Ginger's Heart (A Modern Fairytale, #3)(121)

“No, thanks. I don’t want to forget it,” she said softly. “I’d . . .”

He jerked his head up, his eyes locking with hers as he held his breath.

“I’d like to go out to dinner with you on Friday. I’d like to go on a date with you, Cain.”

“Oh, yeah?” he asked, exhaling in a rush and running his hand through his bristly hair. He felt his lips tilt up into a relieved smile. “You would?”

She nodded, answering his grin with a sweet one of her own. “I would.”

His chest tightened, aching a little because she looked so clean and soft and pretty standing there behind his desk . . . and because she’d said yes, when he truly thought she was saying no. He held her eyes, smiling at her, wondering if this was how Woodman had felt around Ginger, and understanding—really understanding—why Woodman had staked a claim so long ago and clung to it so fiercely.

She licked her lips and raked her teeth across her bottom lip, staring back at him, a goofy smile covering her face and making her eyes sparkle.

Oh, my heart, princess. I ain’t never given it to anyone before, but it’s yours now. It’s all yours.

“All right then.” He gulped. “I guess I’ll see you Friday.”

“It’s a date,” she said, giggling softly, like she couldn’t believe it. She picked up her purse and walked around the desk, stopping beside Cain to lean up on tiptoe and press her sweet lips to his cheek. “Good night, Cain.”

He froze in place, his breath held, his body taut and still. He listened as she passed by him and walked away, heard her car engine start and the sound of her wheels turning out of his driveway. The office still smelled lightly of lemons, his cheek burned like she’d branded him with a poker . . .

. . . and Friday was three long days away.





Chapter 30


On Friday Ginger arrived at Cain’s place at noon in a pair of jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and sneakers, but out in her Jeep she’d left a black scoop-neck blouse and black boots. As she had on Tuesday, she spent most of the day alone, in the little office, answering the phone and making coffee for the folks waiting on Cain to service their motorcycles. She chatted with many of them as they sat in the guest chairs waiting for him to come and tell them the work was done or how much more time he’d need, and found she enjoyed the company and good-natured small talk. But what she loved the most was that whenever Cain came into the office, he’d cut his eyes to her first, right away, and she came to long for those intimate nanomoments, which quickly became the peak of her whole day.

She’d talked to Gran about Cain after work yesterday, sharing that they had a date set for after work on Friday, and Gran had seemed pleased as punch. Ginger would be just as excited as Gran if an idea stuck in the back of her head wasn’t bothering her so much.

Were she and Cain only bound by grief?

Like most relationships that started under pressure, she worried that it wouldn’t end well in the long run, and losing Cain again was not something her heart would be able to bear.

Three years ago Cain had hurt her, and in response, she’d shifted her attention, if not her romantic affections, to Woodman. After she chose Woodman so soon after declaring her affections to Cain, Cain had come to think of her as fickle, believing that Woodman deserved far better than her. When he’d sought her out at the fire department BBQ that fateful day, their reunion had been full of caustic, biting anger. A few hours later, Woodman had tragically died, and a month after that, Cain had started coming around. Now here they were, going out on a date. And if there had been any confusion about the purpose of the date when he asked, Cain had made it very clear, with a searing-hot expression, that he was interested in her.

But why?

Or rather . . . how?

They’d been archenemies at the BBQ.

Then Woodman died.

All vitriol was suddenly gone.

It was a strange equation, and deep down inside it didn’t add up for Ginger, which worried her. Was the fury they’d both felt truly gone for good? Or was it temporarily gone, to make way for grief? Had they made quick amends only because they’d both lost someone they loved? Because didn’t that mean that when their grief mellowed, the baggage of anger and hurt feelings would resurface? Didn’t they have to deal with the baggage between them at one point or other? If not, how could they possibly move forward?

She didn’t know. But all of it worried her.

At seven o’clock she went to her car and grabbed her bag with her blouse and boots, then headed back into the office, locking the bathroom door and changing. She put on some mascara and lipstick, took her hair from its ponytail and brushed it out until it lay wavy and shiny on her shoulders. When she was ready, she opened the door to find Cain waiting.

“Princess,” he murmured, his eyes scorching a path from her eyes to her lips to her throat to her breasts to her boots and back up again. “You look . . . beautiful.”

“Thanks,” she said, smiling at him. Tucked under his arm she saw a rolled-up pair of jeans. “Looks like we had the same idea.”

“Give me a minute or two to change?” he asked.

She nodded. “I’ll shut down the computers and forward the phones to voice mail. Meet you in the showroom?”

“Sounds good,” he said, unmoving, his dimples deep and sweet.