My heart rattles around inside my ribs as the house fills with even more unfamiliar voices. Louder, the house growing more excited.
I haven’t heard Dallas’s voice in a while and I’m wondering if he plans to look out for me tonight. Likely not. He’s about as thrilled as I am about all this and will no doubt disappear every chance he can.
There’s a knock on my door and my stomach flips, hoping I’m wrong, that Dallasischecking on me. This morning over coffee, he grumbled something about sneaking off upstairs to make it look like we can’t keep our hands off each other.
I’m about to pull it open to ask if it’s that bad already, but Rose sticks her head in. “Are you decent?”
I frown. “In what context?”
Her eyes scan the room before pushing the door wide open. A petite blonde female is with her, bouncing inside uninvited, like Goldilocks. “Hi there. Oh, you’re a pretty one. I’m Charlie.”
I perk a brow at Rose and she answers my unspoken question. “Noah’s wife.”
I look down at the ray of sunshine with a chuckle. “No, you’re not.”
Her grin is wide. “Almost a whole year now. Noah sent me up here for quality control.”
“Quality what?”
She pushes me aside and opens up my closet, looking horrified. “What’s all this?”
“My clothes,” I tell her.
Since I’m staying a while, Dallas took me and Ellie shopping the other day. And Rose was right—money’s no object for the man. He practically let Ellie and me go allPretty Womanin that mall.
“I see that.Whyare they in the guest room?” She glances back at Rose and cocks her head. “Help me out here.” She grabs two handfuls of hangers.
Rose winces, pulling me aside. “Why don’t you let us make it look like you’re a couple up here while you head down.”
I point a finger at her. “That woman seems intense, watch her.”
She rolls her eyes. “She runs a children’s bookstore—she’s as harmless as they come.”
I nod, still unsure about all these people. But if Rose trusts them, I suppose I could—for now.
The two of them haul my clothing and a few random articles of mine into Dallas’s bedroom.
I shake my head, huffing out a breath as I smooth my dress once more and turn toward the stairs.
I stop short when I find Dallas standing at the top of the landing. His eyes roam down my figure.
“You look nice.” The words escape with a raspy breath and a hard swallow.
I don’t comment that I could certainly say the same for him. Dark jeans, light blue shirt, that black cowboy hat. And a bowtie with a dark blue emblem. Instead, I stand there and suck in a breath, wishing to God all those people would just go away.
And as hard as I try, I’m having trouble putting Dallas in that category.
Because the last thing I need right now is for him to be watching me with those blue eyes like he’s saying the same damn thing.
You’re going to have to help me if I look like I’m about to cross some line.
I’ve had to replay those words a few times this week—but more as a reminder to myself.
Because he hasn’t so much as hinted at crossing some line. The minute he realizes he’s been staring too long or we’re in the same roomalonefor longer than your average small talk, he bolts.
Not that I can blame him—the stakes are high.
No room for screw-ups.
