getting in the way.”
It was a good thing Dylan hadn’t given in to the growl in his stomach and pinched a bite of the jelly roll, because he’d have surely choked on it. “Well . . . I wouldn’t rightly know,” he somehow managed.
She continued to look over the car. “Which is why you need to get out and socialize more. A man your age, still single, looking like you do. You’re what, thirty now, thirty-one? It’s almost a crime, really, when you think about it.”
Completely at a loss for words, he forced himself to swallow and tried to decide the best way to get her to head on out. He tolerated her occasional attempts to talk him into attending this event or that one, but this hard press was a first, even for her. “I . . . appreciate the thought, but I’m fine. Just fine.”
She turned to him then, the twinkle replaced by a shrewd, direct gleam. “You’ve done your granddaddy proud, you have, Dylan Ross. I haven’t mentioned it, but I knew Tommy quite well. His brother, Dick, too. A bit of a rascal that one, always into this or that.”
Dylan said nothing, as that was about as kindly as she could have put it. And far more than the man deserved. “I appreciate that, too. Thanks again for—”
“And I know your Daddy would have been, too.” She sighed, fluttered a hand near her heart. “God rest his soul.” Her voice had wavered a bit, but her gaze did not, which had his own eyes narrowing slightly; she clearly wasn’t done yet. “Now, I know it’s not my place to say such things, but just because your mama wasn’t there to help your poor daddy with his troubles, and your brother . . . lost his way, does not mean you have to hide—”
Dylan’s scowl shut down that particular line of conversation. He couldn’t quite believe she’d gone there.
“I’ve said too much.” But Alva didn’t look all that remorseful.
Nor, he noted, did she give him that pitying look so many of the older islanders did. He hated that look.
“I meant it kindly,” she told him, a smile back in her voice. “I’ve always marveled at how well you’ve done for yourself. We can’t choose the family we’re born to, and all you’ve done is give yours a good name. I know it had to be heartbreaking when the shop your granddaddy started up burned to the ground in that fire, but you seem to be settling in over here. This row of old buildings hasn’t seen any use in as long as I can remember. Maybe now that you’re in here, others will follow your lead and spruce up the rest of the strip. I heard someone bought the space right next door.” She let the sentence dangle, but he didn’t pick up the bait.
He was still trying to process everything else she’d said. Besides, it was no one’s business but his own that he’d been the one who had bought up the adjoining building. Insurance had paid out better than anticipated on the old place and he’d had to reinvest it somehow. Way he saw it, if folks suddenly did take an interest in revitalizing the remaining buildings that fronted the channel, he could sell it at a tidy profit to whomever would annoy him the least.
“It’s good to be a bit closer to the center of things,” Alva was saying. “Not tucked away down there by the fishing docks, but here in the heart of town. More social, don’t you think? I’d think it’d be better for business. Better for you, too.”
He’d come to stand beside her, ostensibly to find some way to escort her out that didn’t require bodily removing her, but before he could figure out exactly how to go about that, she reached over and squeezed his arm, then patted his hand. “Oh, don’t look so stormy. I’m not asking you out on a date. But you should think about it. Dating, I mean. I’m not the only single woman on Sugarberry.”
He’d stepped into the Twilight Zone. There was no other explanation. She’d gone past flummoxing him, even pissing him off, to just, well . . . flustering him. Rallying his thoughts, he somehow found the wherewithal to force a smile. “And here I thought you were seeing Hank Shearin.”
If he wasn’t mistaken, her cheeks warmed right up, even under her carefully applied rouge. “Now, don’t you go believing everything you hear.