by Tawna Fenske
“All right, no rush,” he said. “How about tomorrow night?”
Willa frowned. “How long are you in town?”
“A couple of days,” he said, though admittedly that could change if they got a call on another fire. “Mid-season like this, there’s not a lot of downtime.”
“There’s a season for— Oh my Lord, what is that guy doing with his hat?”
Startled, Grady followed her gaze to where a performer was doing some sort of cowboy routine. Well, assuming cowboys made a habit of getting carnal with their headgear.
He looked back at Willa, preferring that view. “I don’t have the most reliable schedule in the world in the summertime.”
Willa tucked a lock of hair behind one ear. “What time do you go on?”
“On?” Oh, right. She still thought he was a stripper. Amusing as that was, he should probably let her off the hook. “The band’s playing next Friday night, assuming we’ve got enough of us in town.”
“What?”
He pushed off the wall and slipped a hand into his pocket. Pulling out a business card, he slid it into her palm, letting his hand linger a few extra seconds against hers. “That’s when my band plays here again. The Smoky Blues Boys?”
“Your band.” She stared at him, then at the card. “You mean you also—”
“I’m also a smokejumper with the Hart Valley Air Center,” he said. “A bunch of us formed a band, and we play here when we’re not out jumping out of airplanes into forest fires.”
She stared at the card, which had his phone number, email, website—
“Grady Billman.” She looked up at him, confusion in her eyes. “Lead singer and guitarist.”
“Also a master rigger, which sounds a little stripper-ish now that I’m saying it out loud.” He grinned, hoping she wasn’t too disappointed to be going out with a musician/smokejumper and not a stripper. “So how about tomorrow night? I can pick you up around seven.”
She stared at him, a whole forest of color in those eyes that he honest-to-God couldn’t read. He didn’t breathe, didn’t move at all, wondering if she was about to bolt.
“It’s a date,” she said and offered up the smallest smile that lit up the whole hall.
Chapter Two
Willa glanced at her watch as she parked her Toyota sedan in front of Briana’s Fine Dining on the edge of downtown Hart Valley. She’d nearly hyperventilated when Smokey—er, Grady—had suggested the nicest restaurant in town as the scene of their first date.
First and second-to-last date, since they were only doing this twice. Or once if it didn’t go well, though Willa felt optimistic. Grady seemed nice. And funny. And sexy. It was almost a shame she’d chosen to forego relationships so she could focus on her business.
So two dates. That’s what she hoped would come of tonight. Nothing more, nothing less.
Aislin and Kayla called it her “two-date rule.”
Staring out the car window at the restaurant’s swanky facade, Willa bit her lip. Maybe this was a bad idea.
“That’s too expensive,” she’d protested on the phone when he called to set the time and place.
After a long pause, Grady had cleared his throat. “Call me old-fashioned,” he’d said, “but where I’m from, the person who invites someone on a date is the one who pays.”
Still worrying about money, Willa had scrolled through the Yelp reviews. “It has four dollar signs, which means entrees are more than sixty dollars a person.”
“I’ve spent the last five days eating Spam and rehydrated beef stew,” Grady had said. “Not that I don’t appreciate a good ramen Spam burger, but when I’m in town, I like to eat well.”
And he wanted her to join him. Good Lord, she was still blushing about the whole stripper misunderstanding. He’d laughed it off, but Willa apologized so many times, he finally told her to can it.
After she gave up apologizing and fretting about the cost of the restaurant, she’d pawed through her closet, looking for something nice to wear. The few fancy clothes she owned were business suits and one nice dress she’d worn to the bank the day she’d signed papers for the small business loan that started her company.
Since that was more than six years ago, Kayla put the kibosh on that dress and came over with a whole armload of little black dresses for Willa to pick from. But none of them looked quite right, and besides, that felt too much like charity. In the end, she prowled the racks at her favorite consignment shop until she found a fitted green dress with cami straps and a little flounce at the hemline.
Glancing in the rearview mirror, Willa fiddled with the neckline and wondered if it was too low. Too late to do anything about that now. She scraped at a fleck of mascara under one eye, then glanced at her watch.
Six forty-five. Being punctual was one thing, but this was probably ridiculous.
It was better than being late. God, how she hated being late. She could still taste the shame of walking into her third-grade classroom in hand-me-down jeans with her Minnie Mouse backpack held together with duct tape. Everyone had turned to stare as she muttered something about the car not starting.
“Willa smells,” Ashley Deek had hissed as Willa shuffled by. “Like old cheese and cigarettes.”
Tears had stung Willa’s eyes, but she’d held her head high as she moved past the teacher, who sighed and scrawled another tardy slip.
Even now, all these years later, Willa recalled the flush of humiliation. The way she’d pleaded with her father to buy her a bike or a bus pass so she could cover the five miles to school faster. Or maybe if they had a car that ran reliably…
But her dad had been on another bender, so there’d been no point in talking to him. Instead, she’d locked herself in the bathroom and soaked in the tub until the water turned cold and her skin got all wrinkly. She’d washed her clothes in there, too, since there were no quarters for the Laundromat.
Afterward, she’d toweled her hair and covered herself in baby powder, desperate to mask the scent of secondhand smoke, fried potatoes, and poverty. She’d stared at herself in the mirror for a long time, mouthing the words she’d committed to memory.
You can get out. You can be someone.
She’d repeated the words again and again until her father banged on the door and asked if she was alive, if she wanted to go out stargazing with him, which of course she always did.
Bang-bang-bang!
Willa jumped, startled from her memories by a real-life intrusion. She peered through the window to see Grady standing beside her car. He wore gray jeans that fit like a dream and an apologetic smile.
“Sorry,” he called, holding up his hands in apology or surrender. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
Willa yanked her keys out of the ignition, shoved them in her purse, and opened the door.
“I saw you out here killing time,” he said. “Figured we could kill it together.”
“You’re early, too?”
“Yeah, I had some errands to run in town,” he said. “Misjudged the time a little and ended up getting here way before I meant to.”
Interesting. She wasn’t sure whether to take that as an admission of chronic earliness—Willa’s problem, to be sure—or a scatterbrained quality about his schedule. Either way, it didn’t matter much. It wasn’t like this was going to turn into a relationship.
Not even with a hottie like Grady.
Surveying the cleaned-up version of the man in question, she couldn’t help noticing his expensive watch and nice shoes. Was that a Rolex? She had no idea what one looked like, but it seemed pretty fancy.
Out of your league, the voice whispered in the back of her head. Or a big spender. Either way, he’s not for you.
Willa smoothed her hair back and glanced toward the restaurant. “Are we too early?”
“I’ve already got our table.” He smiled, and
something shifted in her gut. “Figured I was here, so I might as well grab a drink.”
She leaned against her car, savoring the late-evening sunlight that sprinkled her bare shoulders with little dots of warmth. She recalled what he said earlier about running errands in town. “You don’t live in Hart Valley?”
“Nah, I’m about fifteen miles east, out past the air base.”
The air base, of course. He was a smokejumper, not a stripper. “I’m sorry again about the misunderstanding at Boyton,” she said. “What I said about—”
“If you apologize one more time for calling me a stripper, I’m going to start taking my clothes off in the parking lot while I sing ‘I’m a Little Teapot’ at the top of my lungs.”
Willa dared a glance at his chest, which was sculpted and broad under the gray Henley that matched his eyes. Honestly, the striptease wouldn’t be so bad…if it were in private.
“What’s that smile about?” he asked. “I noticed you don’t smile too easily, so I’m making notes about which jokes work.”
“Come on,” she said, wondering if he knew it wasn’t his joke at all. “Let’s grab our table.”
He offered his arm, and Willa took it, feeling only a little silly. As they started toward the restaurant, she sniffed him as discreetly as possible. He’d mentioned having a drink but didn’t smell like he’d bathed in a beer can the way her father did after hitting the bar.
Grady smelled like soap and something woodsy. Fresh smells, pleasant smells, not like cigarettes or booze or anything but clean, well-dressed man.
“I hope you don’t mind that I asked for a table outside,” he said as he led her to the patio, to a table in the corner with a cheerful bouquet of daisies and a candle flickering in a glass holder.
“It’s perfect, thanks.”
“They’ve got heaters if it turns chilly.”
“I have a sweater in the car.” She sounded stilted and out of practice, even though she wasn’t. Not really. She’d had plenty of first and even second dates. There was nothing different about this one.
She tucked her purse under her chair and folded her hands on the table. The air held no hint of impending chilliness. Summer sunlight dappled the white tablecloth, making the silverware sparkle.
Completing her survey of the flatware, Willa looked at Grady. Really looked at him this time, not through a car window or a haze of disco lights and perfume or from the side as they walked.
“Wow,” she said. “You’re way better-looking than I thought you were.”
“Um…thanks?”
Shit. That came out wrong.
“I just meant—”
“Let me go out on a limb here,” Grady said, grinning as he picked up a sweating glass of ice water. “You have a habit of saying whatever pops into your head without first running the words through a filter.”
“I—” She thought about arguing, but what was the point? “Guilty as charged.”
“I think it’s adorable.”
Willa rolled her eyes. “There’s that word again. ‘Adorable.’ Are you trying to be patronizing?”
“What? Of course not.” He shook his head, looking bemused. “I like that you say what you think and I don’t have to play guessing games about what you really mean.”
Willa watched him for a second and decided he was sincere. “That’s true.” She picked up the wine list and pretended to study it. “So how about you? What’s your flaw?”
He laughed, a warm, rich baritone that made her arms feel fuzzy. “I appreciate that you think I might have only one.”
“Top three, then.”
He took a sip of water, considering it. “Is this like in a job interview where they ask about your flaws and you’re supposed to say something like ‘Oh, I’m a workaholic’ or ‘I’m just so driven?’”
Willa smiled and set down the wine list as her shoulders started to relax. “What’s the dating equivalent of that?”
“Hmm. Maybe something like, ‘I’m too open in communicating my feelings, and I’ll want to stay up all night just talking.’ How’s that?”
Willa made a face. “That sounds awful.”
He cocked his head to one side. “You don’t want to stay up all night talking about your feelings?”
“Do you?”
“Hell no.”
“I rest my case.” Willa took a sip of her water, studying him over the rim of her glass. He really was well put together with thick, muscled arms and broad shoulders. What would those feel like under her palms? Broad and solid and—
“Do you know what you want?”
She blinked at him. “What?”
He tapped the wine list. “Did you decide on something, or you need another look at this?”
“Oh. Um, water’s fine.”
“Really?”
All right, she was being lame. It’s not like she didn’t drink, and a chilled glass of white wine would be nice. “The house Pinot Gris, then.”
He gave her an odd look. “Because you actually want the house Pinot Gris, or because it’s the cheapest thing on the menu?”
Willa felt her chin lifting, her hackles rising. “Does it matter?”
“I’d just like you to get what you really want,” he said. “You made such a big deal about the prices here, I thought—”
“The Pinot Gris is only seven dollars a glass.”
“Which is terrific if that’s what you’re really craving,” he said. “But please don’t worry about the cost. Get whatever you want.”
Was it what she wanted? Willa bit her lip. She wasn’t in the habit of thinking that way, not even when someone else was paying. What was affordable, what was practical, sure, but what she wanted?
Grady held her gaze. His blue-gray eyes were open and friendly, and there was nothing at all threatening there.
“I want—” Her mouth felt dry, and the ending of that sentence took absurd forms in her mind.
I want to know what you look like with your shirt off.
Now, where had that come from? She must still have male strippers on the brain, that was all.
She ordered herself to focus as she fingered the necklace at her throat. “What I want,” she said slowly, “is to conclude this date not worrying that anyone’s going to need to take out a second mortgage to pay for our meal.”
He grinned. “I think I can afford a ten-dollar glass of wine. Or even a twenty-dollar glass of wine, but I’ll let it go.” His smile was warm and open, and Willa felt herself relax again. “That’s a pretty necklace,” he said.
She glanced down to see she was still touching it. “Thanks,” she said. “My father gave it to me years ago. I was eleven, I think.”
“I like that. Can’t tell if those are stars or flowers—”
“Stars,” she said a little too quickly. Her dad wasn’t the best topic of conversation, so she picked up the wine menu again. Frowning, she skimmed for the second-cheapest option. “The pinot blanc is pretty reasonable. That’s nine dollars a glass.”
“You take the budget-conscious thing to the next level.”
When she looked up, there was no judgment in his eyes. Just curiosity.
“Truth,” she said. “Be glad I didn’t ask to use coupons when I volunteered to stick money down your pants.”
He burst out laughing, scraping a hand over his chin. “Good point. I’m still waiting for that, by the way.”
“You picked dinner over the cash, remember?”
“Still a damn good choice.”
Willa folded her hands on the table. “I’m not sure if it’s an asset or a flaw, but we can put my cheapness in the flaw category if you want.”
“What?” He looked genuinely baffled.
“The three flaws I asked you to share about yourself? You haven’t told me any of yours yet, and I’ve shared t
wo of mine.”
“The money thing and—?”
“Lack of filter,” she supplied. “Which allows me to point out that you’re totally stalling on the flaws.”
Grady laughed. “This is turning out to be a very strange date.”
She’d have bristled at his words if he didn’t sound charmed by it, and he kept talking anyway, so she didn’t have a chance to interrupt.
“So far on this date, you’ve sniffed me to make sure I showered—yeah, I caught that,” he said when she opened her mouth to protest. “You’ve implied that I’m broke,” he continued before she could argue, “and suggested we make small talk about everything that’s wrong with us. If this is your idea of a first date, I’m dying to know what a second one is like.”
The weird thing? He didn’t sound annoyed. He sounded…intrigued?
Willa sipped her water. “We only get two dates, so I like to make them count.”
Grady looked befuddled, but before he could ask questions, the waitress rushed over. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” she said. “Can I get you something to drink?”
Grady gestured for her to order first. Willa hesitated. Picked up the wine menu. “What can you tell me about the Gruner Veltliner from Illahe Vineyards?”
“Very crisp,” the waitress said. “Notes of peach and honeycrisp apple. It’s partially fermented in acacia barrels, so that lends some nice herbal flavors and a really bold mouthfeel.”
She didn’t understand half of that, but the wine was nine dollars a glass, so she nodded. “I’ll try that.”
“And you, sir?”
Grady picked up the wine menu. “That Gruner does sound good,” he said. “I was leaning toward red wine, but I haven’t had a good white for a long time. You wouldn’t want to share a bottle, would you?”
“I’m only having the one glass,” Willa said. “I have some work to finish up tonight.”
Grady nodded but didn’t comment, which Willa appreciated. He ordered some complicated-sounding Pinot Noir, and Willa tried not to notice the price—eighteen dollars a glass!—while the waitress described the specials. Something with salmon and a pork dish of some kind. Why did they never give the prices when rattling off all the details of a dish?