Page 49 of Unmasking Mr. Crown

"Sorry to disappoint you, but it's the truth."

"You must really like her."

Dash gave a hard look. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, I mean this isn't exactly your standard operating procedure. What about Ol' Red in London? Wham-bam …?"

"Can't two people enjoy one another without making it sexual?"

"When one of them is Dash Benning? Slave to the stopwatch? Mr. One Night Only? Not a snowball's chance."

Dash waved him off and headed out. The drive to Kate’s house in The Heights was scored with his go-to Spotify playlist. Lots of southern rock and classic country. Traffic was lighter than he’d expected, and he arrived at Kate's ahead of schedule. Miranda’s voice echoed in his head: never show up early to a woman’s house. So, he parked two houses down to wait.

He called the restaurant and confirmed their reservation: a table for two in the room where Jack Nicholson and Shirley MacLaine filmed part of Terms of Endearment. He was about to call a business associate regarding Streisand tickets when his phone pinged with a text.

Fun fact: I don’t charge for parking.

Dash looked up. Kate stood near her mailbox in a fitted black dress that damn near stole his breath. She motioned him forward, aircraft-marshaller style, minus the orange batons. He eased the gearshift into drive and rolled up into her driveway.

“Sculptor. Painter. And now, future member of an airport ground crew,” he said as he stepped out.

“What can I say? I’m a woman of many talents.”

He offered his hand, but she pulled him in for a hug instead. She was tall, taller in heels, and they matched eye-to-eye. Some men might find that intimidating. Dash found it sexy as hell.

Kate invited him inside. He waited in the living room while she shooed her dog out back for a potty break. Her artistic eye, on full display. The room exuded eclectic warmth in varying neutral shades, minus one prominent pop of color in the form of an enormous spray of coral-hued peonies brightening the coffee table. But the framed photos lining the built-ins pulled him in. Vacation shots of Kate and a man, in landmark locales around the world. The Eiffel Tower. The Trevi Fountain. Stonehenge. A Christmas market in Germany. On a yacht with the Sydney Opera House in the background. Their love for one another, evident in each shot. Kate’s hair was shorter then. The man wore a bright orange Astros cap in every picture.

Must be his lucky hat.

One photo caught his attention. Teen Kate and a younger girl. A sister, maybe? Something about the younger girl tugged at his memory. He reached for the frame just as the dog barreled back into the room, nearly knocking him over.

"Easy, big guy," Dash said, steadying himself.

"Roscoe! Down! Sorry. He loves new people. Apparently, I’m a bore."

She took the dog by the collar and steered him out of the room. Dash lifted the photo again. Young Amelia Earhart? Surely not. Aside from her jet-black hair and thick eyeliner, there was a resemblance. Or maybe he was imagining it. He’d trained himself to look twice at every woman who ventured into his sightline.

His inspection was cut short when Kate returned seconds later.

“I see you found Teen Kate and her sister, Baby Goth.”

“It’s a great photo.”

“She hates it, so naturally I display it.”

“That’s what big sisters do.”

Kate pulled her purse strap up over her shoulder. “Exactly. Ready?”

He placed the photo back. "After you."

As they headed to the door, Kate called out, “Alexa! Weather report for Houston tonight?”

A puck-shaped device on the bookshelf lit up and launched into a detailed forecast. Dash wiped a hand across his face and released an audible sigh.

“You’re not scared of a little rain, are you?” Kate asked.

“No, it’s that name … Alexa,” he grunted.