Page 58 of Love You Truly

“I’m such an asshole. I should know where our employees live since I was the one who hired them. For all I know, they’re commuting from two counties away.”

Scrubbing a hand over my face, I feel my last bit of self-worth slip away. I’m not even good at my job. I’m just a pretty boy who thinks he understands people. But how can I when I don’t ask them basic questions?

Mallory pulls my hand away. “Hey. Don’t do that to yourself. You’re not an asshole.”

I cock an eyebrow at her.

“Okay, not because of that. And not even for the reasons you think.” She moves closer and leans against me, but I’m stiff and unwelcoming. It takes me a moment with her this close before I feel my frustration slip away enough for me to wrap an arm around her.

“What reasons do I think?”

She twists in my arms to see my face when she speaks. “You think you’re not smart enough. You think you’re just a pretty face who was handed the job no one else wanted because you’re a flirt and that’s handy when it comes to hiring people.”

I swallow hard because I feel myself readying the long list of reasons I don’t deserve any of what I’ve been given in life. It comes so easily to rattle off the worst of my traits. But she doesn’t give me a chance.

“You think that all anyone sees when they look at you is a guy who’s perfect for a good time and useless when it comes to anything real.” She looks deep into my eyes, and I watch the tiny flecks of gold dance in hers.

“Well, I’m here to tell you, Dashiell Corbett, that they couldn’t be more wrong, so get those ideas out of your head. There’s so much more to you. That’s how I see it.” She smiles. “And we’ve already established that I’m the most brilliant woman in the world, so…”

Even if I can’t wipe away a decade of negative opinions of myself with her sweet words, they warm me nonetheless, mainly because they’re her words. Because she’s quickly becoming the only person whose opinion matters to me.

CHAPTER 22

Mallory

In the weeks after our engagement, I get busy. My parents return from their trip to Europe, and I give them two days to get over their jet lag before inviting them to my house for dinner. The timing of their trip away works perfectly to explain how they didn’t know about my new relationship. That, and the fact that I don’t tell them everything.

“I just can’t wait to meet him,” my mother says through bleary eyes and a yawn when she spots the engagement ring on my finger as I drive them back from the airport.

“You already know him,” my dad chimes in. “It’s Dash Corbett. You’ve known him since he was a kid.”

“I knew him, but I didn’t really know him,” my mother explains. “Isn’t it funny how you can think you get what someone’s about, and then they up and surprise you? Who’d have known the offspring of Kingston Corbett would have romance in his blood? That’s all I’m saying.”

“Forgive your mother. She’s still on French time,” my dad grumbles with his eyes half-closed in the back seat.

But I know what my mom means. I didn’t really know Dash either, and the things I’m learning continue to surprise me. His proposal, for one thing. It’s had my heart reeling for a week.

Even though I know he was making stuff up on the spot because I forced him to come up with a proposal, his words burrowed deep into my heart where they most definitely don’t belong.

I spend the morning of our dinner shuffling through recipes and gathering the ingredients from the farmers’ market and Sunshine Foods, where I steer clear of the pickle display.

Then I drive everything back to my house, stopping at a dessert place in town to get some strawberry tarts. When I pull in front of my house, I’m surprised to see Dash leaning against the side of his car, waiting for me.

His sunglasses reflect the midday sun and with his hair brushed back and the muscles of his chest and abs visible through the fabric of a navy tee, he looks like a magazine ad for a car. Or sunglasses. Or anything else he feels like selling.

I’d buy.

He turns when he hears my car rumble up the drive and cups his hand over his eyes to see me in the sun when I hop out.

“Hey.” He says it like it’s obvious why he’s here, but he seems to like showing up unannounced.

“Hi. What’s up?”

He shrugs. Maybe he’s not sure. “You said your folks were coming for dinner. Thought you might need help cooking.”

“You cook?”

His golden retriever smile fades. If he had a tail, it would have stopped wagging. I need to stop sounding so skeptical of him when he’s already made it clear he’s not what I think.

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