Trouble (Dogwood Lane #3)(26)

“You ready?” she asks. I almost get the feeling she wants me to say no. But as she steps toward the gate, I figure it’s just wishful thinking.

“Sure.” I make sure to get ahead of her in time to open the gate. “Here you go.”

She dips her chin as she walks out. “Thanks.”

I get the gate latched and find the padlock hidden behind a giant pot that holds prickly red flowers. Through the gate it goes before I slam it shut.

Avery laughs. “I didn’t even see the gate when I pulled up. I went through the dining room and all those people for nothing.”

“They just installed it a few months ago. It’s hard to see if you’re not looking for it,” I tell her. I give the lock a jerk to make sure it’s fastened. “There we go. All done.”

“Is there a reason you’re the one locking up?”

Her eyes shine under the moonlight. There’s a softness to her features that I haven’t seen before, yet it feels familiar.

“It’s kind of a thing around here,” I tell her. “Most of the regulars just lock it if we’re the last to leave. Small-town stuff, I guess.”

“I like it.”

I know she means the small-town life, but I pop my collar, anyway. “Thanks.”

She laughs. “I didn’t mean you.”

“Uh, yeah. I think you did.”

She rolls her eyes and turns toward her car. “You’re pretty confident for a guy that keeps getting told no.”

“Let’s talk about that. Why are you playing hard to get, anyway?”

“I’m not playing, Penn.”

“So, you’re just hard to get?” I stand a few feet away as she opens her car door and tosses her purse into the passenger seat. “I kind of like that in a woman. I’m not mad about it.”

She leans against the doorframe. She brushes a lock of hair out of her eyes as she chooses her words.

“I’ve rendered you speechless, huh?” I say, hoping to make her laugh.

It works. The sound dances over me and makes me feel some way—a way I’m not sure how to identify. I just know I like it.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a piece of work?” she asks.

“It’s usually a piece of meat, but I like work too.”

She shakes her head. “Thank you for walking me to my car, even though I didn’t ask you to.”

“I’m attentive to every need, Ave, and can help with all kinds of things without being told or asked to. Just remember that.”

Her pupils are dilated, her throat constricted as she forces a swallow. She crosses her arms and then uncrosses them, and for a woman who’s trying to act like she’s not attracted to me . . .

She fails.

Hard.

That makes both of us.

“Do you have any family here besides Harper? It’s an honest question,” I add before she can interject. “I’m being serious.”

“No. I don’t. My family is all back in Los Angeles, which is fine. Trust me. They’re . . . a lot.”

“I know you’re going to think this is a pickup line, and if you want it to be, then it so is.” I grin. “But if you don’t, it’s just me trying to be a nice guy.”

“What?”

“If you want my number, I’ll give it to you,” I offer.

Her head falls back and she laughs. “That’s an awful pickup line.”

“It wasn’t one.”

“Yes, it was.”

“I assure you, Ave, it wasn’t,” I insist. “My game isn’t that weak.”

She starts to talk and then stops. Her arms cross her chest again, and she takes a deep breath. “Then give me your best shot.”

I laugh. “What? My best shot? What does that even mean?”

“Give me your best pickup line.”

I blink a couple of times. She’s issued me a challenge—one I wasn’t expecting. I scramble to come up with something, but I need time.

“You’ve put me on the spot,” I say.

She grins, proud of herself. “You talk a lot of smack. I want you to work for it.”

Whether she means to or not, she chooses this exact moment to lick her lips. And I don’t mean to, but I almost whimper.

“Does this mean I win a prize if I woo you?” I ask, trying to delay. My brain searches every mental file I have for a pickup line.

“You can’t woo me.”

“That sounds like a dare.”

She presses off the car. There’s heat in her eyes that I can feel in my blood.

“It’s not a dare. It’s a fact,” she says. “You can’t woo me. I’m un-woo-able.”

“Is that so?”

“Absolutely.”

“I’m about to woo you.”

My mind starts racing again. It’s like I’m totally unprepared for a very important test.

“When, exactly, does the wooing commence?” It’s a tease, a nod to the fact that she thinks she’s already won. “Because I don’t have all night.”

“Before I start, what do I win?”

If I weren’t looking as closely as I am, I wouldn’t notice the uptick in her breathing. The way her chest rises and falls like she’s preparing for . . . something. And dear Lord, how I’d like to give her all of my something.