“I hear you. You know what I did to the basil.”
Wes chuckled and put his hand over his heart. “May it rest in peace.”
Rebecca continued to pet the dog but glanced over at Wes. “Look, I know this is weird. I’m really sorry about how I acted Friday night. I think the combo of wine and the stress of the night made me…I don’t know, react strangely. I was out of line with that goodbye kiss situation.”
Wes swallowed hard, fighting to keep his expression neutral. “I didn’t exactly push you away. I should’ve realized you’d had too much to drink. I used to be a pro at spotting that with customers in restaurants, but I’m out of practice.”
Her gaze darted away. “No, the whole thing was on me. So I just wanted to say sorry.”
He forced a shrug. “No worries. No permanent damage.”
She gave him a tense smile. “Good. And hey, don’t feel like you need to stay back here if you have stuff to do. I can find my way back to the front. I know you had groceries to deal with.”
“It’s not a problem. Plus, Marco wouldn’t want me to leave a client back here alone. Hell, I’m surprised he let me back here. He’s very particular about rules. But I don’t know, maybe I should go up front and keep him safe from your friend. My brother looked ready to propose.”
Rebecca smirked. “Don’t worry about Kincaid. She flirts with every good-looking guy she comes across. It’s her way. She’s harmless. Mostly.”
Wes stood, unsure why hearing that Rebecca considered his brother good-looking annoyed him. Was Marco more her type? Mr. Responsible Doctor. He shoved his hands in his pockets, pushing the old jealous instinct down with them. That was dangerous territory.
“So I’m assuming those guys never showed up at your house?” he asked, changing the subject.
She looked back to the dog, stroking his scruffy head. “No. Not that I’ve been able to sleep, thinking about it, but I’m guessing if they haven’t shown up yet, they’re not going to. And the cops called and said they have a few leads.”
He frowned. “That sucks that you’re not sleeping, but I’m glad the police might be close to catching whoever it was.”
“Me too.”
“Well, if you adopt Scruffy the
Wonder Dog, you’ll have an added layer of protection. That guy who attacked you has probably developed a fear of dogs.”
“He should. Bastard,” she said, her tone hardening. “And I’m not adopting at this point. Just fostering.”
Wes watched how gently she stroked the dog, how attached she already seemed. “How come?”
She shrugged. “Like I told you Friday night, I’m always working. I wouldn’t be able to give him all the attention he deserves. He should have, like…a bustling household with a family and kids and stuff. Not a single woman who doesn’t get home until seven or eight each night.”
“Maybe he can be what inspires you to end your day a little earlier,” Wes suggested. “Give you something to come home to. A mini passion project.”
“We’ll see,” she said with a resigned tone, as if she didn’t believe that was a possibility at all.
Wes shifted and crossed his arms, fighting hard not to take his fill of the view. The slope of her bared neck, the hint of lace beneath her thin blouse, the narrow strip of skin exposed at her lower back. Look away, Garrett. “I never did get to ask you what keeps you so busy.”
Her shoulders drooped at that, and she let out a breath. “No, you didn’t.”
Something about the way she said it gave him pause. She gave the dog one last rub and then grabbed the cage to hoist herself up. When she turned to face him, her expression reminded him of the way the banker had looked when Wes had gotten turned down for the loan. “I’m an attorney.”
“Oh.” The words registered but also nudged something in the back of his brain. He frowned. “What kind?”
She cleared her throat. “Divorce.”
Divorce.
His stomach sank, flashes of an image coming back to him. A woman with short blond hair preaching to a judge about all of his flaws. A woman with sharp words and biting accusations. Mr. Garrett broke the vows of his marriage. Mr. Garrett can’t control his temper. Mr. Garrett drinks too much and scares his wife. My client deserves half of anything the restaurant’s worth.
Awareness dawned, pinpricks of cold fury breaking over his skin. He stared at Rebecca, switching out the hair color and cut. All his breath left him, and he stepped back. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
Her throat bobbed. “Wes…”