She realized someone was standing by the door as she neared the office. She had been gone less than twenty minutes, so she was glad whoever it was had waited.
But as she neared, she realized the man waiting wasn’t necessarily a real-estate client. If she had to guess, the man was Dawson Harris. Was he looking for Jeff? Why wouldn’t he just call the office or try Jeff’s cell? He’d never come to the office before that she knew of. The man turned as she approached.
Yep. Dawson Harris. He was wearing dark-gray dress slacks, a button-down shirt, and a tie. Not really Saturday work attire, but maybe lawyers never dressed down, unless they were in a yoga class. The thought made Clara’s skin warm. They hadn’t even talked yet, and she was on the verge of blushing. Jeff’s words ran through her mind as she remembered him telling her how Dawson had asked if she had a boyfriend.
Clara wished she had a free hand to make sure her flyaway hair wasn’t too crazy. She’d pulled it back in a clip this morning, but she could feel that strands had come loose about her face and neck.
Taking a deep breath, and pasting on a friendly smile, Clara decided to not let this encounter be as awkward as last night’s. So what if he’d called Jeff after the yoga class and asked about her? Clara wasn’t ready to date.
“Hello,” Clara said before Dawson could speak. “Jeff’s out with a client.”
“The rest of the day?” he asked.
“I think so,” Clara said. “I can double check if you want.” So, he was looking for Jeff. Of course he was. What did she expect? She slipped the drink into the crook of her arm so she could unlock the office door with her key. Instead of waiting for her to open the door, Dawson leaned over and opened it for her.
“Oh, thank you,” Clara said in her most cheerful tone. Dawson smelled good. Like some sort of spicy cologne. She tried to ignore the way he smelled, and the fact that he’d followed her into the office space.
Clara crossed to her desk and set her sandwich and drink down. She was sure she smelled like ham and cheese and hoped Dawson wouldn’t stay too long.
When she turned to see him, he was just standing there, as if waiting for her to look at him before he spoke. She suddenly wanted to hurry to the bathroom to check her makeup and hair, which was ridiculous. Last night she’d been in workout clothes, sweating, and wearing no makeup.
Presently, she was wearing black leggings, an oversized blue sweater, and low-heeled boots. Not too dressy, but not sloppy either. She held up her cell phone. “Do you want me to see if Jeff’s coming back?”
“No,” Dawson said, slipping his hands into the pockets of his pants. He wasn’t carrying a briefcase or manila folders—isn’t that what lawyers carried around all the time?
All she knew was that the intensity of his brown eyes focused on her made it hard for her to think straight. She wished he would have just called, although she didn’t know if that would have been much better. She felt hyperaware of every action and every word.
“I’m not here to talk to Jeff,” Dawson continued.
He seemed so serious that Clara wondered if there was something else wrong. Maybe there was some secret lawsuit against her that he’d been notified of? Maybe the sale of her grandma’s house wasn’t going to go through after all, and he was here to tell her. None of that made sense, and Clara decided she needed to sit down. But would it be rude to take her place behind her desk before she found out what he wanted?
“Okay, no problem,” Clara said, her pulse racing. “Is there something I can help you with, then?”
Dawson smiled. “I hope so. Do you like classical music?”
Dawson wasn’t exactly encouraged when Clara’s eyes widened at his question. He supposed that asking her if she liked classical music was sort of out-of-the-blue. But he hadn’t wanted to call her to see if he still got the same vibe as he did last night—something propelled him to talk to her in person again. Clara was a pretty woman, but she seemed to not realize it at all.
Dawson had slept more poorly than usual last night, waking up several times with his thoughts on Clara, so he’d spent time this morning googling her name and checking out her social media profiles.
He’d made a couple of deductions from all his searching. It looked like she and her former boyfriend were history, and she used to live in Sacramento with her grandma. Her profile said she used to work at an elementary school, but he didn’t know if she was a teacher or maybe an office manager.
He decided that if she didn’t have a boyfriend, and if Jeff’s assessment that she wasn’t dating anyone was correct, then Dawson would take the plunge. He’d ask her to the symphony and fill the tickets his mom had told him about. A double date with his parents probably wasn’t the ideal first date, but it would certainly test Clara’s possible interest.
Since Clara hadn’t said anything for a moment, he said, “If you don’t like classical music, you won’t offend me. I was just wondering.”
She took a breath, and Dawson kept his focus on her eyes—which were the exact shade of her blue sweater.
“I—I guess I’ve never really thought about it,” Clara said. “I mean, I just listen to whatever’s on the radio. In college I took a humanities class, and we studied classical music.”
Dawson nodded. He was glad she’d lost the deer-in-the-headlights look. “So, what did you think? Any favorite composers? Vivaldi? Schubert? Mendelssohn?”
She took a step back and leaned against the desk behind her. “Um, not really. I can barely remember any of their names.”
“But you weren’t averse to them?”
“Averse?”
“You didn’t hate the music?”
She straightened and folded her arms. “I know what averse means, Mr. Harris.”
Dawson lifted his hands. He hadn’t meant to make her defensive. “Okay, look,” he said, deciding to get right to the point. “My mom has four tickets to the symphony tomorrow night. She and my dad are going, and they invited me. Told me to bring a date. I thought I’d invite you to come along . . . as my date.”
Clara’s mouth fell open. Her defensiveness melted away, and she stared at him, a pink blush on her cheeks. “You’re . . .” Her voice trailed off.
“And maybe you can call me Dawson?” he said, smiling.
Clara bit her lip, and Dawson’s smile dropped. She was going to turn him down. He knew it. Jeff had known it. He’d warned Dawson. Once Jeff heard about this, he’d have a good laugh.
“Dawson, I don’t really know you,” she said in a hesitant voice. “I think you’re a . . .” She unfolded her arms and waved her hand.
What did the hand wave mean?
“You’re a . . .” She was biting her lip again.
Now, Dawson felt like an idiot. He’d never been rejected to his face, and his ex-wife didn’t count. Maybe he should have called Clara instead. Was she going to tell him to get out of the office? To never speak to her again? He knew without a doubt that Jeff would totally take her side.
“I’m what?” Dawson finally prompted.
“Sort of . . .” She took a step forward, her chin lifted. “I don’t mean to offend you, Mr. Harris, but you’re sort of overwhelming. And I’m not interested in dating anyone, so please don’t take offense.”
Dawson exhaled. “I’m not offended that you’re not interested in dating, but I’m not sure what you mean by ‘overwhelming.’”
She released a half-laugh that wasn’t really joyful. “You’re the top lawyer in Pine Valley, you’re charismatic, sophisticated, and you’re a good-looking guy. You wear ties on the weekend. You walk into a yoga class and are better than everyone who’s been there for months. You go to symphonies. You know the difference between classical music composers. On my days off, I’m more likely to go on a hike, have a peanut butter sandwich while reading a cheesy romance novel. My dates are more along the lines of pizza and Netflix.”
Dawson wanted to laugh about the picnic and cheesy romance novel, but he was pretty sure she was dead serious.
“You think I’m good-looking?”
Clara put her hands on her hips. “As if you don’t know that.”
“How would I know what you’re thinking?” he countered.
She seemed to hesitate. “I’m like many other women who notice a handsome man. There are plenty of them around, and you’re one of them. But that’s not my point. You and I are just too different.”
“Of course we’re different.” Dawson didn’t know whether to laugh or to be annoyed. He took a step closer, which meant she had to look up more to hold his gaze. “I’m a man, you’re a woman. That’s pretty different.”
She blinked, and Dawson wondered if she wore contacts. He’d never seen eyes such a deep blue as hers.
Clara didn’t move or back down, and this Dawson liked. A lot. His ex-wife would have never argued with him. If she didn’t agree with him, she’d just shut down and give him the silent treatment. They hadn’t even argued about their divorce. She’d moved out while he was at work, and he was served divorce papers at his office.
“I’m tall, and you’re kind of short,” he continued, looking down at Clara. He had the urge to smooth back a few strands of her auburn hair that had escaped her hair clip. “You have red hair and—”
“Okay, I get it!” she said, but there was amusement in her eyes.
“I think differences are good,” Dawson said. “I mean, it makes things more interesting, don’t you agree?” He could see that he was starting to win her over. She seemed to be considering his side of the argument.
She smiled.
He felt like doing a victory dance.
“Nice try, Mr. Harris,” she said. “I know Jeff thinks highly of you, and that you’re probably a good lawyer. You’re probably great with the ladies, too, but I’m just not interested.”
He wanted to keep arguing, because he could see in her eyes that she was interested. But he had some pride left. If there was one thing his divorce taught him, it was to know when he had lost. “All right, no problem. If you change your mind, you have my number.”
She arched a single brow. “I do.”
“Okay, then,” Dawson said. “I hope you have a nice weekend.” He turned away then, because it was really the only thing he could do and still maintain his dignity.
As he stepped out onto the street, he was grateful for the cool breeze that had kicked up. He loosened the knot on his tie and thought about the irony of life. Leslie was constantly asking him to do this and that, and he turned her down all the time. And now that he was truly interested in getting to know another woman, she’d turned him down.
Dawson walked the few yards to where he’d parked his truck. He jumped in, thinking that today would just be like every other weekend, where he’d work straight through. It was no big deal; it was what he’d been doing for years. It was part of why he was now divorced. There was always one more thing to research, one more client to call, one more brief to review.
But right now, he didn’t want to do any of it. For the first time in a long time, he could care less about staying at the top of his game. He wanted to turn off his cell and disconnect from everything for a while.
Eighteen hours later, he still hadn’t turned off his cell, because what if Clara changed her mind? Not about the symphony; it was too late for that. He’d told his mom he couldn’t make it at all—date or no date. She’d tried to talk him into taking Paula Smith, of course, but Dawson didn’t feel like putting on pretenses. Especially for a single mom with two kids. Even though his history with Paula wasn’t all that positive, she didn’t deserve be caught in the middle of his mom’s matchmaking schemes.
Besides, he kept thinking about what Clara had told him about their differences—aside from the obvious ones. Did he come across as “overwhelming”? He certainly hoped he did in a court room, but maybe he should tone it down outside of the courtroom. The question was how? Order pizza and binge-watch Netflix? He had a feeling he’d lose thousands of brain cells if he did. Read romance novels? He laughed.
Then he paused. He could at least read something other than legal documents. Maybe he could run to the bookstore on Main Street and get a paperback. He hadn’t read anything other than what was necessary work for years.
An hour later, he found himself at the bookstore, browsing the newest releases. A romance cover caught his eye—it wasn’t one of those bodice rippers . . . at least, the hero and heroine were fully clothed.
“Can I help you?” an employee asked.
Dawson looked up to see a young brunette with purple-rimmed glasses. Her name tag read: Felicity. Before he asked her his question, he glanced about the store. Only two other people were inside browsing, but they were out of earshot. “What are some of the top-selling romances you carry?”
Credit went to the employee when she didn’t gasp or even raise an eyebrow. She pointed to one of the books on the display table. “Rachael Anderson’s books are really popular. She writes wholesome romances, both contemporary and Regency.”
Dawson gazed at the cover—the woman was wearing an old-fashioned dress. “What do you mean by Regency?”
“Oh, it’s specific to Regency England, early 1800s, during the rule of the Prince Regent,” she said.
It all went over his head, but he picked up the book anyway and started to thumb through it. An idea was forming in his head.
“If your girlfriend or wife likes to read historical romance, she’ll like Rachael’s books,” she continued. “They’re sweet and clean.”
Dawson frowned. “What do you mean by ‘clean’?”
“No sex scenes.”
Dawson swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He didn’t correct the employee on the girlfriend/wife assumption. “All right. I’ll get it. Anything else you recommend?”
“In romances?”
He nodded. His face also might have been turning red.
“Sure, there’s a new contemporary romance by Amy Harmon out,” she said. “We have a stack of them by the register.”
Two romances sounded like a decent start, and Dawson followed the employee to the register. Moments later he left the bookstore, not entirely sure he could believe that he’d just purchased two romance novels.
“It’s not a problem,” Clara told Jeff Finch over the phone. It was a rainy Monday, which pretty much matched her mood. And now Jeff was calling into work sick, which meant she’d be spending the next hour rescheduling all his appointments for today, and possibly tomorrow. “I hope you feel better soon. Do you want me to bring you soup or anything?”
He chuckled, which quickly turned into a deep cough. “Uh, my mom has that one covered,” he said when he could talk again. “Thanks for the offer, though. I’ll let you know if I’m feeling better tomorrow.”
“Sounds good,” Clara said, leaning back in her office chair. She was glad Jeff was taking the day off. He sounded terrible, and she didn’t want to catch whatever he had.
“Oh, one more thing,” Jeff said, his voice scratchy.
“What is it?” She’d already written down about seven tasks Jeff had rattled off when she’d first answered her phone.
“I thought I’d give you a little heads-up in case you’re interested,” he continued.
“What’s going on?”
“Well, yesterday I ran into Dawson Harris when I was out doing errands.”
Clara stiffened. She’d tried not to feel guilty about turning down Dawson’s invitation for a date. She might have eaten a little too much chocolate over the weekend, but tonight at yoga, she was determined to cleanse her thoughts and move forward. Yeah, Dawson was a good-looking man, and charming, but she stuck by all she’d told him. Their differences were too great.
No, things hadn’t worked out with Max, even though they’d had a lot in common, but that was in the past. And Clara wanted to be one-hundred percent Clara before she started dating again. She braced herself for what Jeff might say next.
“Well, I noticed he’d bought some books, and when I asked him what he was
reading, I’ll just have to say, I was shocked.”
Clara had no idea where Jeff was going with this. She didn’t really want to talk about Dawson Harris anyway.
“You won’t believe this, but he’d bought two romance novels—for himself! He said he was expanding his reading arsenal. Of course I gave him plenty of crap.” Jeff laughed, which turned into another coughing fit.
“That’s pretty crazy,” Clara said, her thoughts spinning.
“Anyway, thought you’d get a kick out of that,” Jeff said. “I guess everyone has strange quirks. Hey, did he ever call you?”
“No. No, he didn’t,” Clara said quickly. It seemed that Dawson Harris hadn’t told Jeff that he’d asked her out, so she decided she’d keep it to herself. Dawson hadn’t called her either, so it wasn’t like she was lying to her boss.
Jeff cleared his throat. “Okay, I’d better go. I think my mom’s here with that soup. Thanks, Clara.”
She hung up with Jeff and stared out the office windows. The rain was coming down hard. Maybe Dawson had bought the romance novels for his mom or someone else. But she had a feeling that he’d bought them because of their argument on Saturday. She shook her head—was he really going to read romances?
She wondered which ones he’d bought, and then she found herself smiling about it. Dawson Harris was a pretty stubborn guy. That probably served him well in court.
The sound of a cat meowing distracted Clara. She fed a stray cat occasionally in the parking lot behind the building, but the cat meowing at the door was an entirely new thing.
She went to the back door and cracked it open.
Sure enough, there was the scruffy calico cat, huddled underneath the awning. “Hang on,” Clara said with a laugh. “I’ll get you something to eat.”
But then the cat came through the doorway and headed straight for the door to the storage room. Clara opened that, too, and scooped out a bowl of from the cat food bag she kept there. She suspected Jeff had also fed the cat from time to time. Had he let it inside before? She set the bowl on the ground to let the cat eat, then left the storage room door open.
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