pounds in two weeks and started getting tendonitis in her left wrist), part-time bookkeeper, zip-line instructor—
A rap at the door jolted her. She stood.
Bree was at the door before realizing she was approximately five seconds too quick in getting there. After all, he was the one with the deadline. For that matter, she could get herself another cup of coffee and do a few pushups before answering. Heat up a frozen dinner in the microwave. Go wash her hair. He was at her mercy.
At her mercy. She liked the ring of that.
She lingered, her hand on the doorknob, then dropped it. Slowly, careful to avoid the creaking floorboards, Bree moved back to her seat. She looked at her screen.
Where was she? Ah, yes. Zip-line instructor. Had it not been for that little matter of mis-locking that man’s carabiner after he had tried to feel her up on that two-foot-wide platform, she probably would still be managing the place.
But honestly, who doesn’t check their own harness clips before jumping off a thirty-foot pole?
Besides, a safety net had caught him—no harm, no foul.
Another rap came on the door and she tapped a few words on the keyboard, loudly, then pushed her long braid over her shoulder. She felt the bumpy locks on the top of her head and raked her fingers through them as she stood up and walked to the door.
With a slight breath she paused, swung the door open, and crossed her arms across her chest, ready for fire.
Only it wasn’t her surly neighbor in a wet, beat-up shirt wielding a shovel, but Theodore. In a crisp suit. Holding a bouquet of flowers.
Her arms fell. “Theodore?”
“I was passing by Misty’s Floral and saw these.”
“Oh really?”
His tentative smile started to fall.
“I mean, oh really!” She took the array of yellow flowers in her hand. “Wow! You shouldn’t have.”
“And then . . . these.” He held up a bag of pickle potato chips.
“Nice!” She snatched them, then realized how barbaric her grab had been.
“I mean . . . oh, how nice. What a nice, supplementary thing to bring when the focus is these delightful flowers.”
His cautious smile broke into an authentic one. “I thought this might be your reaction.”
She smiled back, giving Theodore a sly once-over. In her two-week stint as a bridal store attendant, she had learned a bit about textiles—and she could tell the suit he was wearing, virgin wool and cashmere, was not of the JCPenney variety.
Bree, on the other hand, was barefoot, with toenails about three weeks past needing a trim, in the same leggings she wore the night before.
She tucked her toes beneath her. “Thank you, Theodore. This was so thoughtful.”
A flash of light out of the corner of her eye caught her attention. Chip stood a few feet from the mailbox, wearing a headlamp as he pushed the soil back in place with his shovel.
She looked down at the bouquet.
It felt heavy in her arms. She didn’t know anything about flowers. Except that these felt heavy. Ergo, expensive.
“These”—she paused, trying to find a label for the yellow things—“these are just terrific. So yellow. So happy.”
“Yes, yellow. That’s what I was thinking too.” There was a tilt in Theodore’s smile. “So, I probably ought to also admit that I’m not just here to deliver flowers, happy and yellow as they may be. I have a favor to ask.”
She felt the sudden urge to smooth her hair again. “Yeah?”
“A college chum of mine is chairing the Plein Air Festival on Tuesday the ninth, and my family’s tree farm is one of the sponsors, so, seeing as I’m expected to be the supportive friend and good family representative and all, I’ll be going.” He smiled good-naturedly. “You might not be interested in something like that,” he ventured, searching her eyes, “but if you wanted to go, I can guarantee it would be a lot more fun for me. And if you don’t, well, just in case you have a savior complex or something, just know it’d be a perfect opportunity to save me from an afternoon of loneliness and social desperation. But of course, no pressure.”
Bree’s smile grew. “My, my. For the perfect gentleman you do lay it on pretty thick, don’t you? Well, as it just so happens, I do have a terrible savior complex, and”—Bree paused, blinking furiously against Chip’s blinding headlamp. This time it wasn’t moving. “I’d love to go—” she continued, but the light was distracting her from the rest of her sentence.