Loving Dallas - Caisey Quinn Page 0,73

said would’ve made her life any better. She wasn’t confiding in me in hopes of garnering advice, I don’t think. It was more like she had to say that out loud to someone and I happened to be here.

Knowing I should probably start being more frugal since I’m about to have another mouth to feed, but unable to just do nothing, I grab my wallet and a pen from my purse.

“It’s never too late,” I scrawl on a napkin. I pull out all the cash I have on me and lay it down. It’s nearly three hundred dollars. I have no idea what a fuel pump costs, but I hope that it helps. Sometimes just a little kindness makes a big difference.

It’s never too late, I think to myself as I leave. I believe that. Truly.

Maybe I’m wrong about Dallas. Maybe he doesn’t just care about his music and his career. Maybe he cares about me, too.

But if he doesn’t, if he wants absolutely nothing to do with me or my little gummy bear, then so be it.

This wasn’t supposed to be my life, either; unwed mother at almost twenty-four isn’t exactly my childhood dream come true, but it is my life now. And I’m going to live it the best way that I possibly can. My child will know love and kindness and if Dallas doesn’t want him or her, I will want him or her enough for the both of us. And then some.

33 | Dallas

“BABE, I’M NOT TRYING TO HATE ON YOUR COOKING OR ANYTHING, but I legit have no fucking clue what these are.”

Robyn’s smiling at my ignorance when she comes back into the room with a tray of what I hope is recognizable food.

The tour just wrapped up last week and I have a few days before I leave for Mexico. Robyn blew me off for a while, saying she didn’t want me to catch what she had. As much as I didn’t want to sound like a lovesick idiot, I was twenty-five kinds of relieved when she finally called and invited me over for dinner.

“They’re kale chips, silly. Try one.”

“They’re green and it looks like a plate full of the garnish I usually ignore when it’s sitting next to my steak.”

“How very observant of you. Just eat one. They taste like potato chips. I promise.”

Reluctantly, I lift one to my mouth. “Here goes.”

Robyn watches me, an amused grin playing at her lips.

“Stop smirking at me,” I say once I’ve swallowed. “They’re all right, I guess. Though you do know we have plenty of potatoes here in the great state of Texas, right?”

“Potatoes are full of starch, which turns to sugar.”

I pop another freaky green baked leaf into my mouth. Now that I know when Robyn got so nutritionally conscious, I try to just go with it.

“So what other surprises have you got over there?”

“None. I made the Greek chicken that you like and sautéed some vegetables. Ones you’ll recognize.” She slides the tray of food closer to me. “There’s flour tortillas if you want to make a fajita.”

“Sounds good to me.” I work on assembling my fajita while Robyn grabs me a beer. When she returns I see that she’s drinking plain water.

“No wine tonight? Or good old Midnight Bay bourbon?”

I expect her to toss a throw pillow at me but she just sits down. Across from me instead of next to me, which is just plain disappointing. I’m pretty sure I was invited here for a specific reason, more than just to try kale chips. I have a bad feeling it’s not a reason I’m going to like.

“Nope. Plain old water tonight. I’d never drink bourbon with dinner anyway. It’s more of a dessert drink.”

“Too bad. I’d hoped there’d be a bottle lying around somewhere. I wanted to celebrate.”

Robyn’s eyes widen. “Celebrate?”

“My big news. About the tour. I kind of hoped that’s why you invited me over.”

Part of me thinks she’s messing around and that any minute she’s going to bust out a bottle of champagne. Either she’s developed some hard-core acting skills or she truly has no clue what the hell I’m talking about.

“Your big news,” she says slowly. “News that I should’ve heard about by now.”

“The international leg of the tour.” I press my gaze deeper into hers, trying to figure out if she’s playing dumb or if she really has no idea I’m about to be out of the country for nearly three months.

“The tour,” she repeats, her intonation at