Page 56 of Unmasking Mr. Crown

“You’re gonna get me in trouble,” he whispered.

She thumbed a smudge of lipstick from his lip. “Maybe you’re the troublemaker.”

“There’s a cool place near here. Want to grab a drink?”

Natalie’s hesitation lasted a single heartbeat.

The timing of this romance? One hundred percent wrong, but God, did it feel right.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

DASH

Dash scrambled, running out of time. He moved down the aisles of HEB’s vast wine section, scanning bottles. Kate had challenged him tonight, but he secretly loved their little game. She cooked something spectacular. He paired it with the perfect beverage. So far, he’d yet to miss.

But Kate making chile rellenos? He needed divine intervention.

After reading dozens of labels, he surrendered and thumbed Colt’s number.

"You got a minute?" Dash whispered, glancing at other customers.

"For you? Always," Colt said.

"Kate's making chile rellenos. I've read every damn wine label in this place and I’m coming up empty."

"That's because you're in the wrong section. Grab some Mexican beer and call it a day."

"Beer? She might be the Julia Child of the Lone Star State and you want me to show up with a six pack?"

"Trust me. I’ve yet to meet a southern woman who doesn’t love good beer."

Dash sighed, grabbed a box of longnecks, paid, and hurried out to his car. His late-afternoon meeting had gone into extra innings. He’d already called Kate twice to apologize. And Houston traffic did him no favors. He sat boxed in behind an eighteen-wheeler when Kate’s name flashed across the navigation screen.

"I was just about to call you," he answered.

"I'm afraid dinner is ruined. Roscoe, no!" she shouted.

"I'm so sorry, Kate. I had no idea my meeting with would run long and⁠—"

"No, Dash, it's not you. There’s been some mishap with a gas line or power line in the area. Firemen came door-to-door and evacuated the whole block. They wouldn't even let us start our cars. I grabbed Roscoe and left on foot. I’m still waiting to get the whole story. "

"So…the homemade Mexican feast I've been dreaming about all day …" He couldn't hide the disappointment in his voice.

"Postponed, for now," she said. "But if you pick us up, I’ll treat you. As long as it’s somewhere dog-friendly.”

“I know just the place. Text me your location.”

The park near Kate’s house buzzed with activity. A temporary holding area for displaced residents. People everywhere—kids and dogs and even someone with a pet iguana on a leash. She’d been easy to spot, between an old Rice Owls sweatshirt covered in paint stains and her gorgeous mess of copper hair blowing in the evening breeze. As soon as she slid into the passenger seat, the apologies began.

“I’m the definition of hot mess express in this ratty old sweatshirt. I was about to change into something cute when the firemen knocked. And I forgot my wallet.” She flipped the visor. “Great. I forgot to put on mascara.”

Dash took her hand. “Three things. First, dinner is on me. Dinner will always be on me, as will lunch, brunch, breakfast, and midnight snacks. Second, while I can’t speak from experience, I’m willing to bet mascara is overrated. And third, as far as messes go, hot happens to be my favorite type.”

She laughed, the tension draining from her shoulders. “Tell me about your big meeting. How’d it go?”

“It took some heavy negotiating, but we closed the deal.”

“Another win for Benning-Hendricks. Congratulations.”