Tangle (Dogwood Lane 2)

Damn him.

I smooth an imaginary wrinkle out of my shirt, the one I wish with certainty was the green scoop neck. My intentional lack of effort is biting me in the ass. Now I’ll look like the frumpy girl with this gorgeous man, and there’s nothing worse than looking like the girl on a date with a guy totally out of her league.

“I didn’t know we were getting so spiffy for this,” I say.

He chuckles. “Did you just use ‘spiffy’ in a sentence?”

“Yes. You have a problem with that?”

“No, no problem. I just haven’t heard it in dialogue since my grandmother commented on my fifth-grade school pictures.”

“That must’ve been ages ago,” I crack, grabbing my keys off a little table by the door.

“Easy there. You aren’t that much younger than me.”

“You know, the more time I spend with you, the more amazed I am that women fall for you like they do,” I lie. “Are you sure this is a real problem you have?”

He reaches behind me to shut the door. His forearm brushes against my side. It’s like a live wire bites me, sending a ripple of uncontained energy through my veins. If he notices, he doesn’t show it.

“Maybe Penn was right and you’re just a unicorn that’s oblivious to my charm.” He stands straight and smirks. “Nah, just kidding. That’s impossible.”

I sigh, my body still humming from his touch. “This is going to be a long night.”

“Better get it started, then.”

We walk down the sidewalk to his freshly washed truck. I keep a couple of steps behind so I can check him out.

His light-brown hair is combed to the side, angled in a perfect, offset spike. The sandy color matches the leather in the belt wrapped around his trim waist, as well as the boots on his feet.

He carries himself with a confidence I’ve never known but always admired in the rare few I’ve seen who have it. It’s as if the world could be ripping at him from all sides and he wouldn’t even know it. I wonder how people develop that kind of self-assurance.

We reach the truck. He holds the door open for me.

“After you,” he says, waving toward the cab.

“Thank you.”

He waits until I’m settled before closing the door. By the time I’m buckled in, he slides into the seat next to me.

The cab fills with his cologne and mixes with the masculine energy rippling off him in soft waves. Between the two, I’m a little light-headed.

“On a serious note,” he says, starting the engine, “you look very pretty tonight.”

I look down at my shirt. “Thanks. I probably should’ve worn something else, but this will have to do.”

“Why?”

“Why, what?”

“Why should you have worn something else?” He furrows a brow like he’s not able to follow me.

“I just . . . I don’t know,” I admit, feeling slightly foolish.

“Let me give you a little insight into the mind of a man,” he says, twisting to face me. “When a man tells you that you look pretty, he means it. And odds are it has very little to do with your shirt.”

My body warms as I sink into the leather seat and forget all about the green scoop neck. I settle my gaze on the floorboard for a moment so he won’t see me beaming. “Well, in that case, thank you. Again.”

I look up and we exchange a smile. He shifts the truck in gear, and we head down the road.

Dogwood Lane rolls by at a leisurely pace. The pine trees appear to touch the candied pinks and oranges of the evening sky. We ride for a few minutes, country music playing softly through the speakers. It’s a comfortable quiet, the kind that could lure you to a peaceful sleep if you wanted it to. I wonder how I can feel so alive and so calm at the same time.

He takes an exit on the highway that leads out of town.

“Did you hear from the flower shop job today?” he asks.

“No, actually. I didn’t.” I bite my lip.

“Maybe she got busy.”

“I hope so.” I look at him and accept the sweet smile he gives me. “The more I think about it, the more I really hope that works out. But hope is a scary thing, you know.”

“I didn’t know that.”

I sigh. “Oh, it is. Hope is like the peak of a mountain. If the wind blows the right way, you fall into a beautiful meadow on one side. And if the wind knocks you the other way, there’s snow and ice and no hot chocolate in sight.”

He laughs. “You with the analogies.”

“But you know what I’m saying. It’s the precursor to disappointment a lot of the time.”

“That’s life, Haley.”

“Yeah. I guess. But this time, I’m focusing on the meadow side of the mountain and letting myself have a little hope.”