Page 11 of Mixed Signals
I arch an eyebrow at him. “So, what. We’ll go on a date and you’ll tell me all the things I’m doing wrong?”
My voice wobbles around the edges. An old, tender bruise flares to life in the center of my chest. An aching insecurity that I’m the reason none of these relationships are working out. That I somehow manage to attract the worst kind of men. That these disappointments are somehow my fault and exactly what I deserve.
“No,” he replies quickly, voice sure in the quiet between us. “That’s not it at all. I think you need to be treated right by someone. I think you need to see that youcanbe treated right by someone. We’ll go on a couple of dates. I’ll help you into your jacket. I’ll hold your hand and listen about your day. We’ll go to dinner. Eat spaghetti, or whatever you want.” A sly smile tugs at his bottom lip. “I won’t steal the silverware on the way out.”
Well, damn. Okay. That actually sounds really nice.
“And what do you get out of this little arrangement?”
“Besides time with a beautiful woman?” Heat flushes the back of my neck and I shift in my seat. “Hopefully you can tell me why I’m so bad at dating.”
“A social experiment.”
“Yes.”
He slows to a stop in front of my little house. I painted it a pale pink last spring and planted enough flowers in the gardens to make it look like Mother Nature threw up all over it. Lilies and gardenias and big, bright sunflowers. I like to sit on the front porch in the evenings and smell the lavender. Sink my toes into the cool grass and watch the sky blink awake with the stars.
I unbuckle my seatbelt and slip from Caleb’s car, holding the door open with the palm of my hand. I stare at him sitting there in his dancing pineapple shirt, hair in disarray, sticky summer heat clinging to my shoulders and the backs of my knees. He stares right back, a smile in his eyes, his gaze nowhere but right on me.
Caleb Alvarez. Who knew?
“For someone who is supposedly bad at dating, you’re awfully smooth.”
The smile in his eyes slips to his mouth. I trace the angles of his face in the moonlight. “Just with you, Layla.”
Bad at dating, my ass.
“I’ll think about it,” I promise with a laugh.
He looks like he wants to say something else, but he swallows it back and gives me a nod instead. “I’ll see you on Monday?”
A butter croissant and a coffee with just cream. He sure will.
“I’ll see you on Monday.” I tap the hood of his Jeep twice. “Thanks for the ride.”
His smile spreads into a grin and those brown eyes sparkle. Oh, boy.
I’ve got a feeling I’ll be thinking about a lot of things where Caleb Alvarez is concerned.
Starting with those three damn buttons and the smile lines by his eyes.
FOUR
CALEB
I don’t seeLayla on Monday.
Darlene from dispatch calls me on my cell and informs me that my brother is seven minutes late opening up his bookstore. Why this is my problem, I have no idea. She still hasn’t gotten the memo that I no longer work for the Sheriff’s department and calling me sixteen times a day with the random happenings around town does not fall under my responsibility anymore.
That’s great, Darlene. I’m glad they have hazelnut lattes at Ms. Beatrice’s again.
I’m sorry to hear that Mabel cut you off in front of the hardware store.
I can’t do anything about whoever is dumping hundreds of plastic ducks in the fountain in the middle of the night. The kids love it, though.
No, I did not catch the latest episode of The Bachelor. I have never watched The Bachelor in my life.
I hang up my phone and flex my hands on the wheel, staring hard at the road that leads down to Lovelight Farms. Alex is hungover. I know he is. But if my mother finds out I left Alex alone on the floor of his kitchen, she’ll smack me all the way down the driveway and back up again.
