She shook her head. No way. “I ... can’t.”
She could have sworn she saw his jaw drop, and a thrill of triumph shot through her. For a moment, she felt like she was exacting some sort of strange revenge against Peter. Which of course was silly—this wasn’t Peter, this was Erik.
“Uh, can’t?”
“I’m sorry, but I’ve just come out of a very serious relationship. Dating is off-limits for me right now.” Especially dating someone like you.
He looked genuinely disappointed. “How about as friends? I could use the company. Someone nice to talk with.” He gave her a wry smile. “You have to admit there’s a shortage of sophisticated dinner partners in Dahlia. It would be a good time.”
“It’s tempting, Erik, but I’m not ready.”
He nodded. “I understand. Well, you can’t blame a guy for trying.”
“I hope it doesn’t interfere with our business relationship. We’ve really appreciated having your partnership with theDahlia Weekly.”
He winked. “If I buy a bigger ad, would you go out with me?”
“Uh …”
“Teasing. Mostly.” He slid his sunglasses back on, grinning. “Well, at least let me walk you out.”
She did, and they said goodbye at their cars. What a charmer. Peter had nothing on this guy.
And turning her key in the ignition, she drove toward Granny’s house, willing her mind to stay on the road, on work, on the fish she’d caught. On anything but Erik Wennerman.
CHAPTER 20
Devon
Devon arrived at Friday Night Giveaway just as people were starting to gather outside. A few perched on the low wall, which was much more comfortable than the actual town benches in front of the church. The benches had slats that poked into your legs when you sat, but the low wall was smooth, better for sitting.
As he pedaled up, one of the guys, Paulo, caught his eye, gave a little half-wave/nod, and another man, Sammy, held open the door and motioned him in.
“Come, come, Mista Devon, sir.” Sammy’s voice reminded him of music almost, like he came from far, far, away, though Devon knew he’d lived in Dahlia many years.
Mrs. Martha greeted him, checking him off on her clipboard. She came around the registration table to give him a quick hug.
“Well, hello there, Devon! How are you doing tonight?” Her cheek felt smooth and powdery, and her perfume smelled like roses, strong and sweet. He liked it.
“Great, Mrs. Martha. How are you?”
“Can’t complain.” She grinned, called over to the skinny older man at the bottles-and-clothing table. “Mike, look who’s nice and early tonight.”
Mike waved. “Got a few minutes to help me sort?”
Devon pitched in, stacking the shampoo, mini soaps, and shaving creams just so, the way Mr. Mike liked them. Mike barely looked up as they sorted—bottles on the left, mini soaps next, down the line. His gray hair bobbed here and there with the motion.
“Hey there, sugar!” a voice called, and Devon looked up to see Marla waving at him through the opening between the fellowship hall and kitchen. “You stay out there till we get rolling, then I’m gonna need you back here with me doing dishes.”
“You got it!”
He’d finished laying out the napkins and silverware and was getting ready to help Mike sort the clothes when Miss Becca arrived.
She stood in the doorway, looking nervous in her button-down shirt and jeans. She hadn’t spotted him yet.
“This is the ministry night?” She fiddled with her car keys, and Mrs. Martha gave an extra big smile.
“You’ve come to volunteer?”
