Page 15 of Dining for Love

Reid takes it, mercifully stepping forward a bit and giving me the distance I need to be able to freaking breathe.

As I gulp in deep breaths of non-Reid scented air—glorious, glorious plain ocean air—JJ is performing his standard spiel for all who have the misfortune of becoming the focus of his interest.

“Owner and proprietor of the paper, of course. You know how hard it is these days to be a small paper. Tough. Gotta do what needs to be done to keep providing the news to the people, you understand.”

Reid’s eyes have glazed over in the few seconds JJ’s been at it, and even Goldie seems a little dazed. I take a last heaving gulp of fresh air and step forward, hoping that Reid’s scent will havesomehow dissipated in the short time we’ve not shared the same square footage.

“Okay, JJ.” I step between the men and take small sips of air. “He gets it. You’ve not even let him introduce himself.”

JJ waves me off. “I know who he is. What I really want to know is how he managed to get out here with both Dash women.”

Reid flashes him a teasing grin, one of his dimples showing. “Lucky, I guess.” Then he turns to me and Goldie. “Ladies, shall we?”

Goldie brandishes her own smile. “Absolutely. But we should give JJ what he wants.”

We each take an arm and pose. Reid is gorgeous, Goldie is her usual confident self, and I probably look like a troll. Can’t wait to see this story in the next edition.

Chapter 6

Reid

IFINISH TYING my laces and step outside the house, pretending as usual that I don’t see Willa as she squeaks and runs behind Agatha’s car in the driveway. This woman has no chance of being stealthy. Shehasto know I know she’s there, so why she insists on acting like she’s invisible is a complete mystery. But it’s cute.She’scute.

She peeks around the car’s bumper, and while it takes everything in me not to wave at her, I continue my warmup to give her the illusion of control. She remains where she is as I jog down the stairs and kick into a run, heading deeper into the small neighborhood. Behind me, I hear the unmistakable click of a car door opening, and I grin as I spin to watch her scramble inside and start the engine.

Willa speeds off in the other direction, and I resume my run. This whole first week has been a whirlwind of getting used to the place. It turns out there’s a little more action in a small town than I figured there would be, but the action isn’t exactly what I expected. I have climbed a fire truck ladder to “rescue” a cat from its perch way up in a tree in the town square because the usual guys weren’t able to do it. (They were perfectly capable, ofcourse; they liked watching me try to get a cat to do something it didn’t want to.) I’ve cited no less than twenty people for not having the requisite license to fish off the pier. I’ve checked the historical schoolhouse for a security breach, and I’ve reset the clock in the square—twice—from where it’s perpetually three minutes ahead. I can’t decide if it makes me miss Miami more or less.

I am absolutely certain this is Lucky’s way of hazing me, and honestly, it’s hard not to be charmed by it. The people themselves are far too nice, and even the tourists aren’t that bad. I’m definitely used to a...differentpace in Miami. One that is much, much faster. A big perk to this temp gig is that it’s mainly day shifts. Sure, I’ve got to do some nights here and there, but considering I’m filling in for someone, it’s surprising.

Turning the corner, I increase my pace, grateful for the flat roads and relatively smooth sidewalks. Hell, I’m grateful that I can run without worrying some lackey from the Bunnies is going to show up and try to harm me. Or worse.

To hear my uncle talk, this position could be permanent if I wanted. The woman I’m filling in for will be back, of course, but he says they could use another set of hands. It’s tempting in a fantasy sort of way, because I can’t imagine not living in Miami. What would I even do around here? There aren’t a lot of restaurants, and there’s only one movie theater, to start with.

Therealperk so far, if I’m being honest, has been Willa. I chuckle and wipe the sweat from my brow. I did not see this woman coming. How could I? I’ve spent the past decade surrounded by plastic in all its glory—and listen, there’s a lot to appreciate about how far plastic surgeons have taken their craft, no hate to the women and men who get work done—but Willa.

What a fresh breath of air.

Not gonna lie...I’m a little intrigued by her. Who wouldn’t be? She’s kind of a mess, but it’s adorable. The way she squeaks and increases her speed to get into her house every single afternoonwhen I say hi to her from my backyard? The way she keeps hiding in the mornings and thinking I don’t see her when she’s leaving for work? The way she sings so badly in her house? There’s something about her that has me wanting more.

The art walk on Friday was something else. Willa did everything in her power to stay away from me so I could have time with Goldie, but I wanted time with her. Time she seemed determined not to give. Everyone seemed to know everyone, and they had warm smiles for Willa and Goldie, and flat-out curious ones for me.

And JJ. That ridiculous excuse for a journalist immediately had us on the front page of the town’s weekly newspaper. Although “newspaper” is a little aggressive for the rag. It’s a gossip column with a few advertisements here and there from local shops. And it’s six pages, tops. No wonder print journalism is having a tough time of it if people like JJ Jennings are the main source of it.

And if they have some kind of town Facebook page? Forget about it. I don’t ever want to know.

I turn another corner, this time back in the direction of my rental. I’ve already decided where I’m eating lunch.

It’s nothard to convince Uncle Jack to join me at the diner. At precisely twelve-forty-five, we’re bellying up to the counter, and my uncle is in full-fledged Chief Mac mode. Tom and Jerry, who I’m willing to bet are the source of most of JJ’s “articles,” eye me around Chief’s back. “How’s your first week been?”

I think of Willa, the cat, the clock, and all the fishing citations. “Interesting,” I decide to say.

Jerry chuckles. “I bet.”

“Seems like the clock is running ahead again.” Tom glances outside as if he can see it.

Spoiler alert: he can’t. Not only does the man wear glasses as thick as old Coke bottles, it’s also near the center of the town square, which isn’t remotely visible from here.

I grin. “Is it, now?”

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