroom flooded with far too much morning sunshine, Dana blearily stared at herself in the mirror. She pulled down a lower lid—yeah, the bloodshot eyes were a nice touch. Not to mention the still slightly visible keyboard impression in her right cheek. Charming.
She shakily applied toothpaste to brush, only to realize she wasn’t sure she had the oomph to lift the brush to her mouth. From the living room, her pair of finches chirped away, merrily greeting the new day, momentarily tempting her to go find a hungry cat. But if she’d been up until nearly 4:00 a.m., at least she hadn’t spent it brooding. Much. Since here she was, still alive (sort of), she guessed her “No isn’t fatal” mantra had worked. And anyway, she’d only have