Page 27 of To Have and to Scold

Sighing, I set it down just outside the door, and then produce a box cutter from my toolbelt.

“I have a toolbelt with a box cutter, too.” She lets the mop handle rest against her shoulder as she walks toward me, the mop head sliding along the floor. “Not exactly like this toolbelt.” She laughs as she points to it. Suddenly, I’m aware of how beat up it is, the patina of the leather showing its age.

I’m also aware of her clean, coconut scent, and the flecks of gold in her blue eyes.

“During weddings,” she continues, “it comes in handy to have a few feminine products, body tape, a sewing kit, and bandages on hand.” She reaches out to my belt and tugs on the handle of the pair of pliers. “But I don’t have pliers in mine.”

An electrical current coils between us. Her eyebrows go up and surprise flashes in her eyes. With my luck, my face is probably doing the same.

“Oh!” She lets go of the plier handles and then raises a finger. “I forgot about the kitchen stools in my trunk!”

She steps back to allow the mop to drop away from her shoulder, but I catch it before she does.

“I can go get the stools.” If I focus on work, maybe I won’t think about how her hair skims her collarbones, showcasing them nicely.

Her brows go in the air. “Um. Okay.” Her gaze darts to my mouth and she takes another step back. “Thanks.” She pulls her keychain off her wrist, one of those complicated things with beads and fringy cords, hands it to me, and then starts carrying the mop to the kitchen.

I go around the edge of the room so I don’t dirty the clean floor, using the short walk out to her car to breathe. I wasn’t expecting Dallas to look so sexy. I can’t be distracted by this woman, and I certainly don’t want to be. We don’t even get along.

I open the trunk to her Tiguan. There’s so much stuff in there, neatly organized. I manage to dig out the bar stools—there are four to fit the large island—before closing the trunk. I’m no sooner inside when she’s back at the door, waiting for me.

“I’m calling it good on the mopping. Still need to try to use my old towels to dry it before they come.” She motions to the floor behind her. “Here.” She holds out her hands. “I’ll take the stools.”

“I got ‘em.” I’m carrying one in each arm.

“No, really.” She frowns and holds out her hands. “Allow me.” She makes a pointed look at my work boots.

The floors. Right. “Suit yourself.” I set one stool down so I can hand the other one to her with both hands.

Dallas takes the one I’m offering her and then sighs, so quietly I barely hear it. She wedges her hip against the other stool, hefting it up in her arm just enough that she can clutch under the seat with her forearm.

She walks gingerly over the still-damp subfloor, grasping one stool on either side of her. She’s so short they very nearly reach the floor, but she manages, and I’ll admit, I’m impressed.

Dallas Olivia Cardon is a whole lot stronger and more stubborn than I realized.

And when she sets the stools down, she turns to grin at me, her side-eye prompting a comforting pang in my stomach.

“You ready for this?” she asks.

I’m not at all ready for anything this little firecracker might throw at me.

That doesn’t mean I won’t absolutely love to hate every second of it.

Chapter Ten

Dallas

I cannot believe my good luck.

I mean, there are a lot of things lately that have been bad luck. Like the whole reason I’m even here in Willow Cove, the case of mistaken identity with Mr. Billingsley, and the fact that I have to conjure up out of thin air enough wedding revenue and happy clients to impress the mayor.

None of those things are good luck.

But I’ve booked not one, but two new weddings in one day. Now that is something.

Praises be to the wedding planner gods!

It took negotiation on my part. I had to know when to push the clients and when to back off on pricing and choosing a date. Mostly, I just didn’t give up.

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