Chapter Eight
Belle
Much to my dismay, Dane Lautner definitely grew into his ears.
And his feet. And his lanky body. My college bestie, Avery, would have described him as H-A-W-T hot, not the normal kind.
But I refuse to tell my mother that I find the thirty-four-year-old attractive, or I’d be getting bridal samples by the end of the week.
When he comes to the store, he barely resembles the little boy in the back of my mind. The big brown eyes are the same, but his hair isn’t nearly as bleach blond as it used to be when we played in the sun as kids, and his features are…matured.
“It’s good to see you again,” Dane greets, holding his hand out toward me with a big, white smile on his face.
He’s in a pair of jeans that look well-worn and a black Carhartt sweatshirt that looks equally as loved.
He looks blue collar. Normal. Not like the guys I’m used to seeing who are in designer suits on game days or uniforms soaked in sweat on ice rinks.
He gives me a quick once-over with those charming eyes as we shake hands, and I’m suddenly glad I put on a pair of jeans that make my butt look rounder and a shirt with a neckline that makes my boobs look a little bigger. “You look great Belle. Wow.”
The compliment makes my cheeks heat, but hopefully I hide the color. “You do too. You’re much taller than I remember.”
What a dumb thing to say. Of course he’s taller than I remember. When was the last time we saw one another? When we were eight? Nine? We didn’t go to the same school. Dane’s family sent him to the catholic academy in town, so the only times we hung out were when our moms did.
Dane lowers his hand with a chuckle. “I didn’t hit my growth spurt until I was sixteen. Everybody towered over me before that point.”
He’s got to be over six-three—taller than Jesse. “Not anymore,” I murmur, noting how much he looms over me. It’s not in a threatening or uncomfortable way. Just…noticeable.
Mom does know I like tall men.
Damn her.
“I guess it’s good our moms stayed in touch this whole time, huh?” he tells me, that smile not wavering once. “Nora has been talking you up since you opened Belle’s Place. I think it’s awesome you’ve done so well.”
I’ve never been great at accepting compliments. “You’re one to talk. You own a contracting business. That’s no easy feat.”
He shrugs. “I wouldn’t want to do anything else. Before I finally found my calling, I worked different jobs, but I was miserable. Nothing beats this.”
I understand completely. Being my own boss makes me realize how miserable I’d be if I had to work a regular nine to five gig again.
“Come on in. I’ll show you the space and tell you some of my ideas.
If it’s something you’d be down to work with me on, then we can go over some blueprints when the time comes. ”
It doesn’t take long to give him the tour considering the space is open, save the bathrooms toward the back.
I try pointing out where I think the bookshelves can go, where I’d like a small sitting lounge to be, and maybe some tables if the café portion of the business can sell more than pastries. I haven’t gotten that far ahead yet.
Dane is patient, nodding along and only asking me follow up questions to get a better idea of what styles I like.
He doesn’t interrupt or rush me and seems more than happy to be here even though I’m sure he has a life and friends.
Or maybe he doesn’t, which is why his mother and mine have been scheming behind our backs.
The only thing I have to offer him besides a basic design of what I want the store to be is a cup of coffee I brewed from the coffee machine I plugged into the back.
It cost me a stupid amount of money, but I figured it would come in use when I have this place opened.
At least, that’s what I told myself when I bought it to justify the hefty sticker price.
“This is an easy job,” Dane tells me, leaning his hip against the counter in the kitchen. “At least compared to my last one. We worked on a housing development near DC and were contracted for five townhouses.”
Sounds like a lot of work. “Were they at least all the same layout inside?”
He sighs. “I wish. The owner of the development wanted each of the insides to be different architectural styles to stand out from other neighborhoods despite the exterior being identical. He thought differing interiors would make them more desirable. That wouldn’t have been an issue if he didn’t change his mind halfway through our job and make us start over when he decided the vision wasn’t being met. ”
I cringe. That sounds like an expensive fix. “I don’t suppose he covers the materials that you used already?”
He shakes his head. “The bastard had it written into his contract that we’d cover any materials if they weren’t satisfied with the project during the halfway check-in point, which tells me this isn’t the first time he’s pulled a stunt like that.
The only saving grace is that we countered for a set amount so we weren’t eating too much of the cost, especially because of how extensive the materials list was for those homes. ”
I bet. Virginia has been expanding for years for the commuters that work in the capital.
After college, I tried finding a place down south and couldn’t find anything affordable because of how populated the area was getting.
It drove the market up and made developments move into areas up to three hours away from the capital that charged an arm, leg, and first-born child for them.
“Well, I promise not to be a diva,” I assure him with an easy smile, sipping my coffee. Do I need an espresso at two in the afternoon? Absolutely not. But am I going to drink it and probably get a regular frappe on my way home so I can start filling out paperwork and catching up on emails? Yes.
Dane sets his cup down and crosses his arms over his chest. “If memory serves, you were never one of the pains in my ass growing up. Pretty sure you were one of the only ones who didn’t call me Dumbo.”
Ahh. The ears. I wondered if he was going to bring that up. “Kids can be cruel. I used to be called gap teeth for years until my adult ones grew in. Didn’t even need braces.”
His eyes roam over my face thoughtfully. “It seems like you have a beautiful smile, but I always thought you were cute with the gap too.”
He’s flirting with me. Openly. Unapologetically. It’s kind of nice. “You’re quite the charmer, aren’t you? Is that how you get business?”
His lips quick up higher at the sides. “Most of my clients are rich men with money, so not really my type.”
Is he implying that I am? The thought makes heat prickle my cheeks like needles under the skin, and I hope it’s not noticeable. How long has it been since a man has flirted with me? I can be a bit oblivious at times, but I’m positive it’s been a while.
“Oh,” is my only reply before internally wincing. Oh? Is that the best I can do? I’m clearly out of practice.
Dane must think my awkwardness is endearing because it doesn’t bother him. “I don’t suppose your mother mentioned that I’m also single. You told me she showed you my work, but I don’t know what else she shared.”
If nothing else, Dane is blunt. And I can appreciate a man who gets straight to the point, even if I’m not used to it. “She didn’t tell me about your current relationship status, but it was implied.”
He hums thoughtfully. “So, if I were to ask you out to dinner, it wouldn’t be a surprise.”
I blink. When is the last time anybody asked me out? I try to think about it but can’t trace the amount of time it’s been. Have I been that closed off to the possibility?
I stand a little straighter. “Depends. Is this your way of asking me if I want to get dinner with you? I’m used to your other tactics.”
One of his brows arches. “Other tactics?”
I grin. “I believe you used to get my attention by dumping sand on me back in the day.”
I swear pink dots his cheekbones as if he remembers exactly what I’m talking about. Rubbing the back of his neck, he nods. “I was a little shit back then. What if I promise you there won’t be any sand?”
I can’t help but laugh. “I hope not or that would ruin dinner.”
He stands a little taller. “Is that a yes?”
I bite the inside of my cheek. There’s no reason to hesitate. Going out to dinner with Dane sounds fun. We could catch up. Reminisce about childhood and our meddling mothers. Bond about owning a business.
Just as I’m about to say yes, the door to the store opens and Jesse walks in holding a cup of coffee and a white paper bag. He stops halfway in when he sees Dane and I in the open kitchen area, his eyes narrowing a fraction to study us.
I turn to him. “Hey.”
He’s had away games this week, so we’ve barely seen each other.
I always send him good luck texts before the games, then watch them at home as if I were there in the stands.
Win or lose, I’d like to think I’m the first one to call him after to either congratulate him or tell him they’ll get them next time.
Jesse’s eyes bounce between Dane and I before landing back on me and closing the distance between us. “Hi. Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I got back early and saw your note.”
I’d left him a Post-it on the fridge door letting him know where I’d be. I mentioned I had a meeting, but not who it was with. And I’m not sure I like the way he’s sizing up Dane without an ounce of remorse doing it openly.
Dane holds out his hand. “Hey, man. I’m Dane. I came to see the space and figure out if I could help Belle out with some contracting.”
I hate that I notice the way Jesse physically relaxes when he hears the reason Dane is here, only then taking his hand in what appears to be a firm handshake.
I was right. Dane is taller, but only by an inch or so at best. He’s less muscly too. Although, it’s not by that much either. I guess contracting means having to be strong enough to lug around heavy tools and wood. Jesse has bigger thighs than Dane, but Dan is broader in his upper body.