And even though she’d thought he could be hers, she was wrong.
He pushed the door open with his back, smiled at Mari Belle when she passed by, made what was undoubtedly a crude joke to Will, and then the door swung shut behind them and they disappeared into the chilly evening.
And even though she was inside in the warm, lit room, she felt as though her soul had gone somewhere darker and colder than even an Illinois winter night.
Chapter Seven
WHEN DAHLIA didn’t answer her cell phone for the third time, Mikey turned from pacing her empty living room and grabbed his coat. He would help her clean up, chase out the last of her customers, and then see if she’d give him a private tour of The Milked Duck’s kitchen.
And by private tour, he meant naked ice cream tasting tour.
Before he made it to the front door, it opened, and Dahlia came in. She looked as though she’d gone wrestling with a wild hog in a pit filled with ice cream, and she was still a darned pretty sight. “Hey, there, sweet pea. Good night?”
Her bright blue eyes were dull and sad, and when he approached her for a hug, her shoulders bunched up and she stepped away. “Yeah,” she said shortly. “Thank you.”
He blinked.
He hadn’t ever been the sharpest arrow in the set when it came to women, but he was plenty good at knowing how it felt to be used.
But this was Dahlia.
She hadn’t—she wouldn’t have—would she?
“What’s up, sweet pea?” he said.
She lifted her face so she was looking him right in the eye. “You knew Mari Belle was coming tonight.”
Some uh-oh filtered into his brain, followed quickly by the normal dread inspired by a jealous woman. “Uh, yeah.”
“She’s nice,” Dahlia said.
“Yeah,” Mikey said again. Because even a dummy like him knew better than to put many more syllables into his answers right about now.
“You didn’t mention that you’re still in love with her.”
Mikey’s jaw hit his chest. “I—you—we—”
I’m not was all he had to say. He wasn’t in love with Mari Belle anymore. He had Dahlia now, and she liked him back, and that was that.
Except he apparently didn’t have Dahlia.
And his denial was stuck somewhere below his throat and above his heart, choking him in a place he couldn’t scratch.
“Did it work?” Dahlia said. Her voice wobbled. “Did you make her jealous?”
“I wasn’t—she didn’t—Dammit, Dahlia, stop it.”
“I am such a sucker,” she muttered.
One of them was a sucker, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t her. “Yeah, you got what you wanted, and now you’re cooking up a story about my best friend’s sister so you can get rid of me.”
Dahlia’s eyes pinched, but she didn’t back down. “Do you love her?”
“She doesn’t love me,” he said, his heart talking even though his head was hollering at him to shut the ever-loving hell up. “She never has, and she doesn’t know how I feel—felt—so it don’t matter a hill of beans.”
“Loving isn’t about getting,” Dahlia said. “It’s not about being loved back. It’s about giving yourself to someone else with no expectation of ever getting it back.”
“Then what the hell’s this about?” He gestured between them. “Because this sounds an awful damn lot like me getting attacked. Ain’t very loving.”
A tear dropped onto her cheek, and Mikey had to fight an insane desire to wipe it away and kiss her silly.
She was being ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous.
“I do love you,” she whispered. “But I can’t save you. I’ll never be her. I’ll never be what you really want. And I love me enough to know that I deserve to be more than a consolation prize.”
His gut was twisting into knots, his heart howling. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t leave him dangling, believing she didn’t want him because she thought he was still holding out hope Mari Belle would notice him.
Or was this a convenient way to shove him out of her life now that he’d delivered Will to save her ice cream tasting tonight?
She’d done well. She’d done really, really well tonight. “You’re not a prize,” he bit off.
Best he could do.
She snorted out a humorless laugh. “Obviously.”
“You’re you, Dahlia. And I thought that was someone special.”
“But not special enough,” she said softly. “Not the right special for you.”
Mikey fisted his hands and shoved them in his pockets. “What the hell do I have to say to prove to you that you’re wrong?”
“Answer the question, Mikey. Do you still love Mari Belle?”
“Yes.” Hell and tarnation. “No,” he corrected.
But it was too late. Her eyes crinkled up, her breath came out loud and soggy.
Cripes, now he had crying Dahlia. That was worse than mad Dahlia, because she wasn’t supposed to cry. She was supposed to laugh and sass him and keep him in his place.
“No, I don’t,” he said, and he meant to say it stronger, but truth was, he couldn’t be sure he didn’t.
Seeing her again today made him feel ten years younger. Made him wonder what might’ve been. Even with all the time he’d spent with Dahlia, all the fun they’d had, all the ways she made him feel warm and good and whipped on the inside, he’d still looked at Mari Belle and wondered what life would’ve been like if she’d known he loved her when she got married all those years ago. If she’d known he loved her when she got divorced. If she knew now he still thought about her.
“I think you should go now,” Dahlia said quietly. “Thank you. For everything.”
“Dahlia, wait—”
But she trudged out of the room, three cats on her heels, Dean sending Mikey the feline version of the stink-eye.
Rightfully so.
Because this one was all Mikey’s fault.
MARI BELLE HAD her light-brown hair down and makeup off when Mikey knocked on her hotel door an hour later. She was in sweatpants, a UGA sweatshirt and bare feet.
Usually a woman’s bare feet made his dick twitch, but not even her hand on his elbow got a reaction out of his body. “Hey,” she said. She stepped out of the room and eased the door shut. “Everything okay?”
“I ever tell you I loved you?” he said.
The words felt foreign and thick and wrong, but he had to say them. To taste them.
To see if Dahlia was right.
Mari Belle lifted a perfectly plucked brow, a smile playing on her lips. “Drunk on ice cream?” she said lightly.
He glared at her, and her smile slipped.
“Sure,” she said. “You and Will both. Remember the time I drove to Nashville from Pensacola because you called and said you had a gig at The Bluebird, but it turned out to be The Bluebeard, and you two got skunk-ass drunk and I hauled your butts off for coffee and cold showers? There was lots of love going on that night.”
“For real,” Mikey said. “Did I ever tell you I loved you for real?”
She heaved one of them Mari Belle sighs she did so well and slumped back against the wall. “Mikey, sweetie, you’ve never done love.”
If Dahlia had said that to him, he would’ve been insulted. Because she knew he was capable of love. “I did,” he said. “I loved you.”
“Problems with the girl?” she asked quietly.
Mikey stared down the hallway at the rows and rows of hotel doors. Wasn’t much different than any other hotel he’d stayed in countless other nights of his life on the road. Smelled the same, like pool water and overbaked linens and well-trod carpet, with a hint of whatever flowery shampoo Mari Belle used tossed on top.
An iron brick sat in his stomach.
Wasn’t the life he loved anymore.
“Think she used me to get Will to bring in publicity for her ice cream,” he said, but that didn’t feel right either.
“Dahlia?” Mari Belle said.
Mikey nodded. Couldn’t look at her, couldn’t hardly make his neck move the right way, but he forced it.
“That girl adores you,” she said. “She had Billy Brenton standing right in front of her, and she couldn’t take her eyes off you.”
Yeah. He’d noticed.
“Kiss me,” Mari Belle said suddenly.
Mikey’s head jerked up.
“Go on.” Mari Belle settled her hands on his shoulders. “Kiss me. Make mad, passionate love to me, Mikey Diamond.”
He didn’t move. Not a single cell in him reacted to her words and her touch. Might’ve been because she put as much feeling behind the words mad, passionate love as a turnip could’ve done.
Or maybe he’d only been in love with who he thought she was all these years. “Quit being an ass,” he said.
“I’m fixin’ to tell your momma you said that,” she murmured, and it was definitely more seductive, but it still did exactly zilch for him.
“C’mon, Mikey,” she said. “Show me how you feel.”
She was completely serious now, none of her smart-ass showing.
And the funniest thing happened.
Mikey opened his eyes, and he saw her.
She wasn’t his Mari Belle. She was Will’s sister, screwed up in all her own ways, capable of loving him back like a brother, but incapable of giving him more.
She was a good lady—a good mom, a good sister, a good friend—but she wasn’t the girl of his dreams.
“Thanks, MB.” He pressed a quick kiss to her cheek. “You’re a peach.”
“Happy to help,” she said. “Good luck digging yourself out of that hole. I liked her.”
Mikey scratched at his hat. “Yeah,” he said. “Me too.”
Mari Belle flashed an impish grin. “Go get her, tiger.” And then she let herself back into her room, leaving him alone to figure out his mess all on his own.
TUESDAY MORNING, Dahlia and her weepy heart were finishing up feeding the cats when someone knocked on her door. Her feet leapt into action even as her brain advised caution.
It might not be Mikey. And even if it was, Dahlia would never be Mari Belle.
Still, she couldn’t help herself. Hope sprang eternal. She flung the door open, bracing herself.
But nothing could prepare her for the sight of Mikey’s brunette from the ice cream shop and her firm grip on the collar of a blonde-haired, blue-eyed, shamefaced Ted Lummings. “Ms. Mallard,” the brunette said, “I believe this man has something that belongs to you.”
Dahlia’s bruised heart launched itself into an unsteady rhythm.
“Um, hey, Dahlia,” Ted said.
Dahlia couldn’t find words. She simply looked between the brunette and Ted.
The brunette gave his collar a shake.
Ted wiped his brow, his cheeks an unflattering shade of pink, his breath coming in quick puffs of clouds in the cold morning. “My business took off,” he said, his words stilted, eyes wincing, “so I have your share of the profits to give to you.”
“He’s offered to go with you to the bank to make sure the transfer goes through to your account,” the brunette said. “You know how it is, sometimes numbers get transposed and suddenly you’re waiting on money to come in from a bank account that doesn’t exist. Right, Ted?”
He visibly gulped. “Um, yeah.”
“Who—” Dahlia swallowed the lump swelling in her throat. “Who are you?” she asked the brunette.
“Friend of a friend.” She winked. “Heard a lot about you. And then I just happened to run into this guy, and he knew you too. What a coincidence, right?”
Dahlia’s eyes stung. She had no idea where Mikey had found this woman, but there was no doubt he’d hired her to solve Dahlia’s problem.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
The brunette nodded. “The bank? I believe it’s on your way to work.”
Dahlia shook her head. “I don’t want the money.”
She didn’t. It was a lesson she’d learned the hard way, and while she’d caught a lucky break to survive this winter, she didn’t want to have the reminder of her mistakes sitting in her bank account.
She’d keep the smarts, and perhaps one day she’d make a similar mistake again for a good cause, but it was just money.
Ted blew out a breath. “See?” he said to the brunette.
She slanted her brows at him, and he shut up.
“I want my profits donated to the local animal shelter,” Dahlia said.
Ted’s face went pale. All but the two bright pink stains on his cherub cheeks.
“You have access to their bank account to verify the transaction?” the brunette said.
“I’ll make a phone call.”
The brunette smiled. “We’ll wait here.”
Dahlia swiped at her eyes and smiled back. “If you see—you know who—will you tell him thank you for me?”
“Honey, if you don’t find that man and thank him yourself, then you’re not half the woman I hoped you would be.” She gave Ted’s collar a shake. “Time’s wasting, Ms. Mallard. You have ice cream to sell.”
She did.
But after they made the trek to the bank with the shelter’s accounts manager, she had something more important to do than selling ice cream.
WITH THE mysterious brunette’s guidance, Dahlia tracked Mikey down at a pretty two-story yellow house in a newer neighborhood in Willow Glen, a trendy little city half an hour from Bliss. Mikey’s rental truck was in the driveway, but until the door swung open, she wasn’t entirely sure she was in the right place.
But there he was, her strong, handsome, perfectly imperfect savior-wannabe.
He peered at her cautiously, then opened the door wider. “Hey, sweet pea. Come on in.” A guitar echoed inside, and Dahlia realized she’d stumbled upon the house where Will had been hiding out since the fire.
She wanted to launch herself at Mikey. To properly thank him for his help. For his friendship.
For just being him.
But she wrapped her arms around herself instead of hugging him. “Your, ah, friend brought Ted and my, erm, profits by this morning. Thank you.”
He scuffed a toe on the light-colored rug covering the oak floors and nodded. “Yeah. Anytime.”
“The Bliss animal shelter was very grateful.”
His grin popped out. “You’re one of a kind, Miss Dahlia.”
The tune coming from the guitar in back changed, and Dahlia recognized the melody.
Her face warmed, and she put her hands to her cheeks.
Billy Brenton was playing the song she’d helped Mikey write. The one he’d named after her.
“I tried to kiss Mari Belle,” Mikey said.
Three sour notes rang out from the back room. Dahlia went back to hugging herself, tighter this time.
“I couldn’t do it,” he rushed on. “Because she’s not you.”
Dahlia’s breath caught in her throat. “You—”
“You were right Saturday night. I thought if she saw me serious with someone, she might realize I could be more than a family friend.” He tilted his head and offered a self-deprecating smile. “And more than just a man-whore.”
Dahlia wanted to shake him. “You were always more than just a man-whore.”
His grin was coming back, more real. “She left Sunday, but I don’t miss her. I miss you. I miss your cats and your big, open living room floor and your jokes and your ice cream freezer and the way you can fry an egg with your eyes when you’re mad and your big heart.” A real Mikey grin made an appearance. “And your Sexual Favors,” he added softly.
Dahlia giggled despite herself. He angled closer.
“I was wrong too,” she said. “I was looking for a reason to push you away. Because you scare me.”
He stopped.
“You scare me because you make me feel good about being me. Even the sucker parts. And I’m so afraid that if I let myself love you, that you’ll take something more than my money or my good in
tentions. That you might honestly take my heart. And that can’t be replaced.”
“If it helps,” he said, “I can give you a backup. Thought I was missing mine, but it just walked in the door with you.”
She shuffled closer to him, inhaled his fresh, clean, male scent. “And you’re leaving next month,” she said.
He looked back toward the sound of the guitar. “Always loved life on the road,” he said quietly. “Felt more like home than home did. But home—been a long time since I’ve been this kind of home. Been where I belong.”
Her heart was stuttering out a hopeful rhythm. “Where do you belong?”
“Right here, sweet pea.” He brushed a hand over her hair, slid her glasses back up her nose. “With the only woman in the world better than all the rest put together.”
“I’m not—”
“Was talking about Parrot,” he said.
Dahlia’s head jerked all the way up, and Mikey lowered his smiling mouth to hers. “Thinking I’d be getting the better end of the deal here,” he said against her lips.
“You definitely would,” she agreed.
But she had her arms around him, and he was doing things to her lips that were probably illegal back in Pickleberry Springs. And what he was doing with his hands definitely was—she’d looked up a few laws last week—and she couldn’t ever remember laughing while she kissed a man before, but she couldn’t ever imagine kissing anyone else, ever again.
She pulled back from his kiss. “I’m sorry I didn’t trust you.”
“I earned that one,” he said. He kissed the tip of her nose and smudged her glasses. “And I’m gonna spend the rest of my life making sure you know you are the only woman I will ever love. And on my honor, I ain’t ever tasting another woman’s sexual favors. Even if the bakery offers ’em up in a cupcake wrapper and calls ’em whipped dreams.”
Dahlia giggled again. “I love you, Mikey Diamond.”
“I love you too, my Dahlia. Even if you got here too soon for my big ol’ plan to play in Bliss’s Battle of the Boyfriends to win your heart here in a couple weeks.”
Now that was too much. Because Dahlia had never been the kind of girl a guy would’ve publicly declared for.
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