Page 30 of Tight Spot

Dawson frowned.

“What?” I glanced at both of them.

“You already said hi, dummy.”

“Thanks, Mist. This is Dawson. Dawson, my ex-friend, Misty.”

He held out his hand, and I was pretty sure Misty was blushing when she reached out to shake his. “You are bigger than I pictured.”

“Misty.” I elbowed her, but she didn’t let go of Dawson’s hand.

How awkward. They were shaking hands, Misty was swinging her feet, and Dawson’s fingers flexed in her grip to get her to let go, but she held on.

“Let him go, Mist. You have Ryan.”

She scowled at me. “Had to ruin my fun, didn’t you?”

“Pretty sure I’m taken,” Dawson teased and with his free hand, he peeled Misty’s hand off his before stepping back.

Good idea for him. Misty didn’t always understand other people’s personal space issues.

“Good.” She grinned and hopped down. “I’ll let you two do your thing.” She kissed my cheek and waved to Dawson. “Nice to meet you. Have fun, you two!”

Dawson swiveled, watched her leave, and when the bell rang and she exited, I breathed a sigh of relief.

“Gotta say, and no offense, but so far I think you have some really interesting choices in friends.”

“Are yours better?”

He scowled, and with all his brawn and muscles and beard, it was adorable. Not that I was telling him that. “Probably not, no. She taken? If she’s crazy. Might know someone…”

I laughed, full-out laughed. “Misty’s never taken.”

“Who’s Ryan?”

“The current guy she won’t want to hold on to after another month or so.”

“Got it. So…I meant to call or text this week but didn’t know quite what to say, so I figured I’d stop by. That all right?”

Well, he was here, so it would have to be, but I appreciated the honesty.

“I didn’t quite pick you as a guy who would be nervous to call a woman.”

He cleared his throat, still adorable. “Relationships aren’t really my thing. And this isn’t exactly a normal one.”

More honesty. Should have appreciated that one too, but it was only a brutal reminder. Whatever we were going to do was fake. And limited.

“Right,” I said, and I couldn’t hide the tremble in my voice. “So…what do we do then?”

“Figured we could talk about that in person. But show me around your store? You do all of this?” As he asked, he swept his arm in a circle, gesturing to well, my entire store.

Nerves from his arrival split. This was what I knew. What I could talk about without hesitating and worry. “Yeah.”

“Show me your favorites.”

“Ah. That’s like asking a parent to choose a favorite child, but okay.”

I led him around the store to some of my larger items. A buffet and a china cabinet. Furniture from the early nineteen-hundreds. I’d polished and kept the original hardware and found replacements from other broken antique pieces. Some of the pieces I painted, but only those were the woodwork needed too much repair to show the natural wood grain. Others, I stained. I showed him smaller silver pieces and platters, and chandelier fixtures. I pointed out the items like the kitchen tea towels and other craft and home decor items I sold for vendors. Every time I showed him something, he took time, showed interest. He ran his hand over the top of a dresser I’d painted an eggshell blue and asked about the process, how much time it took.

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