Page 22 of So Bad It Must Be Good

“Well, sure.” He should let her go. He shouldn’t say anything more. Clearly she didn’t remember any of the stuff they’d talked about last night, or at least most of it. He should let all of that go and let this be the last time he saw Kayla Gallagher for a very long time.

“Did you still want those lessons?”

She stopped in the middle of pushing the car door open. “Lessons?”

Why was he an idiot?

“Oh right,” she said, her face brightening. “I wanted you to teach me how to carve something. And you’re going to make me a bear. I remember that now. I wanted to make something.” She held the crumpled trash in one hand and her keys in the other and stared at him with an all too alluring smile gracing her features. “Will you let me paint the bear?”

“Because you used to like to paint,” he replied lamely.

“I haven’t done that in the longest, longest time,” she said, her voice very nearly far away before she shook her head, then grimaced at the action.

“You’re . . . uh . . . welcome whenever. I work every night in the workshop unless I get a call. I mean you’ll probably be busy. I’m sure Aiden will reschedule.”

“Aiden. Right.” Her lips pressed together, and she looked like a very stern teacher for a second. But only a second and then her face was all bright smiles again. “That doesn’t mean we can’t be friends, right?”

“Friends.” She wanted to be his friend. She looked damn near hopeful. Which he didn’t understand at all, because why the hell would someone sweet and bright want to be friends with him? They had nothing in common. They hadn’t even liked each other up until last night.

“But it’s fine if you don’t want to,” she said in a rush. “I crashed into your life enough. I don’t want to be forcing myself on you.”

“You’re not forcing yourself on me. Here.” He shifted so he could pull one of his cards out of his wallet. “That’s got my cell number on it. If you ever want to paint or woodwork, just text or call. If you don’t, no hard feelings and you can pick up your bear at the farmers’ market in probably two weeks.”

She took the offered card and looked at it curiously. “You give all your customers your cell phone number?”

“Well, Dad refuses to carry a cell phone, and sometimes customers have emergencies late at night. It makes sense.”

The curious look on her face didn’t change as she looked from the card to his face and then back to the card. “Well, thank you. I’ll probably call you then. As long as it’s really okay.”

“Really. In fact, painting is the part I hate the most, so I don’t do much of it unless I think a piece really needs it. You can help.”

She blinked as she slipped the card into her purse. “Help, huh?”

“Sure. Make, do, create, right?”

“You’re not quite what I thought you were, Liam Patrick,” she said softly. And then she did the strangest thing. She leaned over and brushed a kiss across his cheek. “You’re a very good guy,” she said, and then she was out of his truck before he could say another word.

---