“Six-thirty, Colton. Time’s wasting.” She lifted a hand in a jaunty wave and opened the back door of her SUV for Polo to bound onto the back seat.
He stood, hands at his belt, until she’d backed down the drive and turned in the direction of town. Like always, she left him with the sensation of standing in a hurricane wind, tumbled and exhilarated and maybe a tad scared, in awe of the power she packed. A grin quirked one corner of his mouth.
He could do worse than dinner with her, though.
And he definitely had.
Turning, he jogged up the steps, heading for the shower and maybe to cut the tags off that pink shirt.
Chapter Two
Pathlights cast a soft glow on the walk to Holly’s front door. The carport offered access to the side door, what Holly always called the back door, but he stayed on the walkway from the curb where he’d parked his truck, boots scuffing against the concrete. They were friends, but not backdoor kind of friends.
As he mounted the pair of low steps to her porch, anticipation drew his gut tight. He was looking forward to this.
The door swung inward before he could punch the bell, and she grinned up at him. “You’re on time. Good job.”
“Don’t patronize me.” He swept a glance over her. She did clean up good, an off-white sweater dress skimming her body, blonde hair caught in a loose braid so her long bangs curved free along one cheek.
Man, she was pretty.
“I’m not.” She patted his chest and pulled the door closed behind her. Her leather ankle boots matched her little bag. She smelled fantastic, too, more of that fresh air and sunshine he caught a whiff of whenever she got close. “Most of my friends are late for everything. I like punctuality in a man.”
He scoffed. “Lamar is never late for anything.”
“I saidmostof my friends.” Waving her bag, she sauntered toward his truck. Her amused sound traveled to him on the cool air. “And he's developed a penchant for being late to social occasions since he met Caitlin. I cannot understand it.”
He frowned at her ironic tone, lengthening his stride to catch up so he could hold the passenger door. Once she swung her legs inside, he shut the door and skirted the hood to the driver’s side.
“I notice you’re not wearing the pink shirt.” Her lips pursed in a smirk, and he shot a glance at her. He’d tried, he’d reallytried, but hadn’t been able to keep the garment on, had shoved it back in the closet and reached for the pale blue shirt instead. She latched her seatbelt. “You should just go ahead and give that shirt to Mr. Gene. I don’t know what your mama was thinking.”
“It’s a good brand and she got it on sale.” Lord knew Sue loved a good sale. He eased onto the street, keeping an eye out for playing children or exercising adults. The cul-de-sac lay in one of Coney’s newer subdivisions popular with young marrieds and growing families. Del had the only Chuck Calvert build on the street, though. “You know I can’t give it to Grandaddy. Can you imagine if I did and he wore it and she saw it? Geez-freaking-Louise.”
“Oh, that would be like Mona finding out I gave the peach velour lounge suit she bought me to Goodwill.” A pretty smile flirted about her lips. “Do you know I drove to Valdosta to put it in a donation box? I was terrified if I took it to Albany someone from Coney would buy it.”
Slowing to a stop at the intersection with 37, he gestured between them with a finger. “We might both have a problem with not wanting to disappoint our mamas.”
“Only child syndrome.” She grimaced. “It’s awful.”
“So where am I going?” Most options in Coney would have him turning right, but there was always the chance she wanted The Catfish House, and the easiest route required a left so he could take the LTI cut-through.
“Son, you have been promoted to management.” How did she smile that wide and bright? And why did it always do weird things to the middle of his chest? Not like he hadn’t been seeing her smile forever. “We are going to The Square.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He flipped the blinker down even though there was no one behind him, checked the highway againbecause you never knew at this intersection, and pulled out for Moultrie. He could handle a thirty-minute drive in her company.
She leaned forward to fiddle with the entertainment screen, finding the retro-90s channel, the long gold chain and quartz pendant she’d gotten from her grandma falling forward. No telling what all had been in Mrs. Sadie’s tall jewelry box when she’d passed it off to Holly and moved into the assisted living center. Wilson Phillips filled the cab, Holly joining in on the lyrics to “Hold On,” and he shot her a sidelong glance.
“What do you mean, she wasn’t good enough for me?”
Holly stopped mid-word and rolled her eyes. “She wanted to change who you are. Any woman who can’t accept you for you, Colton, is not good enough.”
He tightened his hold on the wheel. “There’s plenty wrong with me to change.”
“No.”
Nothing more, just no, and the lights of a passing car highlighting her tilted chin. Wasn’t like he was going toargueand tell her everything wrong about him.
“You are too hard on yourself.” She smoothed her hem across her thighs. “You always have been.”
