Page 17 of My Secret Santa Dallas

Dallas gave the man a thin smile. “O’Hara.”

“Well, slap me twice and send me to my mama,” O’Hara said while wiping down the bar. “I never thought I’d see you around these parts again. What brought you back here?”

“It was just time to return,” Dallas said simply.

“Ah,” O’Hara nodded, his dark hair flopping over his eyes as he looked at us both. “Together?”

“It’s a long explanation, but she is here to help Warrick out with a few projects,” he said. “I’m just showing her around the town.”

“Oh, no problem, so, what’s your poison?” O’Hara asked.

“Irish coffee for me,” I said. “And a beer for him.”

“Coming right up,” O’Hara said and moved away.

To distract myself, I took my phone out and checked for emails or messages from Hunter or even— as unexpected as it was— even from my brother. I saw a simple email from Hunter telling me that he spoke with Warrick and was glad that the new terms were agreed upon. He told me that he would be out of the office the weeks before Christmas and the week after, so if I needed him, I’d get a late response.

“I wonder where he is taking his family off to this time?” I uttered. “He was floating the idea about Sweden.”

“What about Sweden?” O’Hara asked while setting my glass in front of me.

“My boss,” I said. “I’m wondering if he is flying his family off to somewhere exotic for Christmas. He’s got a very nice family, and his adopted son used to be very sick with cancer, but he’s better now.”

O’Hara whistled. “Lucky kid.”

I sipped my drink, “He is.”

“So, where you from, sweetheart?” O’Hara asked.

“Originally, Georgia, but now I’m based in Texas,” I said. “Did my accent tip you off?”

“A bit, yes,” he said, leaning in to brace his forearms on the bar between us. “Boyfriend, fiancé, lover?”

From the corner of my eyes, I saw Dallas’ jaw go tight. Would it help to poke the bear a little? Slowly, I shook my head. “Nope. Single.”

“Must be my lucky day,” O’Hara grinned. “I can show you around if you want.”

Dallas’ bottle clonked on the table before he called over, “Another beer.”

“Coming right up,” O’Hara nodded before he went to grab one. I took my glass and turned my seat to look at Dallas. The moment he got the beer, he went off to the dartboard, and I followed him.

With the beer in one hand and the other ham-fisting darts, not one landed on the board but instead jammed into the wall. I was amused for a while, but then I got worried; why was Dallas so pissed?

“I wouldn’t take lessons from you,” I said.

He tossed the third dart. This one actually landed flat and bounced off the board. Where was this guy’s mind?

“Are you okay?” I asked. “Hey, just concentrate your eyes on where you want the dart to go and follow through.”

He flung the dart. It landed on the ring right outside the bullseye.

“Oh, so close.”

Dallas grunted. “Fancy way of saying you missed.”

“You missed.”

He threw another one, and it landed in nearly the same place. I’m impressed for a moment, and then I remind myself not to be. “Congratulations,” I say sarcastically. “You’re good at darts.”

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