Honey Pie (Cupcake Club) - By Donna Kauffman Page 0,28
“Actually, I’d be happy to ask anyone other than you, but you’re the only person I know with a truck.”
He had to work not to smile then, too. “If it will all fit in your little car, it will fit in someone else’s car.”
“With some planning, sure. An open bed truck would just be a lot faster and easier. My car is in your shop. Where your truck is. Every day.” She waved her hand. “You know what? Never mind. I’ve only met a few folks at this point, and just thought . . . but that’s okay. I get it. I’ll figure something out.” She bent down and stuck her hand out. Lolly happily obliged and trotted right back over.
Traitor. To Dylan’s surprise, the dog slowly sat, favoring her hip, then lifted her paw, something she hadn’t done since the fire.
Honey, clearly delighted, took Lolly’s paw and gently shook it. “Well, at least someone has that nice island hospitality my aunt was always telling me about. What a sweet girl you are.” She gave Lolly another scratch behind the ears. “Go work your charms on that guy, will ya,” she said, voice lowered, but still loud enough for him to hear—which wasn’t by accident.
Lolly barked as if in complete understanding. And, knowing the dog, Dylan wasn’t too sure she didn’t.
“I’ll try to get Mr. or Mrs. Hughes to come over with me first thing in the morning. If it wouldn’t be too much of an imposition.” She put one foot back on a pedal to turn around, which was when he noticed she was wearing beat-up red Chucks.
He recognized the classic high-top basketball sneakers because he still had his own ratty old pair.
Lolly barked once at her retreating form, then again, up at Dylan. “Oh, for Chrissake.” He braced a hand on the side of the boat and jumped down, wincing as he bent his knees to absorb the impact. “Hold on. Just—hold on.”
She skidded briefly on the crushed shells, but stopped and stayed upright, then looked back over her shoulder at him, and he felt that . . . thing again in his chest. For the life of him, he couldn’t rightly say there was a single thing about her that should stir anything in him except a great deal of wariness. Her shorts were baggy, and rolled up the way they were, as if recently hacked off, wasn’t the most attractive thing. Her legs were, well, they weren’t hard to look at, but they were almost translucent in their whiteness. Her dark green T-shirt, also baggy, bore some colorful company logo that, from where he stood, looked like a gnome . . . or something. Her hair was in a single ponytail, again. No makeup. No sunglasses, either. Just the big, clunky horn rims. Her eyes were an attention getter, but her face was as fair as her legs. He hoped to hell she was wearing sunscreen.
“Let’s just get it done now,” he said, snagging his keys from the makeshift tool bench. He slapped his thigh. “Come on, Lolly.”
More active than he could recall seeing her in months, the dog all but high stepped it over to the truck, prancing back and forth in her uneven gait.
“Lolly,” Honey said. “I like it. Suits her.” She climbed off her bike, then took a quick two steps back as he reached for it.
That was all it took to shake off the odd moment of awareness and get him right back to reality. “Just putting it in the truck bed.” Why it pissed him off that she got all freaky again he couldn’t have said, but it did. He got that it apparently wasn’t personal, but it felt insulting as hell, all the same.
“Right, thanks. And, listen . . . I do appreciate this. I meant what I said, about paying you for your time. I really didn’t just mean for you to drop everything and—”
“Get in.” He put the bike on its side in the truck bed so it wouldn’t slide. Then he bent down, scooped up Lolly as she wasn’t up to jumping yet, and set her down in the open area between the bike and the cab of the truck. “Be a good girl,” he told her and got a bark in response; then he climbed on the driver’s seat.
Honey paused for a moment, then the engine gunned to life and she leaped toward the passenger door and climbed in. “I really do appreciate this,” she said