Page 21 of True Ruin

“Deputy,” Dallas said, because it was a significant difference, a full rung lower.

Still, he didn’t want Halpern thinking he considered theDispatchbeneath him. To Dallas, journalism was journalism. He would always be grateful for the time and training he’d received in this office.

And Halpern was right, Promise needed theDispatch.

As the silence dragged, same as it had with Gabi after he’d shared things he usually kept locked down, Dallas wished he hadn’t said anything. Honesty made him feel exposed. He was only used to that on the page.

“Cairo changes things,” Halpern said solemnly.

Dallas should have saidyes, it changed everything.It was the promotion he’d been waiting for. Working toward. A dream job with less risk—not gone, because peril never disappeared in his line of work, but reduced. Deputy bureau chief meantsomeone thought he’d earned the right to make the call instead ofchasethe call. It was huge.

Traitorously, he thought of Gabi Wilder’s laugh and his brothers at breakfast this morning, joking with him over scorched toast and runny eggs. Of how this office smelled like stale ink andhome.

He didn’t know what scared him more: the panic when he considered staying or the flicker of elation running beneath it.

Dallas True lookedlike a rock-star professor.

Gabi stood at his cottage’s back door and peered through the kitchen window, her smile growing despite the nervous energy running through her. He had a floral dishrag tucked into the waist of his standard faded jeans while he sang softly to something—she couldn’t hear the song, but she could see his lips moving. His T-shirt—charcoal-gray, withNo Commentstamped across the chest—had a hole near the hem and another on the shoulder. Half-turning, he grabbed a Coors and took a slow pull off the bottle.

He had really nice lips, the top almost as full as the bottom.

And his glasses…

She hadn’t known those were a turn-on until they were. Very Clark Kent.

The setting only made the night feel more like a secret. Moonlit and tucked at the edge of the True family’s barren cotton field, the cottage had been vacant before Fontana restored it and turned the place into something enchanted, a gingerbread house with ferns, azaleas, and violets crowding the gravel paths. She wouldn’t have said it matched Dallas’s restless,sharp-edged energy. But seeing him standing before a stove littered with pots and an iron skillet, singing softly to himself, she had to admit she’d rushed to fill in the blanks too soon. She’d held on to the rumors, the stereotype of the rebellious teen who’d left for bigger dreams, while missing the reality of the man who’d returned.

The man who’d gotten her off inminutes. Who’d read her body like one of those books tucked in his back pocket.

Gabi exhaled and shifted from one boot to the other, accepting the slow pulse of desire between her legs. Dallas had known exactly how to touch her—while her ex had needed directions and a flashlight.

Anyway, dating was one of the things she’d missed out on by marrying so early. This was perfect. No expectations, no plan, an expiration date already stamped on the thing. A chance to finally get that wild high school kiss out of their systems.

Which sounded perfect right up until someone got their heart broken.

Uneasy, Gabi checked the label on the wine for the third time, a California Cabernet. The owner of The Pour House, the new store on Main Street, had suggested it. She glanced at her watch, ten minutes before seven, then settled onto the porch swing. No need to arrive early and throw off the culinary rhythm.

She’d been swinging for five minutes when he found her.

The door opened, and Dallas filled the doorway. His hair was growing back, as dark as she remembered—not completely black, but close—and starting to curl around his ears. He paused, his vivid green gaze dropping to her cowboy boots, then traveling upward to linger where the hem of her sundress hit her thighs. The neckline dipped below her collarbone, a detail she’d debated for longer than she cared to admit. It was what she’d call a “flirty” outfit, and the extra hour of agonizing became worthwhile when he swallowed hard before meeting her eyes.

He gestured with the wooden spoon in his hand. “The invitation included coming inside.”

She laughed, aware she was being silly, and surprised how easy it was to admit it to him. “I’m preparing.”

He tilted his head, adorably puzzled. “For what?”

“First date in, oh, eleven years.”

Biting his cheek to hide a smile, he nodded. “Hang tight.” Then he was gone, the screen door slamming behind him. He was back in less than a minute with a glass of rosé.

When she started to rise, he held out a hand. “Relax,” he said, taking the bottle of Cabernet from her. “You’re preparing. I’m cooking.”

Dallas didn’t understand how rare this was, how generous his offer, giving her the chance to be Gabi for ten seconds instead of Mom. No math homework to agonize over, no missing sock to find, no cupcakes to bake for the baseball team. So she followed orders, loosening up to the sound of Radiohead, a hot guy’s surprisingly good voice chiming in now and again. The hum of katydids and a soft breeze stirring the limbs of the live oaks in the yard.

And when she was ready, she went inside.

Dallas didn’t make a show of her entrance, simply glanced over his shoulder, his smile easy. Like he understood, and maybe he did. He let her nose around, the open floor plan giving him full view of her flipping through the books on the coffee table—a wide variety, from history to poetry—pecking out the wordhelloon the gorgeous mint-green typewriter,a Hermes 3000, he said in an offhand way, then wandering back to the kitchen and the photograph tacked to the refrigerator. It was a shot of three teenage boys, Ransom, Justin, and Dallas, their arms slung carelessly around each other’s shoulders. Justin was laughing, a full grin showing his teeth, his hand held out like he was saying,stop, don’t take it. Dallas was as thin as she recalled, gangly,but so handsome even then she wondered how she’d missed it. She guessed Campbell was the photographer, a hobby that had turned into a successful career.