We both laugh and it feels good. Right.Lawd, have mercy.I must be losing my mind to think that.
This is not supposed to happen. This is a business relationship, and I must remember that.
“Since you know everyone in this town,” he continues, “I assume that means you’re also privy to their secrets. I’m guessing that means you’re—”
“Not interested in dating any of them.”
He hitches a brow in disbelief. “Never?”
“Never.”
Pane’s hand on my back tightens. “Which means one of them broke your heart.”
I stiffen. This is not the time to spill about Luke. Not now, and not with Pane. No matter how fabulous he smells.
My heart immediately throws up walls around itself. “Why are you asking? Wondering if I’ve almost nabbed other rich men?”
His expression falls. “If your dating pool is small, mine is, too.”
“How could your dating pool be tiny? You can date the whole world.”
“But does the whole world want me? Or does it want something else?”
My heart stutters at what Pane’s suggesting—that woman only date him for his money.
I’ve been staring at him, and it’s getting hot. Or I’m feeling hot. “Can we sit down?”
“You okay?” he asks, concern etched on his face.
“I’m fine. Just tired.”
I don’t like the look on his face. Our relationship was better when we hated one another. This is new. Confusing. Strange.
He escorts me back to our barstools and we sit. My water is empty now, which makes me sad. Pane sips his drink and swivels his barstool around to face mine, giving me his undivided attention.
“Another water, or whiskey sour?”
“I’ll take a whiskey sour.”
When the drink is in my hand, I suck it down in an attempt to fog up this new feeling for Pane. I’m working really, really hard to not like him, but here he is, steadily watching me. Pane Maddox is acid, slowly dissolving my resolve to continue hating him.
“May I ask ... where is your mom?”
“Oh, her.” I grab a handful of peanuts and slowly shell them, popping each in my mouth as I explain. “She is living her dream and following her favorite jam band around the country, alongside her boyfriend.”
“People do that?”
“They do. There’s a whole community of retirement-age folks who follow bands in their campers.” I chew and swallow a peanut. “My dad’s death hit her pretty hard, and it was years before she and Bill started dating. She deserves to have some fun and not worry about all the mess that’s going on here.”
Pane taps my wrist. “How long have you been back from college?”
I hold up both hands. “Six years.”
“Which would make you . . . ?”
“Twenty-seven. And you are?”
“Thirty-five.”
