MissBEHAVED

Chapter Four

Dixon

“Another beer?” The bartender asked when I set down my empty bottle.

“No, thanks. Just a water, please. I’m driving.” I looked around the upstairs banquet room of the Red Mill Inn and sighed. How the hell had I ended up here?

It was my own damn fault I was stuck here, dressed in a dress shirt and suit pants on a Tuesday night. Gram delivered such a sincere apology during lunch on Sunday that when she handed me a flyer she’d picked up in the lobby at church about a speed dating event and very politely asked me to go, I couldn’t say no. She didn’t pressure me about it except to ask if I was going to go when I stopped in to grab breakfast this morning. She’d looked so hopeful I found myself saying yes before I remembered that I was going to pretend I’d forgotten. Then Gramps very helpfully offered to close the store, eliminating any possible excuse I’d have to back out.

Now, here I was, at speed dating.

Sure, I could have lied, said I went and caught a game and some wings at The Town Line Bar and Grill, but I was a man of my word. I said I would go so here I sat. Not that it was that bad. Spending the evening in a room full of attractive women with a drink and some decent snacks wasn’t the worst way to kill a few hours. People were mingling and laughing. Actually enjoying themselves. It didn’t feel like the meat market I’d feared. Maybe I could find someone here.

“Another Riesling, please,” a sweet voice said from right next to me, interrupting my train of thought. I’d been facing the front of the room and totally missed her approach.

“Where did you come from?”

The only excuse I have for my strange question was that her beauty stunned me stupid. Chocolate brown, slightly curled hair ending just past her shoulders practically begged a man to run his fingers through it. Bright blue eyes turned to look at me for only a second before she faced the bar again, but in that second, I’d memorized their color.

“The ladies room,” she replied without turning back toward me. It took me a minute to figure out she was answering my question. “There’s one down that hall.” She nodded to the corner of the room.

“Sorry, it was none of my business. You don’t need to explain yourself.” I couldn’t believe what an ass I’d made out of myself. The bartender handed her another glass of wine and she took a healthy sip.

“It’s fine. I startled you.” Taking her glass, she walked away, but I couldn’t let that happen. There was something about her that made me want to know more. It might have been the knee-length black skirt that hugged her round ass, or the tight sweater that covered every inch of her skin but still left me hot and bothered. Or maybe it was the knee-high leather boots with heels so high that I worried she’d fall and slip on the ice outside. So I followed her.

“Do you mind if I join you?” I asked when she stopped at a tall table, off to the side of the room, as far away from the crowd of mingling singles as she could get. She set her purse down on the table and daintily sat on the high stool before answering.

“I don’t mind if you join me, but I have to be honest with you. I’m not here looking to meet anyone. My friend begged me to come with her so she wouldn’t be alone, but then she found someone to talk to ten minutes after we arrived. If you’re looking for a date, I suggest you head into the fray cause you won’t find one here.” She waved toward the crowed as she spoke, and her red fingernails distracted me for a second. I wondered what they’d feel like running up my arm, or down other places.

Not even realizing I’d made a decision until my ass hit the seat, I sat down.

“That’s fine because my grandmother guilted me into coming, and I’m here alone. Maybe we can keep each other company.”

“Why did your grandmother guilt you?” she asked, without judgment.

“She’s very concerned about my lack of a wife. Says I need to settle down and have some babies.” She laughed, and it was the most perfect sound I’d ever heard. “I’m Dixon Williams.” I held out my hand and she didn’t hesitate to take it.

“Mellie Sullivan. Nice to meet you.” Her handshake was firm but not overdone, like she was comfortable making business deals and confident in her decisions.

“So, Mellie, tell me why you have no interest in speed dating tonight.”

Her eyes sparkled like she suspected I was hoping to change her mind even though I’d tried to keep my question innocent. She wasn’t wrong.

“I own a lingerie store in Ellicottville called Sweet and Sassy. It’s only been open for a little over two years and it’s my life. I don’t have time for a man, and I’m nowhere near ready for children.” She leaned closer. “And when I am ready, I will not be closing my business and staying at home. I’ve worked too hard on my dream to give it up.”

She sat back and eyed me, waiting for my response. Probably expecting me to get up and walk away. But there was no way I was walking away. As much as my grandmother thought a homemaker was what I needed, it was the farthest thing from what I wanted.

“Oh, I also can’t cook,” she added. “We had a chef growing up, and I never learned how to make more than my favorites.”

I could tell she was anticipating a reaction, and I decided not to give it to her.

“And what are your favorite foods to cook? Something fancy that your chef taught you how to make? Steak tartare? Truffle ravioli?”

My question caught her off guard for a second, but she quickly recovered.

“No, not even close. I can make spaghetti and meat sauce, chicken fajitas, and stir-fry really well. I’m fairly decent at seafood dip and loaded baked potato salad. And I can do a mean green salad. Anything else that involves more than cutting and serving is kind of a crapshoot. And baking is completely out. I always screw it up.” She ticked off each item on those glossy, red-tipped fingers making me struggle to focus on the words coming out of her mouth.

“So, you’ve got Italian, Mexican, and Chinese covered. Potato salad goes with anything cooked on the grill so as long as you can cook a piece of meat, you’re golden. Do you have a grill?”

Her face turned pink at my question, which made her even more attractive by taking a little shine off all that polish.

“I had one.” She avoided making eye contact and took a sip of wine.

“Oh, yeah? What happened to it?”

I thought she might refuse to answer, to hide whatever happened that made her blush from embarrassment, but she didn’t. Nope. She sighed and gave me the story.

“I bought a strip steak for dinner a week after I got the grill. I turned it on so it could preheat, like the directions said. Then I went out and put the steak on the grill and closed the lid. I planned to stand right there and watch it because I do not like my steak well-done, but I left my phone inside and I could hear it ring through the open windows. My friend slash part-time employee was working at the shop so, of course, I had to go get it. Except it wasn’t Grace calling, it was my mother, and she let me know my older sister had gotten engaged. She just launched into the whole story, and by the time I remembered the steak, my grill was on fire.”

“You just needed to turn off the gas,” I noted, trying not to outright laugh.

“No, the firemen said I’d left the flame on too high and the fat on the steak made a huge flare up so there were flames shooting out the sides of the grill.”

“Oh, shit. Was there any damage to your property?” What was funny a second ago now sounded downright dangerous.

“No, thank goodness. I have a stone patio and the grill was on the far side, away from the house and any trees. The only damage was to the grill itself, and my pride.” She shook her head in dismay, but with a smile. “I had the entire volunteer fire company at my place because I’d called in so hysterical, they thought the whole hill was on fire.”

“That sounds very traumatic, but I’m glad you’re okay.”

She waved off my concern like she hadn’t just told me she’d started a fire large enough to need the fire department’s involvement. “Thanks. Everything’s fine, but, needless to say, there won’t be any grilling in my future.”

“Well, now, there’s a pro to having a man.” It was a gamble, circling back to this topic, and I hoped she didn’t get offended at my attempt at humor.

“Oh, yeah? I should find a boyfriend so I have someone to make me steak?” she shot back, and luckily she seemed more amused than annoyed at my change of topic.

“And burgers, and hot dogs, and chicken. Maybe even pork chops.”

“No pork chops for me. Yuck.” She made a face and scrunched up her nose.

“You don’t eat pork?”