Page 17 of The Dallas Dilemma

“I’ll see you then,” I say, making my way toward the front door. “And you pick the place.”

“Wait,” she says, her voice panicked. I spin around to face her, and she’s shifting her weight from foot to foot. “I don’t know what kind of food you like.”

I shoot her a soft smile. “Don’t worry. I like everything.”

And this dinner is about the company. Not the food.

“I’ll see you at six, Josette.”

“Bye, Dallas.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Joey

DFW@BodaciousBuckaroo211

Today is a good day. #lovinglife #Icompleteme

6 ?4 ?210

I readBuckaroo’s post again, then close the app without replying. I have a feeling that last hashtag was a dig at me and my initial argument with him last year, but I don’t have the time or the headspace for our beef today.

I have a date.

Shit.Is it a date? Or just dinner between friends? Are we even friends? I mean, he brought me sweet tea and fixed my cabinets. Dallas obviouslywantsto befriends. Maybe that’s what this dinner is all about. Making friends with his neighbor.

I’m overthinking. Again.

I need help.

Grabbing my phone, I pull up my text thread with Twila. I can’t handle the enthusiastic arguments that would ensue should I text the group chat. Not today.

Me:I need some help.

Twila:Video chat?

I tap the icon at the top of the screen that looks like a video camera, and a couple of seconds later, my best friend’s face appears on the screen.

“What happened? Did he fix your cabinets, or did hefix your cabinets?” she asks, deepening her voice and waggling her eyebrows with that last bit.

“Shut up,” I say with a laugh, then sober. “I need your opinion.”

“Hit me with it,” she says, instantly serious.

“Well,” I say, pausing to take a deep breath, “he fixed my cabinets, literally speaking, then he asked if I had plans for dinner.” Twila’s eyebrows lift comically high, and I shake my head to cut off whatever she’s about to say. “He said he doesn’t feel like cooking and wants to try one of the restaurants in town. He just doesn’t want to eat alone.”

She’s shaking her head before I even finish. “No. No way. You’re not second-guessing this into something it’s not. It’s not him needing restaurant suggestions or trying to avoid eating alone. It’s adate, Joey. It’s definitelya date.”

“How do you know?” I ask, ignoring the trickle of excitement that slithers through me at her words.

She sighs and rolls her eyes. “He came over with the excuse of needing to borrow sugar, Jo. When’s the last time anyone borrowed sugar from a neighbor? The grocery store is less than a mile from your apartment building, not to mention the various grocery-delivery apps at his disposal. He didn’t even need to leave his apartment. No. It was an excuse to see you.”

“But––” I start, but she cuts me off.

“Then he offered to come back and fix your cabinets. For free.”

“He was just being––”

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