Dreamer (Breathless #8)

Chapter 3

3

E very gift gets a thank you note. Hand written. Nothing less.

Carlisle hesitated, but didn't turn around. She had not intended to stay. She would drop off her guilt salad in the pretty bowl of nice china that her mother had made her register for as a housewarming gift.

Probably her mother had thrown her the whole housewarming party and insisted on the fine china on the registry because Westerley Weaver had absolutely given up on Carlisle ever getting married. In the last two months, Carlisle had too. Who would handle all her baggage now?

Turning back, she waved her hand toward the picnic table. Only her nice china bowl and the mason jar of salad dressing sat on it. “I’m not trying to horn in on your dinner. I just intended to thank you.”

“I bought two steaks. I'm apparently very used to buying two.” He shrugged and gestured with the hand not holding the fork as though that odd statement was an acceptable invitation.

So he'd been married . This was his tiny divorce house. Were his kids coming over on the weekends?

He offered a chagrined smile. “It’s the least I can offer for the salad.”

Carlisle put together the clues she’d been missing. The accent. The misunderstanding about the salad. It was payment for him showing up last night and if he offered her something in exchange for the salad, she would still owe him.

He was not from around here.

The most he should pay her back for the salad was a small informal card with a thank you note. Manners dictated that it should be handwritten, but he probably didn’t know that either. She was willing to bet this man didn't have any stationary let alone an informal card.

Not that she expected such things. She wasn’t even sure she could find the ones her mother had made for her despite having the protocol drilled into her head for years.

“I—” She started to protest then realized that was stupid. She had nothing to follow that up with. She didn't have dinner waiting at home and she wasn't much of a liar. Most people saw right through even her best efforts.

She didn't want to go back inside. As much as she loved the house and had been slowly turning it into her own, these past several months she'd been holed up here. First on leave. And now this —whatever this was.

He smiled at her, as though that would make her change her mind. His broad grin showed even, white teeth. It was a friendly smile, with just enough imperfections to know that it had not been shaped by an orthodontist. The dark curls she'd seen the night before clung tight to the top of his head. Somehow, a ridiculous little breeze had found them and was playing with his hair, though she couldn't feel the air moving at all.

It was likely just a friendly invite. He was new in town. Maybe he was lonely, too.

Carlisle had stood here too long to say no. It would be impolite.

“Okay, should I grab drinks?”

“If you want. I have beer?”

She couldn't help the laugh that burst out. He didn’t sound confident about that. “I’ll grab drinks.”

It gave her something to do. Something to contribute in exchange for steak. Also, she wasn’t sure he had anything else. Had the man just planned to sit at his picnic table and eat meat for dinner? What did she know about northern men?

As she passed the hammock, the grass tickled at her ankles. She should mow it. She was responsible for mowing it, much to her mother's chagrin. Carlisle plucked out the book she’d left in the hammock, maybe just for something to do with her hands. It wasn’t a date .

For a moment she thought about lifting the cords off the hooks and taking the hammock with her. But she would leave that for later. She didn’t want him to think she was packing it up to stay late.

She wouldn't want to wear out her welcome. Though not all the things her mother had tried to teach her had stuck, that one was ingrained.

Inside, she opened the small fridge she affectionately referred to as her party fridge and peered in. Her shoulders slumped.

She had party dip in here, and ice pops in the freezer for Jane’s kids. There was an assortment of drinks for the parties she'd occasionally had, but none recently. She needed to have another party. Maybe that would help reset all this bullshit.

There was no good word for what she was dealing with. Carlisle sighed. She hadn't asked what he liked, so she grabbed one of everything. A fruit soda, a hard cider, a hard lemonade, a non-alcoholic seltzer and a flavored water. She grabbed a hard seltzer, too. He’d offered beer, he wasn’t a non-drinker.

That should have it covered. The man already had beer, so he surely had his favorite. With the bottles and cans lined up on the counter, she looked around frantically—as if he would rescind the invitation if she didn't get back fast enough. A stupid thought, but it was there.

Beyond the TV and comfy couch, she’d installed a hook beside the door where she'd hung up the bags so she could grab them on the way out to the grocery store. Yes! She had a drink bag.

Nestling each drink into one of the divided compartments, she headed out the back door. Carlisle hesitated, considering if she should grab her keys and lock the place. But she knew the neighbors on the other side, and she was staying with the only neighbor she didn't really know.

She’d been taught both to trust her friends and stay safe.

But, as she’d learned recently, there was no safe.

Screw it . She pulled the door closed and headed across the short distance between her side door and his deck. She was proud of herself for making a decision. Something she hadn't been very good at lately.

The bag swung at her side as she told herself she would have said yes even if he hadn't been hot. She told herself she was just being neighborly. Then she reminded herself she would not stay long.