Trouble (Dogwood Lane #3)(42)

“What’s in it?”

“You’ll know if you open it,” he says, exasperated. “Good lord, Avery. Why are you so difficult?”

My jaw drops. “Me? I’m not difficult. You didn’t even have to work that hard to kiss me.”

There. I said it. It’s out in the air. The elephant in the room is out of its cage. Or savanna. Or wherever elephants are kept.

His eyes twinkle. “Ah, so you think this is some kind of parlay from that? Is that your hang-up?”

“I don’t have a hang-up,” I say, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “I just don’t understand what the point of it is.”

He leans back, resting his hands in front of him. He frowns as he takes me in.

“Don’t people do this?” he asks. “I mean, Neely baked Meredith a bunch of cookies when they moved to town. And Claire just bought a dozen doughnuts from the café for some woman that moved into the house next to her.” He spins his hat around so it’s sitting backward on his head. “Maybe I got this all wrong.”

I’m speechless. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I don’t even really know what to say. That stupid backward cap makes him even more attractive, and that’s not what I need right now.

“I’m sorry if I fucked this up,” he says, starting to get up.

“No,” I say quickly. “Um, no. You didn’t mess anything up, Penn. I just . . . I’m not used to this kind of thing.”

He settles back in his seat with more than a dose of hesitation. “What do people in California do when you get a neighbor?”

“Ignore them.”

A laugh spills into the room, but it’s more from disbelief than entertainment.

I play with the latch on the box, snapping the black piece that holds it shut over and over. There has to be something that goes along with this. Something I’m not thinking of. If someone does something nice for you in Los Angeles, it’s because they need a favor.

“So, there are no strings attached to this?” I ask.

“What kind of people are you used to?” He raises his brows. “I mean, hell, Avery. I’m not the nicest guy in the universe, but I wouldn’t bring you something and expect something in return if that’s what you’re getting at. And quite frankly, I’m a little offended you’d think that.”

My heart sinks as I take in his face.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just used to people that don’t make a move unless there’s a reason behind it—and the reason isn’t ever to just be nice.”

“That fucking sucks.”

“Yeah. It does.” We exchange a soft smile, one that fills me with a warmth that I never want to leave. I flip the latch and pull apart the two halves of the tackle box.

And I laugh.

“This is not what I was expecting,” I say.

He leans forward, peering into the box like a child at a birthday party. He looks up at me through his dark, thick lashes. “Do you like it?”

“Yeah,” I say with a giggle. “I do.”

I take out a white pencil. The tip is a plethora of colors, and I can imagine that when you sharpen it, the shavings look like rainbows.

“This is nice.” I hold it up. “Very colorful.”

“Okay. To be honest here, Mia gave me that. But the colors reminded me of paint, and I thought that since you’re an artist, you might like it.”

My heart tugs in my chest. “I do. Thank you.” I reach in and take out the next item. “A multipurpose tool. Smart.”

“Knowing you’re a city girl, I figured you didn’t have one. Every country girl needs a good multitool. Never know when you’re gonna need to fillet a fish or screw something in—like your speaker. Did you ever get that hung?”

I set the tool down. “Let’s not ruin the moment. Moving on . . .”

The next item is a bright-red flyswatter. I hold it up.

“So, that’s for flies by design, but you’ll really need it for mosquitoes in the summer. But it can be used in the bedroom if . . .” He stops when I smack the table in front of him. The grin on his face is priceless.

“Fly-or mosquito-swatter. Got it. I’m sure that will be handy.” I set it down and spy a bright-orange candy wrapper with peanut-butter-filled chocolate cups. “Oh, I love these.”

“I knew you would.”

I laugh. “Did you really?”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

“Not people with peanut allergies,” I point out.

“Do you have allergies?”

“Just to bullshit,” I say, picking up the last item from the box. It’s an expired ticket to a circus. I laugh. “What’s this?”

He turns his head so he’s looking at me out of the corner of his eye. “That is a ticket to the Dogwood Lane Tour.”

“Funny. It says it’s a ticket to the Long Family Circus, expired in 2018.”

“Well, it has multiple purposes.” He turns to face me. “If you want someone to show you around, a tour of the paths less traveled, you can cash that ticket in at any time.”

“No strings attached?”

He rolls his eyes and falls back in his chair. “Why do you think everything comes with a string?”