“If she’s not interested in me for my money, then how am I possibly interfering in you two working things out?” Dallas asked.
“She made it clear when we had dinner together last week that she intends to give you a chance. I’m not allowed to contact her or visit the taproom for the next six months. After that though, the gloves come off.”
Dallas didn’t miss the smug dig about dinner. Maybe he should have been more specific when he told her he’d mind if she went out for coffee. The six-month moratorium was far more interesting, though.
“So… it’s a competition,” he said thoughtfully.
Ryder lifted his glass. “May the better man win.”
Dallas’s last bits of jealousy and fear vanished. His churning gut settled. Maybe he wasn’t all that great at reading women sometimes, but he understood Hannah. She hadn’t been able to convince the guy to push off, so she’d bought time for him to figure it out for himself. There was no question she had some issues to work through where he was concerned—she’d lent him a thousand dollars, which made no sense at all—but she’d been finished with him before she ever met Dallas, and deep down, she’d known it. Dallas would stake his entire fortune on that.
Lou pushed through the swinging doors that led to the kitchen. A white chef’s apron covered his rounded midriff. He waved to Dallas from the cash register at the front counter, signaling his order was ready.
Dallas tapped fisted knuckles on the table as he rose. “Nice talking to you.”
“Likewise,” Ryder said.
Dallas had just finished paying for his food order when Simone showed up at his elbow. Her T-shirt was too tight, her skirt was too short, and her makeup, too thick. He was so not in the mood for her right now, but he hid his impatience. She was another example of someone who wasn’t all bad. Her life hadn’t gone according to plan. Some people picked themselves up easier than others and she did her best.
“I figured you’d be over at Hannah’s by now,” she said. “Didn’t you get back from vacation this afternoon?”
Lou handed the two white paper takeout bags over the counter to him. He held them up to show them to Simone. “I’m on my way.”
Simone eyeballed the ceiling for the briefest of seconds. “Honestly, Dallie. You have plenty of money. Couldn’t you treat a girl to something better than pub food? No offense, Lou.”
“None taken.” Lou shrugged and moved off.
“Next time,” Dallas said to her, although he had no such intentions. The things Hannah cared about—and deserved—couldn’t be bought.
“Wait.” Simone caught his arm. She wavered, clearly struggling with an internal dilemma. “Hannah’s a good person.” She jerked her chin in Ryder’s direction. “Whatever he told you about her, don’t believe it.”
Dallas didn’t know about that. He’d heard a few things he believed. The clearest takeaway he’d gotten from their brief conversation was that Hannah chose to be kinder to Ryder in the way she ended things with him than he’d been to her.
That natural kindness was why Dallas had fallen for her so hard and so fast. He couldn’t expect her to not care what became of an old boyfriend. If anything, he loved her the more for it. He planned to tell her so, too.
“Thank you. You’re a good person, too,” he told Simone, and he meant it. She had nothing to gain, and yet, she’d made the effort to help Hannah out.
It would be a while before he trusted her with a haircut again, though.
Just in case.
*
Hannah
Hannah ran downthe stairs and threw open the back door to let Dallas in when he called to say he’d arrived.
Tousled black curls and warm hazel eyes were the first things she noticed. Sun- and wind-reddened cheeks and chapped hands made it apparent he’d spent the last week outdoors. A denim jacket and button-down flannel shirt made an already wide chest seem that much broader. Wrangler jeans topped a pair of worn leather boots. He looked more like a ranch hand and less like a doctor. Both looks suited him equally well, although she liked him best when he was stripped naked. He carried two bags of takeout.
He peered over his shoulder into the brightly lit parking lot behind him rather than offering her the kiss she’d looked forward to with huge expectations. “Why is there arest in peacesign in your truck’s windshield?” he asked.
Because she’d thought it might make him laugh when he saw it.
“Thefree to a good homesign didn’t work and the town asked me to move the remains off the street. They’d had complaints,” she said, working past her disappointment over not getting a kiss. She was the one who’d asked for space, after all.
“When’s your birthday?” he asked. “I’ll buy you another second-hand, rusted-out piece of junk and maybe you can Frankenstein it back to life.”
“Not until May, so save your money, big spender. I’ll buy my own second-hand junker long before then. Besides, I’d rather you give me chocolates and flowers. I’m old-fashioned that way.”