Tangle (Dogwood Lane 2)

He cocks his head to the side. His brows are heavy, pulled together by a crease in his forehead.

I twist in my seat, wondering why in the heck I just shared all that with him. It clearly came from a sensitive spot in my heart, and he’s not stupid—he’ll know. He’ll know I’m sensitive, too, in my own way, and he’ll probably run for the hills.

The big hill. The one with the massive house on it.

“If you knew it, why did you do it?” he asks.

“Because when you like the guy, it feels like hope. Like maybe they’re reconsidering.” I shrug. “Pathetic, I know. But I don’t make the rules.”

He shakes his head and takes the fries from Alexis. She tries to make small talk with him. He expertly wiggles his way out of it and focuses back on me. But when he looks at me this time, there’s something in his eyes that makes me shift in my seat.

“What?” I ask.

“I have a proposition for you.” He pops a fry in his mouth.

“Why does that worry me?”

He grins. “If there’s one thing I loathe, it’s eating out alone. It’s a long story, and it goes back to some unresolved mommy issues that I don’t want to get into. But I hate it.”

I don’t know how to respond to that. So I don’t. I take a drink instead.

“Anyway, how about this: I’ll help you with your résumé. Get your interview skills sharpened. Help you however you need it in this forging-a-new-path thing you’re on.”

I swallow. “Okay. You’ve piqued my curiosity. Go on.”

His grin grows wider. “And in return, you have dinner with me while I’m in town. Which helps us both because I don’t have to eat alone and we’ll work on your stuff. We’ll kill two birds with one stone.”

“A résumé shouldn’t take more than an hour if you know what you’re doing,” I point out. “I read that in a book.”

“True. But I’ll help you know what to say in an interview, and if you want me to look at some job listings, I can. And let’s not forget it’s a free meal and you’re unemployed right now.”

“That’s low,” I say with a laugh.

“I know,” he says, wincing. “I apologize for the last one. That was low even for me.”

“Is this just a way to get me to spend time with you?” I tease, ignoring the way my blood is roaring through my veins. “I mean, after the stalking and the jacket thing and then this, I’m noticing a trend, bud.”

“I can’t say it pains me to think I’ll have to see you every night I’m here.”

I sink into my seat as his words wash over me. My chest bounces as I withhold a gasp, and I press my thighs together so hard I think I might pull a muscle.

I’m torn between wanting to say yes and wanting to remember everything he said at the Dogwood Café—all the reasons why I should stay away from guys like him.

This is hard.

I grab a fry and pop it in my mouth. “I think this is a bad idea.”

“And why is that?”

“What if I can’t resist your charms and fall madly in love with you, like Alexis. Or Liz. Or the old lady with silver hair sitting in the corner with a mug of beer?”

Trevor looks over his shoulder. The lady flushes as Trevor waves at her before turning back to me.

“I guess that is something to consider,” he says.

“I was joking!”

I know better than to think anything else could happen between us. But am I being foolish, subjecting myself to more time with him? He’s handsome, yes, but he also has a dry wit that really appeals to me. And every time I see that dimple . . .

“So . . . ,” he prods.

My resolve weakens as he uses that damn dimple as a weapon. Finding the part of my brain responsible for logic under all the sexual frustration is nearly impossible.

He takes a fry. I remind myself I’ve gone two months without a date. I’m strong. And I do need help with my résumé.

I can do this. I’m a big girl. Besides, he’ll probably only be around for another few days, so surely I can handle that.

He watches me warily before grabbing a napkin out of the dispenser. He gets up and heads to the counter and comes back with a pen.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Patience, little Haley,” he says, biting his bottom lip as he scrawls on the napkin.

I sip my water as I watch him. I nearly choke when he turns it around to face me. The bright-blue ink is in stark contrast to the white napkin. In bold letters it reads:

I, TREVOR KELLY, PROMISE NOT TO BREAK HALEY RAYNOR’S HEART.

“Fair enough.” I take the pen and add my own line. When I spin it to face him, he laughs.