Page 53 of Somewhere You Belong

Shaking his head, he tsks. “That’s unacceptable, Goose. All work and no play is just going to make you cranky. And you can’t see everything Carrington Cove has to offer if you stay tucked away in that house.”

“I’m not cranky,” I argue, ready for a fight. At least when he riles me up, it makes me forget that he almost kissed me.

Is that what he’s doing? Trying to move past that moment because he thought it would be a mistake too?

He smirks at me. “That’s debatable. Well, tell me how the painting went at least.”

“It went well…I mean, as well as painting can go. I finished the downstairs bathroom, the master, and moved on to one of the other bedrooms. They’re empty, so it went pretty fast. But I swear, no matter what you do, the paint gets everywhere.”

“Like in your hair?” he asks, glancing to my hair that is still in my bun from work today. Suddenly, I’m reminded of his comment from the other day.“You never wear it down.”

“Yes.”

“I can see that.”

“What?”

I watch him slide my drink across the counter and then reach up to play with my hair, pulling a few strands of my bangs forward. “You still have some paint in your hair, Willow.”

Oh God. Bury me alive in this moment, please.

“What?” I whisper as he carefully scratches his short nails against my hair, flecks of gray paint falling to the bar like imaginary tears of my mortification.

Dallas chuckles as he slides his eyes to my face and then back to what he’s doing. “Don’t worry. It wasn’t that noticeable since your hair is light anyway. But I saw it the moment you sat down when the light overhead caught it.”

“You were going to let me sit here like that all night?” I ask as he pulls his hand away.

His brow furrows. “No. I did just remove it for you, didn’t I?”

Conflicted about his intent, I decide to focus on my drink instead, pulling the glass toward me and taking a large gulp. “Well, thanks, I guess.”

He leans over the bar, supporting his body on his forearms, his voice low as he says, “I know that was your attempt at manners, but the sarcasm under there was detectable.” He chuckles, wipes the paint from the bar, and walks away, leaving me embarrassed and no clearer about the status between the two of us.

From the moment we met, we’ve been frank with one another.

But now that frankness is laced with flirtation and something else—intrigue, maybe? The more we interact, the more I feel like Dallas is just as curious about me as I am about him—and the sexual tension is racing toward the point of erupting.

“Was Dallas playing with your hair?” Astrid comes up behind me, whispering in my ear as I spin on my stool to face her.

“No,” I huff. “He was getting paint out of my hair.”

Astrid snorts. “Oh God.”

Slapping my hand to my forehead, I say, “I know. It was mortifying.”

“But he touched you,” she argues. “And believe me, Dallas doesn’t touch women. Hell, I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen him pay attention to any woman. It’s been years.”

“I don’t want his attention.”

Liar, liar, pants on fire.

“Oh, Willow,” she tsks before patting me on the head. “Just keep telling yourself that.” And then she’s off, checking on her customers once more.

“You play darts?” A gravelly voice from my left has me spinning on my stool once more.

“Excuse me?”

“You play darts?” he asks again, completely serious. The man is older than dirt, dressed in a blue checkered flannel and dark blue ball cap with a Marine’s Veteran logo on it that looks eerily familiar, but his eyes and smile are sincere.

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