Kelly.”
“Boss? You’re a partner now, Dan,” Quentin Harper corrects in a deep voice, stepping toward me with a meticulous smile, hand extended.
To me, Dan explains, “I made partner at the firm this week.”
“Congratulations.”
Perfect Woman links her arm with his and purrs. “We had a lovely dinner at that new little French restaurant.”
“Wonderful,” I say. I didn’t even know there was a new French restaurant.
“So,” Dan says, eyeing me. “What brings you to downtown Melbourne on a Saturday night?”
I fiddle with my latte cup. No use lying. “A date. He felt ill and went home.”
Dan looks startled. “Went home?”
I nod and sit down before I fall down. Why does honesty have to be so embarrassing?
“Do you need a ride home?” Perfect Woman asks.
“Oh, no, no. I can call a cab.” A cab? Why didn’t I sayfriend? A friend. I can call a friend. Cab sounds so lonely and desperate.
“Nonsense. We’re on our way home now. Ride with us,” Dan insists.
I wave them off as if sitting downtown, alone, is actually fun for me. “No, I’m fine. Thank you.”
“We insist,” Perfect Woman says.
Refusing now would just look stupid. “Okay, thank you.”
The Harpers go their way while I follow Dan and Perf—I mean Delia to Dan’s white Mercedes.
I didn’t think this night could get any worse. I’m grateful for the ride home, but did it have to be with Mr. Success and Miss Perfect?
Dan takes the scenic route to the Gables, driving along the river. Moonbeams sparkle like diamonds on the water. He and Delia talk quietly for a few minutes, so I make myself at home in the backseat, nestled against the cool posh leather, and think thoughts to God. I decide not to fret anymore about my crash-and-burn date.
By the time we drive home, my disappointment over Austin Ramirez has gone the way of moondust.
Chapter Thirteen
I search my purse for my keys.
“Can you get inside?” Dan calls.
I wave. “Yes, thanks again.” Go on, now—I’ve had enough humiliation for one night. The white Mercedes disappears into Dan’s garage.
I find my keys, unlock the door and step inside to hear the house phone ringing. Probably Lucy. I check the clock on the stove as I answer. Eight-fifteen. And date day is over.
“Hello?”
“Macy, it’s Dylan Braun.”
My bag drops to the floor. “H-hi.”
“Are you up for some company?”
“Who?”
He laughs low. “Me.”
Yowza. My heart starts the tango. “Um, sure.”
“It’ll take me about an hour to get there. I’m in Daytona.”
“G-great.” We talk directions for a few minutes before we hang up.
With the portable dangling from my hand and my feet bolted to the kitchen floor, I figure I must be dreaming. Dylan Braun is coming to visit me. I slap the side of my face lightly. Wake up, Macy. The sting of my burned skin tells me I’m awake. Very awake.
The next hour is a blur. I remember checking the downstairs bathroom for clean hand towels and switching on a few ambient lights, but after that, I’m not sure what I did.
Suddenly I’m opening my door to Dylan Braun. “Hello.”
He’s propped against the wall, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. “Hi.”
“Come in, please.” I stand aside for him to pass, breathing in sandalwood and spices as he walks through the door. I feel light-headed. Sandalwood and spices. My new favorite scent.
“This is beautiful, Macy,” he says, observing my home.
“Thank you. So what brought you to Daytona?” I move to the couch.
His blue-green eyes smile at me. “Dad and I came down for Bike Week.”
“Bike week?”
He sits next to me. “We started making custom motorcycles last year. Braun Bikes. Bike Week is a good place to advertise.”
“Custom bikes. Wow.”
We fall silent and stare at each other for a few seconds.
But not at all like the silence between Austin and me during dinner.
“Coffee?” I ask, breathing in his presence.
“Sure. As long as it’s no
“Boss? You’re a partner now, Dan,” Quentin Harper corrects in a deep voice, stepping toward me with a meticulous smile, hand extended.
To me, Dan explains, “I made partner at the firm this week.”
“Congratulations.”
Perfect Woman links her arm with his and purrs. “We had a lovely dinner at that new little French restaurant.”
“Wonderful,” I say. I didn’t even know there was a new French restaurant.
“So,” Dan says, eyeing me. “What brings you to downtown Melbourne on a Saturday night?”
I fiddle with my latte cup. No use lying. “A date. He felt ill and went home.”
Dan looks startled. “Went home?”
I nod and sit down before I fall down. Why does honesty have to be so embarrassing?
“Do you need a ride home?” Perfect Woman asks.
“Oh, no, no. I can call a cab.” A cab? Why didn’t I sayfriend? A friend. I can call a friend. Cab sounds so lonely and desperate.
“Nonsense. We’re on our way home now. Ride with us,” Dan insists.
I wave them off as if sitting downtown, alone, is actually fun for me. “No, I’m fine. Thank you.”
“We insist,” Perfect Woman says.
Refusing now would just look stupid. “Okay, thank you.”
The Harpers go their way while I follow Dan and Perf—I mean Delia to Dan’s white Mercedes.
I didn’t think this night could get any worse. I’m grateful for the ride home, but did it have to be with Mr. Success and Miss Perfect?
Dan takes the scenic route to the Gables, driving along the river. Moonbeams sparkle like diamonds on the water. He and Delia talk quietly for a few minutes, so I make myself at home in the backseat, nestled against the cool posh leather, and think thoughts to God. I decide not to fret anymore about my crash-and-burn date.
By the time we drive home, my disappointment over Austin Ramirez has gone the way of moondust.
Chapter Thirteen
I search my purse for my keys.
“Can you get inside?” Dan calls.
I wave. “Yes, thanks again.” Go on, now—I’ve had enough humiliation for one night. The white Mercedes disappears into Dan’s garage.
I find my keys, unlock the door and step inside to hear the house phone ringing. Probably Lucy. I check the clock on the stove as I answer. Eight-fifteen. And date day is over.
“Hello?”
“Macy, it’s Dylan Braun.”
My bag drops to the floor. “H-hi.”
“Are you up for some company?”
“Who?”
He laughs low. “Me.”
Yowza. My heart starts the tango. “Um, sure.”
“It’ll take me about an hour to get there. I’m in Daytona.”
“G-great.” We talk directions for a few minutes before we hang up.
With the portable dangling from my hand and my feet bolted to the kitchen floor, I figure I must be dreaming. Dylan Braun is coming to visit me. I slap the side of my face lightly. Wake up, Macy. The sting of my burned skin tells me I’m awake. Very awake.
The next hour is a blur. I remember checking the downstairs bathroom for clean hand towels and switching on a few ambient lights, but after that, I’m not sure what I did.
Suddenly I’m opening my door to Dylan Braun. “Hello.”
He’s propped against the wall, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. “Hi.”
“Come in, please.” I stand aside for him to pass, breathing in sandalwood and spices as he walks through the door. I feel light-headed. Sandalwood and spices. My new favorite scent.
“This is beautiful, Macy,” he says, observing my home.
“Thank you. So what brought you to Daytona?” I move to the couch.
His blue-green eyes smile at me. “Dad and I came down for Bike Week.”
“Bike week?”
He sits next to me. “We started making custom motorcycles last year. Braun Bikes. Bike Week is a good place to advertise.”
“Custom bikes. Wow.”
We fall silent and stare at each other for a few seconds.
But not at all like the silence between Austin and me during dinner.
“Coffee?” I ask, breathing in his presence.
“Sure. As long as it’s no
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