Page 24 of The Dallas Dilemma

“Self-preservation,” I argue with a slight smile.

“Maybe,” he says with a nod. “But then you refused to call the super about your cabinets because you didn’t want to bother him––even though that’s hisjob. You work from home, and from what I’ve seen so far, you rarely go out. But I didn’t put it all together until a few minutes ago, when you thought asking someone for thirty seconds of their time to snap a picture would be too annoying.”

He’s got my number. That’s for sure. But the surprising part is that he doesn’t seem put off by my issues. Not in the least.

“I’ve always been an introvert,” I say softly.

He looks thoughtful for a moment, then stiffens his spine as he holds my gaze. “I’m going to ask you a question, and I don’t want you to answer me. I just want you to answer it for yourself, okay?”

“Okay,” I say, feeling a bit nervous.

He nods, then sucks in a deep breath before asking, “Do you avoid social situations because you prefer to be alone? Or do you do it because you’re nervous or uncomfortable around other people?”

I blink a few times as I consider his questions, but Dallas doesn’t give me time to dwell. Taking my hand, he pulls me across the sand toward the parking lot.

“All right. Enough of the deep stuff,” he says as we walk. “Let’s go check the marina for seals.”

He stops by his car as we cross the lot, unlocks the doors, and pulls a sweatshirt from the backseat. I wish I’d thought to bring one. It’s a bit chilly out here, and the skies are still overcast with thick, gray clouds. Dallas swings around, and holds the hoodie toward me. When I just stare at it, he gives it a little shake.

“Take it,” he says. “Your arms are covered in chill bumps.”

I start to decline, mostly out of habit, but Dallas’ eyes beg me to just take it and put it on. After a brief internal debate, I nod and thank him in whispered words. Heexhales like he was holding his breath, and a warmth spreads through me that has nothing to do with the thick hoodie.

“What’s your middle name?” he asks as we set off again, crossing the lot to see the marina on the other side.

“My middle name?” I ask.

“Yeah. I was trying to think of something light and easy to talk about and that’s what I came up with,” he says with a laugh. “Now, tell me. I want to know.”

“Ophelia,” I say.

“Josette Ophelia Barnes. I like i–– Wait. Your initials are J.O.B.”

“Yes. I’m aware,” I deadpan, then relax into a smile. “It could be worse. Callie’s initials are C.O.B.”

“Does she have the same middle name as you?” he asks, and I shake my head.

“No, hers is Olive. My parents swear our middle names were picked in honor of some great aunts on our dad’s side, but Callie and I have our suspicions. It would fall right in line with their twisted senses of humor to name us Cob and Job.”

Dallas’ laughter surrounds me, warming me from the inside out again as we approach the railing that overlooks the marina. My eyes scan the docks for lounging seals as I speak.

“Okay, now it’s your turn,” I say.

“My turn for what?” he asks.

“Tell me your middle name.”

He flinches as hesays, “Franklin.”

It’s a strong name. I don’t know why there’s color riding high on his cheeks. Dallas Franklin…

“Oh,” I say, a laugh bursting out of me before I can stop it. Dallas watches me with an unreadable expression, and I attempt to stifle the laughter while saying, “I’m sorry.”

“No. Go ahead. Get it all out,” he says, waving his hand like he’s asking for more.

“Dallas Franklin Westfield,” I say with another laugh. “Your parents named you Dallas and made your initials D.F.W.”

“Like the whole metropolitan area. And the airport,” he adds when I don’t say it. “My parents were obviously proud of their roots.”

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