As he opened his mouth, he thought he heard her almost imperceptible sigh. She returned her gaze to the receding sun. “Well, let’s get to that dinner, shall we? I’m starving.”
Theo’s jaw tightened and he hesitated, trying to decide whether to let that shadowy topic slink away. But she clapped her hands and a cloud of dirt drifted into the air. She slapped a determined smile on her face. “And I’m sure you’ll want a shower.”
Another time then.
“I wouldn’t complain,” he said, well aware of the dirt covering every crevice of his body. At this point, he’d had the urge to itch something for a solid twelve hours.
“Fine. Pick me up when you’re done?” Skye said. She seemed to realize how forward she sounded and shrugged. “It’d be silly to drive two cars into town.”
“Actually, if it’s all the same to you, I’ll cook. I have a meal in mind.” He smiled, catching sight of the mammoth tree in the center of the farm. “And a place. If... if it’s okay with you. I figure, why not toast to good memories? Because... we did have them, don’t you think?”
A questioning microexpression formed as her lips tilted, and she slowly followed his gaze over her shoulder.
He saw the merest twinkle come to her eyes.
He exhaled, truly exhaled, for the first time in years.
“Time?” Skye inquired.
He glanced to the sun melting into the trees, ran through the movements and motions that would need to take place in the next few hours. “Seven thirty.”
“Dress?” she said, her brow raised.
He chuckled good-naturedly. “What else for a fine meal by a fine chef under the stars? Semiformal.”
Skye looked into his eyes for one long moment before taking his shovel. “How could I have doubted you’d have it any other way?”
Chapter 12
Skye
Of course the man wanted semiformal.
Skye rummaged through her closet, each hanger scraping across the metal bar as she swiftly rejected every item. A white blouse she donned back in Seattle for gallery events. A sunflower dress at least a decade old. A pink number she bought half a dozen years ago and never wore.
The dress options were crammed between baggy sweaters and tank tops in the small closet barely larger than a coffin. Nothing fit for anything resembling the wordsemiformal.
Because she didn’tdosemiformal.
Back in Seattle, her favorite places to eat were local, hipster. Her favorite meal consisted of a vegan macro bowl coupled with a light brew. She could get away with wearing anything at those restaurants—anything except semiformal.
Skye pushed another hanger across the rack and stopped.
Touched the forest-green silk, trouser-leg jumpsuit.
Perfect.
She grabbed the hanger off the rack and threw the outfit on her bed before moving to the bathroom. She walked past the mirror and pushed open the curtain. Her face was worse than she’d imagined. The mascara she’d applied that morning had run far, far away from her eyelashes. And her hair... Skye frowned as she reached for a dirt clod clinging to the elastic band of her off-kilter ponytail. She looked like a wild, mud-covered minion.
Terrrrrific.
Theo had worn an orange flannel as conspicuous as an orange cone and managed to out-style her. He sported his share of dirt and sweat, but the effect was the opposite. While she went downhill by the hour, he became more masculine. Wiping the sweat off his forehead. Smiling with those ultrawhite teeth as they caught up on the past fourteen years. And that moment when he picked her up and ran like a wild man away from that snake...
A wild, ridiculous, very debonair man indeed.
Skye yanked the ponytail holder out of her hair. She gave herself a long look. Watched as her mud-crusty hair fell to her shoulders. Glanced down at her pathetic array of makeup options and irons, at the dried-up hairspray can in the bottom of the drawer.
She pressed her lips together.
