We both glance over to see that the curtain has dropped again. Dash darts forward to brush a kiss across my forehead, then jumps out of the truck, racing around to help me out and carrying my guitar to the front door.
Mom is standing in the hall as I open the door.
"Good evening, Mrs. Smith," Dash says, showing off yet another winning smile. This one is less seductive, more "charm the mom". I have to admit, the array of his dazzling smiles has been fascinating so far. I'm going to have to keep a close eye on them. Maybe take photos and notes, start an archive.
"I'm Dash Oakley."
The flicker of recognition runs through Mom's eyes, as she self-consciously runs a hand through her hair. "Nice to meet you, Dash. Thanks for bringing Bridget home."
"Any time," he says casually, slouching as the top of his hair brushes the door frame. "Couldn't let Bridget and her guitar get rained on."
"Thank you," I say, giving him a nod.
He tips an imaginary cowboy hat. "Have a good night, ladies."
As he walks back toward the truck, my eyes flick to his strong, masculine stride, and the way those worn jeans fit him just perfectly.
Mom shuts the door and spins, her eyes already filled with that uneasy fear I know so well. "What the hell do you think you're doing hanging out with him?"
"He showed up at work, and didn't want me to walk to Mr. Filbert's in the rain. He's really nice." Setting my guitar down, I try to change the subject. "For the record, the Oakleys aren't logging, they're?—"
"Bridget." Mom's voice is low but sharp. "We do not need any public attention that might lead your father to us."
I hate that he's usually my father, not her ex-husband. Way to take responsibility for your bad decisions, Mom. She's still paranoid that he's going to find us and want money. Or try to rekindle their relationship. Or something.
"It's going to be fine."
Mom gives me a pointed look. "Do not make the same mistakes I made." She turns on her heel, marching to the kitchen.
I know full well what she means. Apparently Mom fell in love at just eighteen, and was knocked up almost immediately. When they got married as a result, she still didn't know Dad very well yet, and apparently a tornado of mistakes ensued.
That doesn't mean that I will necessarily follow in her footsteps.
Besides, there's no way that Dash Oakley could be in love with me. Lust, maybe.
So I can't let myself have real feelings for him beyond lust in return. He could never be more than a fling.
Could he?
3
DASH
Normally I love analyzing trees, learning more about them, and discovering which ones are the most valuable to high-end furniture makers. Today, my mind keeps wandering.
I've never watched the clock this closely before. I can't stop checking my phone, waiting until just the right time to text Bridget. I want to catch her after the morning rush, but before the lunch rush. At two minutes to eleven, I can't wait any longer.
Me:Good morning, my beautiful Bridget. What time shall I pick you up after work?
I've barely slid my phone back in my pocket when I feel a buzz.
Bridget:You just assume that I'm going to be free?
Me:If you would prefer that I pay to spend time with you, I'll certainly consider it. I don't know what that says about either of us, but I don't even care.
Bridget:I don't know if you just called me a lady of the evening, or implied that you're desperate to hang out with me again.
Me:The second one. Definitely.
