Too Good to Be True - Kristan Higgins [80]
“Why don’t you let Angus off the leash?” Cal suggested.
“Oh, no,” I said. “He’d go right for the water and get swept away.” I hugged my little pal a little closer. “We don’t want you to drown, do we, sweet coconut baby? Hmm? No. We don’t.”
“Some of us do,” Callahan said. The cookies were from Lala’s—sad, really, that I could recognize baked goods from twenty yards—crumbly and delicious peanut butter cookies with crystals of sugar sparkling in the crisscross marks.
Cal offered a cookie to Angus who snapped it up, catching part of Cal’s finger. Cal jerked his hand back, sighed, looked at the wounded extremity and held out his finger for my inspection. Two tiny drops of blood showed.
“You poor thing,” I said. “Shall I call 911?”
“Why don’t you call a lawyer?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Possibly Margaret. Your dog is becoming a menace. Between the two of you, I can’t believe I’m still alive.”
“Tragic, really. Well, you’ll be moving soon, right?”
“Yup. I’m sure you’ll miss me.”
Dang it. I would miss him. The sun shone on his hair, illuminating all the shades of brown and caramel and gold. It wasn’t fair that this guy could look like an ad for Outdoor Living, oozing sex appeal in wader boots and a flannel shirt. The sleeves were rolled up to reveal his tanned forearms. His lashes were golden and straight and really just pointlessly attractive, and my girl parts were begging me to do something.
I cleared my throat. “So, Cal, how’s your love life? I happened to see you again with that blonde from the bar.”
“Spying again, Grace? I thought we had an understanding.”
I sighed in exasperation. “She was right on the front porch. I was weeding.” I paused. “You kissed her.”
“On the cheek,” he said.
“Mmm-hmm. Which some women find very romantic.” He said nothing. “So? What about the lawn you want to mow?”
“That’s kind of a crude way to refer to sex, isn’t it, Grace?”
I blinked, then laughed. “I meant what you said that time. You wanted a wife, some kids, a lawn to mow.”
“And I do.” He cast the line out again, not looking at me.
“So how’s the search going?” I asked.
“Not bad,” he answered after a beat or two. Angus growled.
Not bad. What did that mean? “Well.” I stood up and brushed off my jeans. “Thanks for the cookie, mister. Good luck with your fishing. For the wife and the trout.”
“Have a nice day, Grace.”
“You, too.”
As I walked the rest of the way home, I tried to talk myself out of lusting after Callahan O’Shea. Reminded myself that he wasn’t husband material, not for me. We weren’t compatible. Because… um… well, because…
Let’s face it. Callahan O’Shea was very fun to look at, that was true. Maybe he liked me. He flirted with me…a little. Sometimes. He flirted more with Margaret, to be honest. I’d seen them talking the other day, laughing like old friends over the back fence. Regrettably, I’d been on the phone at the time, so I hadn’t been able to eavesdrop.
One thing was certain however. I did not feel safe around him. Not that he would rob me, no, of course not. But if Andrew had broken my heart, imagine what Callahan O’Shea could do to it. Crush it until there was nothing left but rubble. Let’s be honest. For someone like me—the little schoolteacher who danced with old people, loved Civil War movies and playing pretend—to be with someone like him, this vital, vaguely dangerous man who radiated and bristled with sex appeal… it had to be a bad idea. A disaster waiting to happen.
I just wished I could stop thinking about it.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
IT WAS QUITE a relief to have Julian back as a regular feature in my life. And not only did I have him, but also the handsome and debonair Tim Gunn, since Project Runway was on. Margaret had deigned to come downstairs, I’d made popcorn and brownies, and it was the happiest I’d felt in a good while.
This week had been tough at school. The kids were dying to do anything but learn, and the seniors’ year had basically ended once they’d heard from the colleges. I understood, had shown