13. Dash
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
DASH
Dash scrambled, running out of time. He moved down the aisles of HEB’s vast wine section, scanning bottles. Kate had challenged him tonight, but he secretly loved their little game. She cooked something spectacular. He paired it with the perfect beverage. So far, he’d yet to miss.
But Kate making chile rellenos? He needed divine intervention.
After reading dozens of labels, he surrendered and thumbed Colt’s number.
"You got a minute?" Dash whispered, glancing at other customers.
"For you? Always," Colt said.
"Kate's making chile rellenos. I've read every damn wine label in this place and I’m coming up empty."
"That's because you're in the wrong section. Grab some Mexican beer and call it a day."
"Beer? She might be the Julia Child of the Lone Star State and you want me to show up with a six pack?"
"Trust me. I’ve yet to meet a southern woman who doesn’t love good beer."
Dash sighed, grabbed a box of longnecks, paid, and hurried out to his car.
His late-afternoon meeting had gone into extra innings.
He’d already called Kate twice to apologize.
And Houston traffic did him no favors. He sat boxed in behind an eighteen-wheeler when Kate’s name flashed across the navigation screen.
"I was just about to call you," he answered.
"I'm afraid dinner is ruined. Roscoe, no!" she shouted.
"I'm so sorry, Kate. I had no idea my meeting with would run long and—"
"No, Dash, it's not you. There’s been some mishap with a gas line or power line in the area. Firemen came door-to-door and evacuated the whole block. They wouldn't even let us start our cars. I grabbed Roscoe and left on foot. I’m still waiting to get the whole story. "
"So…the homemade Mexican feast I've been dreaming about all day …" He couldn't hide the disappointment in his voice.
"Postponed, for now," she said. "But if you pick us up, I’ll treat you. As long as it’s somewhere dog-friendly.”
“I know just the place. Text me your location.”
The park near Kate’s house buzzed with activity.
A temporary holding area for displaced residents.
People everywhere—kids and dogs and even someone with a pet iguana on a leash.
She’d been easy to spot, between an old Rice Owls sweatshirt covered in paint stains and her gorgeous mess of copper hair blowing in the evening breeze.
As soon as she slid into the passenger seat, the apologies began.
“I’m the definition of hot mess express in this ratty old sweatshirt. I was about to change into something cute when the firemen knocked. And I forgot my wallet.” She flipped the visor. “Great. I forgot to put on mascara.”
Dash took her hand. “Three things. First, dinner is on me. Dinner will always be on me, as will lunch, brunch, breakfast, and midnight snacks. Second, while I can’t speak from experience, I’m willing to bet mascara is overrated. And third, as far as messes go, hot happens to be my favorite type.”
She laughed, the tension draining from her shoulders. “Tell me about your big meeting. How’d it go?”
“It took some heavy negotiating, but we closed the deal.”
“Another win for Benning-Hendricks. Congratulations.”
“Thanks. I say we celebrate with takeout from that little taqueria around the corner and eat at my place.”
“Done and done.”
Kate gasped when he pulled into the driveway of a gorgeous two-story Greek-revival style house surrounded by beautiful, mature trees.
Kate unfastened her seatbelt. "Okay, this … I wasn’t expecting this. Your home is gorgeous."
"I can’t take credit. This is all Colt’s doing. He handles real estate, the stock market, bartending duties—basically, everything I’m unfit for. He found this place when we wrapped our UK project early."
"Well, he has great taste.”
They got out, Dash juggling bags while Kate let Roscoe explore the front yard. When they stepped inside, he almost tripped over Colt’s gym bag.
“Where is the infamous stepbrother? Should we have brought him something to eat?" she asked.
“He’s playing poker with some of the guys.”
Her bottom lip turned down. “And you weren’t invited?”
“They play for pennies. I prefer bigger stakes,” he said with a cocky grin.
Dash froze when they entered the kitchen. Half a dozen pairs of Colt’s clean underwear and a mountain of socks sat stacked on the island.
Fantastic.
He scooped up the freshly folded stacks and hurled them blindly into the laundry room.
“Don’t worry … I’m gonna disinfect this whole island before we sit down.”
Kate laughed. “It’s fine. I fold laundry on my island too. It doesn’t bother me at all.”
“Folding’s one thing. Leaving it out for all of God and country to see is another.”
“In the poor man’s defense, he didn’t know I was coming over. Seriously, I don’t care. Natalie’s the neat freak. I’m the slob.”
“No way,” Dash said. “Your house is neat as a pin.”
“Because I shoved all my shit in the closet five minutes before you pulled up,” she whispered conspiratorially.
He chuckled, grabbed cleaning spray, and wiped down the island while she plated their dinner. A few candles later, the kitchen glowed with warm, romantic light.
"You cut that gas line yourself, didn't you, Slick? All part of some grand, elaborate scheme to get me over to your place?"
"Why do women assume it's some grand scheme? Maybe it's just your run-of-the-mill, everyday basic scheme.”
"Grand scheme or not, I texted my neighbor and let her know Roscoe and I are safe and sound here with you. Her husband works for the city. She'll let me know when we're allowed back inside.”
He leaned forward for a kiss. "Well, until then, you're all mine."
She pushed him away. "Dinner first and then dessert."
"You and your practical notions,” he said with a smile.
After dinner, they moved to a poolside chaise, Roscoe curled up at their feet.
With a few taps on a tablet, Dash engaged a state-of-the-art outdoor audio system.
Soft music drifted through the speakers.
Trees glowed under floodlights. With the starry Texas sky overhead, the night wrapped around them like something sacred.
Kate rested against him, and his arm drifted naturally around her shoulder.
"I looked for dessert,” Dash said after a while. “Sadly, my refrigerator doesn't spontaneously produce five-star cheesecakes."
"I'd be happy with coffee."
"You got it.” He scratched Roscoe’s ears. “Anything for our four-legged friend here?"
"He's fine. I should probably run him out front for a bit. He's usually had a long walk by this time."
"Meet you back here in ten?" he asked.
She stepped back into her shoes. "Deal."
While Kate tended to the dog, Dash fired up his espresso machine. From the pantry, he grabbed a box of his favorite Trader Joe's cookies. As he arranged everything, Kate’s phone buzzed on the island. The caller ID showed a young girl in a green sparkly leotard.
Party Girl.
Probably her neighbor.
He answered. "Kate Fitzpatrick's answering service.”
"Is Kate there?" a woman shouted over a pounding baseline.
He hollered back, "She's out walking her dog. Hold on.”
"Is this the boyfriend? The famous Dash Benning?" she yelled.
He blinked.
Famous? Boyfriend?
He stepped out onto the front porch, hoping for better reception. “Are the firemen having a party out there?”
“What?” she yelled again.
“A party! On your street?” Dash hollered.
“What? No, we’re having a party!”
Kate rounded the corner. Dash waved her over. “Kate’s back now. Hold one second.”
He handed over the phone and returned to the kitchen, though something tugged at him. Her voice sounded … weirdly familiar. Kate was laughing to herself when she joined him back on the chaise, so he let the thought go.
"I guess you're back in business," he said.
Kate shot him a confused look. “What?”
"The gas line? That was your neighbor, right?” He motioned to the tray. “Dessert?"
"That was my sister. She’s at a karaoke bar with the guy she’s been seeing.”
Ah. That explains the shouting.
Dash nodded as he wrestled the cookie package open. “I wasn’t sure if I should answer. Your caller ID said Party Girl.”
“She’s an event planner, remember? Hence the name, which is ironic since she’s definitely the more subdued of the two of us when it comes to legit partying—except tonight. She’s had a few."
“That’s good though, right? You said she’s been working twenty-four-seven.”
“One would think, but this call was work-related too. Even tipsy, she’s still in event-planning mode. She wanted to get permission to ask this guy to the party. And to update me on her mini gifts.”
“Mini guffs?” he mumbled, cookie crumbs dotting his lip.
“We’re giving Dad seventy mini gifts—a bunch of random shit. Today, she bought camo-printed Band Aids and a beer-can pop socket. Yesterday, I got him some liquor bottle golf tees and a dashboard hula girl.”
“That’s actually brilliant,” Dash said.
She beamed. “Thanks. It was my idea and I enjoy taking full credit for it.”
"You've never told me how you plan to get your father to the restaurant."
“Nat and I are cooking dinner for him Saturday. I guess I should say that I’m cooking dinner. I’ll let Natalie chop a few veggies so she can say she helped. Then Sunday, Nat will sneak out to set up the restaurant, only she’s telling Dad she’s running a 10K.”
“She runs?”
Kate snorted. “She runs errands in high-end leggings. That’s it. After she gets back, I’ll suggest a late lunch on the way to the airport. Hopefully, he won’t suspect a thing.”
"Sounds foolproof."
"There's foolproof and then there's Foster Powell proof. Definitely not the same thing."
He squeezed her hand. "I'm sure it’ll go off without a hitch."
She looked up at him, eyes soft. "You know, you could come with me. Stay the whole weekend. Meet everyone. Maybe test-drive some horses."
"If I back out on Miranda now, she’ll string me up by my ears. It's her favorite event of the year. She gets together with all her Chicago biddies. Plus, I'm still not convinced that showing up for the party is a good idea."
His heart thudded. He hadn’t met a woman’s extended family since Alexa. Things with Kate were moving quickly. Not as quickly as London, but still …
“And does your father even know we’re dating?” he added.
Her breath hitched. "So, we’re dating? Like, exclusively?"
Dash's gaze fell upon her lips. "That’s what I’d call it.”
And your sister did call me your boyfriend.
The moment broke when Kate's phone buzzed again. Dash watched her face in the glow of her screen as she read the message in silence.
"It's Celeste, my neighbor," she announced. “The coast is clear. I’m free to return home."
"Damn this city and their one time to be efficient.”
Kate smirked. "Why’s that?"
Dash nudged Roscoe off the chaise and pulled her in for a kiss. But the moment their lips met, the words “baby steps” skipped like a rock against the watery surface of his mind. Something tightened inside him. Fear? Hope? Both?
Only one way to find out.
"Stay the night," he said. “No pressure. Just first-class cuddling.”
"Like a good old-fashioned slumber party?" she teased.
"Yep, and I promise not to freeze your bra or put toothpaste in your hair when you fall asleep first."
His heartbeat drummed like a jackhammer as he waited for a reply.
"I sleep on the left side,” she said. “Is that a problem?"
He smiled sweetly. "Nothing about you could ever be a problem.”