Page 49 of More Than a Helping Hand

“Honesty. I like that. For the deep conversation part, do you want to go back to your place, or—and remember this is about having a place to talk—would you like to get a hotel suite with two rooms? We can find someplace within walking distance of a place to get drinks if you want.”

“A hotel?”

The alarm in her voice needs to be squelched.

“Since we’re trying to keep everything a secret, I’m trying to figure out a way people won’t see my truck outside your apartment. I am not suggesting anything more than conversation. I promise.”

“Sneaking around is hard. But, yeah, as long as we don’t have to share a room, it’s okay. Let me know how much it costs, and I’ll pitch in.”

“You will not. It’s my treat.”

She’s quiet for half a second, and when she speaks again, there is hesitation in her voice. “I’m looking forward to our date, but with everything going on, is it okay if you just plan it? Even if we go dancing.”

“You got it, darlin’.”

“I’m nervous about having you at our family dinner. What if someone slips up? And if I leave my car at the house, they’ll know we’re going out together. What if Bailey sees us leave?”

“How about this? I can ride over with Parker, and then you can graciously take me home, which isn’t a lie. You will take me home. The next day.”

“That works. And Parker and Bluebonnet won’t mind if you ride with them.”

“Good. I’ll talk to him tomorrow. And I’ll practice the phrasewe’re friendsso that I’ll be ready for dinner tomorrow.”

She laughs. “Has she told you what Mason says about friends?”

Now I’m the one laughing. I have an idea of what’s coming, but I’m eager to hear what Bailey says about it. “Tell me.”

“Friends don’t kiss each other.”

“Then I’m definitely not your friend.” I make a loud kissing sound. “Sounds like Mason. He’s a funny kid. I think that’s his dad’s way of keeping Mason from kissing all the girls.”

“Probably. And it seems to be working.”

Her laugh is something special. And I consider it my privilege to coax one out of her as often as I can. What I don’t admit to her is that I’m also nervous about dinner and our date.

I’ve met her parents, but there was work to be done that day, and I had stuff to keep me busy. But dinner? I’ll be on display all evening.

The date has me nervous because opening up about my parents makes me emotional, and that’s not a side I show many people. But there’s no love without vulnerability. Not that we’re talking about love, but we’ll never get there if we aren’t open with each other.

My feelings of attraction aren’t dying. The opposite. She’s on my mind while I work, when I’m eating in the mess hall, and when I flop into bed at night.

“I’ll book something tomorrow. Don’t worry about a thing.”

“Oh believe me, I will. Lately, worrying is my specialty.” Blankets rustle, and she yawns.

“Sleep, Prim. And I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

“You called me Prim.”

“I’m sorry. It just came out. If you don’t like it, I?—”

“Anderson, I like it. It’s just that no one calls me that except me. Which probably sounds so weird, but when I talk to myself, I call myself Prim.”

Chuckling, I say, “I like you even more now.”

“You might be just as weird as I am.”

“Weirder. Good night.”

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