Tangle (Dogwood Lane 2)

I force a swallow as my chest tightens like it did the day she didn’t come to the program. The feeling of loneliness that swamped me while I hid in the coat closet at school, humiliated that my mom was the only one who didn’t come, envelops me. Even Charlie’s mom came that day, and she missed everything. I was only eight years old. I hate that I still think about this nearly twenty years later. Get your head back on tonight, Kelly.

I clear my throat. “Then, you know, she didn’t show up.”

“Hey,” Haley says, reaching for my hand. “I’m sorry. That was really inconsiderate of me.”

“You didn’t know.”

“Yeah, but you tried to tell me and now I feel mean and I hate feeling mean.”

“Haley,” I deadpan, “you couldn’t be mean if you tried.”

“Oh, you don’t know me very well,” she promises. “I can be meaner than anyone you’ve ever met.”

“Doubtful.”

Delia appears out of thin air and sets our drinks in between us. She takes our orders, burgers for both, before disappearing again.

I fiddle with the saltshaker while Haley checks her phone. Mine has gone off a handful of times in my pocket, but I’ve ignored it.

As I watch her fingers fly on the keyboard, I wonder who she’s chatting with and what she’s saying. And in the same breath, I acknowledge it’s none of my business. For both of our own goods.

“Did you bring your résumé?” I ask, clearing my throat. “We could take a look at it before the food comes.”

Her fingers hover over the screen as she looks up at me. There’s a wobbliness to her gaze, an uneasiness that makes me uneasy too.

“Yeah,” she says. Her phone goes to the table, and she pulls an envelope out of her purse. Instead of opening it or giving it to me, she sets it carefully by her phone. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Shoot.”

“This dinner thing—is it just for tonight? Or . . .”

She bites her lip as she waits for my reply. I bite mine, too, to keep from saying something stupid—really to keep from saying anything because anything I say will probably be stupid.

If she were any other girl, I’d know exactly how this plays out. But she’s not. And I know how she feels about things, and I respect the hell out of it, even if I don’t agree. If I press this thing between us, I’ll be an asshole. But I want to. And that want gets worse every minute I’m around her.

“It’s whatever you want it to be,” I say. “I go to Nashville this weekend. After that, I’ll probably just be in town a few days. A week at the most.”

I slide all emotions out of my brain as I watch her lips twist.

“I see,” she says.

“If you want to have dinner and chat about life and doughnuts while I’m here, that’s awesome. And if you’re not into it or have other plans or just want to tell me to fuck off, that’s not awesome but okay. Ball is in your court, sweetheart.”

I grimace as the stupidity I knew I’d come up with rolls off my tongue. Her eyes go wide as she absorbs the word, and I kick myself for letting it slip.

What’s wrong with me?

She eyes me skeptically. “If we’re going to spend time together, we need a few ground rules.”

I sit back in my seat and take her in. I have no idea what she’s getting at, but she’s fucking adorable when she’s trying to be serious. “Ground rules for what?”

“For this arrangement we have.”

“Why?”

“Because all contracts have terms and conditions, do they not?”

I laugh. “You’ve lost it.”

“Really?” She lifts a brow. “Isn’t it you who’s always saying women arrive at conclusions about relationships that you don’t intend to happen?”

Leaning forward again, I watch as the proximity of my body to hers lights up her eyes. There’s a wariness to it, but also a hunger that I both love and am leery of myself.

My body hums just having her near. She doesn’t know that, but it’s really the best argument for her case. She’s said so herself—she falls in love easily. She may be sexy and funny and intelligent, but I’m not here to make anyone fall in love.

“Okay,” I say. “You’ve made your point.”

Relief washes over her face. “Good. You can even use these lessons later on real dates.”

Real dates. This isn’t a real date and I know that. But hearing her say it out loud is annoying.

I study her for a long time, not sure what to say. My normal spiel seems pointless—she’s the one who’s demanding boundaries, but the fact I’d go without them might mean I need them more than ever.

She sits up in her seat. “First rule is no touching.”

There’s no way I heard that right. My forehead creases. “What did you say?”