dog stared at her, his nose pressed against the window, his tail wagging ferociously.
Russell licked the window and left one long, steady saliva stream behind.
Chip laughed.
He leaned his forearms against the stoop’s rail and watched Bree climb over the gearshift to the passenger seat. With one arm she pushed the passenger door open. Only after one rather unladylike spill onto the safety of her own yard did he openly chuckle at her again.
Bree’s head whipped toward him as she scrambled to standing, the takeout swinging wildly on her wrist. She pulled a leaf from her sweater. Then her hair.
“Your dog is a menace,” she said, stalking toward him.
“Come now,” Chip said, putting his hand on his heart. “Don’t say that in front of him. You’ll hurt his feelings.”
“And that collar doesn’t work.”
“Nonsense. I’ve checked it every time you’ve asked me. Every. Single. Time. Which makes, like, fifteen.”
She frowned as she stalked up the stairs and stopped on the front porch beside him.
He felt the smile of his eyes crinkling more as he watched her fiery ones. And boy were they fiery. Another dead leaf stuck out from the top of her braid.
Tentatively, he pulled it out.
Bree stiffened.
The world around them went quiet.
His voice was soft. “C’mon. You act as though you’ve never had a fan before.”
Bree’s brow furrowed slightly, and he tipped his chin toward Russell.
“He just likes you.”
She pressed her lips together but didn’t put up much of a fight. “He wants to eat me alive.”
“He wants to smother you with kisses. Is that the worst thing in the world?”
There was another pause.
His eyes flickered to her lips, and he snapped them up when he realized what he’d done.
Heat climbed up his neck as he stepped back.
Chip cleared his throat.
He felt something hit the top of his shoes and glanced down. “Um, you may want to do something about that.”
Bree blinked, then saw the sauce dripping out the bottom of her bag. “Shoot.” Cupping her hand beneath it, she stepped back. Sauce dripped onto her palm as she pushed the door open. “Chicken emergency, coming through!” she called, dashing through the living room, past the group of sitting women, and into the kitchen.
For a wild moment he felt the urge to follow her but then stopped. Looked down at the tops of his sauce-laden shoes. Pulled the door shut.
He didn’t belong in there. With her.
He shouldn’t want to belong in there. With her.
At the very least, he didn’t want to want to belong in there.
In fact . . .
He tapped a text to Ashleigh before settling his phone back in his pocket: What do you think about lunch tomorrow?
He smiled when her positive response came back two minutes later.
For the next two hours, though, he couldn’t help turning an ear toward the raucous laughter and shrill cries as the women’s spades game turned into what appeared to be the competition of the century. As he walked along the basement concrete, following the path of the old wire, filling in the space with new, he listened to Birdie’s complaints and Bree’s consolations. As he used the push rod to get the wire from the basement up into the stud cavity, he grinned at how hard Bree worked to draw Evie into the conversation. As he shut the panel, he noticed the volume of Mrs. Lewis’s laughter at Bree’s jokes. Bree was the glue of that group. Whether they realized it or not, she had single-handedly brought them all a little magic that night.
Upstairs, he flicked on the light and shut the front door softly. “Not too shabby, Green Fairy,” he murmured. The new porch light radiated but for a small smudge on the glass. He leaned in, rubbed it off with the cuff of his jacket, settled back again.
He picked up his tool bag and stuck one hand in his pocket as he jogged down the stairs.
At another burst of laughter inside the house, an idea popped into his head. He pivoted from his path to his front steps to his truck.
He stopped at the rear. Pulled down the tailgate. Hopped into the bed of the truck and dug around.
Pulled out a Frisbee.
Grabbed a Sharpie from his bag and scribbled a hasty note on the disc.
He set the Frisbee on the hood of Bree’s car before turning to go inside.
* * *
Funny thing about women. When you take them out on a first date, the conversation bounces along nicely from topic to topic like a stick bouncing off the slats