by Gina Wilkins
He laughed. “I appreciate it.”
He turned back to Dani. “You said you have a job in addition to taking classes. What do you do?”
“I teach piano lessons.”
“She teaches six days a week,” Mrs. Parsons expanded. “She has so many students that she’s had to put some on a waiting list—and she’s only been teaching here for a year.”
“You must be very good,” Teague murmured, studying Dani over the rim of his coffee mug.
Her left eyebrow rose a quarter of an inch. “I’m very good,” she replied coolly.
He nearly choked on his coffee.
“The girls aren’t the only ones who work all the time,” Mrs. Parsons continued, apparently oblivious to any undercurrents between her guests. She pointed an arthritis-crooked finger at Teague. “Your hours are grueling. Doesn’t the FBI allow its agents to get any rest?”
Forcing his attention away from Dani, he smiled at the older woman. “Rest hasn’t been high on the priority list lately. But don’t worry about that. I get enough.”
“Make sure you do. Good looks and good health don’t last forever, you know. You’re lucky to have both. You should take better care of yourself.”
Teague grinned and winked at Mrs. Parsons. “Thanks for the compliment—and the concern. I’ll keep your advice in mind.”
“You do that.”
Having delivered her recommendations, Mrs. Parsons moved on to another subject. She chattered about a new shopping center being built not far from their building, about a new tenant on the second floor who had an unusual number of facial piercings, about a feature story she’d heard on the television morning show she’d watched earlier and about her son, who’d sent her roses last week for no reason.
The woman certainly could talk, Teague thought in amusement. He and Dani could hardly get a word in edgewise. Not that Dani seemed to be making much of an effort to do so. Was she always so quiet, or was his presence putting a damper on her conversation?
Dani didn’t want to leave Mrs. Parsons to clean up her mess alone, but her neighbor seemed in no hurry to start picking up while Teague was there. In fact, Mrs. Parsons seemed to be enjoying having an attractive young man in her kitchen. If Dani wasn’t mistaken, the older woman was actually flirting a little, and Teague was lapping it up.
Hadn’t he said he had plans to go clubbing that evening? Wouldn’t he prefer flirting with women his own age rather than a giggling septuagenarian? Dani supposed it wasn’t so late that he couldn’t go to the club after leaving here, but he certainly seemed in no hurry to go.
Deciding she was going to have to take the initiative herself, she finally said, “I’ll help you pick up in the living room now, Mrs. Parsons. I’m sure Teague has plans for this evening.”
He shook his head. “Actually, I’ve decided to stay in for the rest of the evening. Maybe read or watch a little TV. I’ve had a long week, wouldn’t mind a rest.”
Dani frowned at him. “I thought you said you were meeting friends at a club.”
He gave her a bland smile. “It wasn’t a firm commitment. Just an option.”
“I hope I haven’t kept you away from your plans on a Saturday night,” Mrs. Parsons fretted.
Turning a warm smile in her direction, he shook his head again. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve enjoyed the cookies and the conversation. Let me help you clear your living room.”
“Absolutely not,” she insisted, including both of them in her refusal. “You’ve done enough. I’d like to take my time to go through everything and decide what I want to keep and what I need to throw away. I’ll do that myself.”
Though both protested, she ushered them out without listening to any further offers of assistance. “Good night,” she said, smiling at them before closing the door politely in their faces, leaving them standing in the hallway, staring at each other.
“Well,” Teague said, “that was interesting.”
Dani couldn’t help smiling. “I suppose. I’m sorry about your plans for the evening, though.”
He shrugged. “I’m not. I was making myself go, anyway. It seems to bother other people more than it does me that I’ve been working more than playing lately.”
Dani wrinkled her nose. “That sounds familiar.”
It seemed like someone was always nagging at her about working too hard these days. Teague would probably identify with that, but he could never appreciate the true irony of the situation in her case. In all of her life prior to moving to Little Rock over a year earlier, Dani had never been described as being overly industrious.
He studied her face. “Piano lessons, huh? Like, to kids?”
“Mostly children,” she agreed. “A few adults.”
“Where do you teach?”
“I rent a small studio not far from here.”
“How long until you get your degree from the university?”
“I’ll have my undergraduate degree in May. Next year I’ll start working toward my master’s degree.”
“And then what?”
Doubting that he was really all that interested in her future plans, she shrugged. “I’m sort of playing that by ear.”
She had ideas, but she had no intention of discussing them with Teague. Especially not out in the hallway. She turned toward her apartment. “Thank you again for helping us with the bookcase. Good night.”
“Dani.”
She looked over her shoulder. “Yes?”
Was he going to ask her out now? If so, her answer would be the same despite the relatively pleasant hour they’d just spent together. He might pretend to be a mild-mannered, senior-citizen-helping, cookie-eating workaholic, but all her senses warned her that this lean, strong, inscrutable FBI agent was a lot more complicated than he tried to appear. And if there was one thing Dani did not need in her life right now, it was another complicated relationship.
“You should get some rest. You look tired.”
“Um—” Once again, he’d managed to render her speechless, in addition to bruising the feminine ego she’d thought she’d gotten under control a long time ago. “I will,” she managed to say after a momentary hesitation.
Looking entirely too pleased with himself, he nodded and moved toward his own door.
Dani and Teague ran into each other several more times during the next two weeks as October faded into November. There were times when Dani wondered if he deliberately made that happen, but she found that rather hard to believe. Her schedule was as erratic and unpredictable as his own, so he couldn’t possibly know when she would be arriving or leaving. It was only coincidence that they saw each other more lately than they had in the past; after all, they lived only a few yards apart.
And it wasn’t as if he was interested in pursuing her, anyway, she reminded herself wryly. He’d had plenty of opportunities to ask her out, if he’d wanted, and he had pointedly let them pass by.
They arrived home at the same time on a wet, cold, early evening. The parking lot was undergoing a week of repairs, so they had to park farther away from the building entrance than usual. Dani had just climbed out of her SUV, protected from the downpour by her roomy umbrella, when she saw Teague close his car door, no umbrella in his hand.
“Duck under,” she called out to him, motioning with her free hand. “There’s room for us both.”
Grinning, he crowded beneath the umbrella, matching his steps to hers as they hurried toward their building. Standing water on the pavement splashed upward from their feet, drenching the bottoms of the jeans they both wore on this Saturday evening. Dani’s shoes were soaked through to her feet; she envied Teague the waterproof hiking boots she noted that he wore.
They were both laughing when they stumbled into the entryway. Water dripped from the umbrella and the parts of themselves that hadn’t been beneath it. Juggling her bag beneath her arm, Dani closed the umbrella, trying not to soak everything around her.
“Wow,” Teague said, pushing a hand through his damp hair. “It
’s really coming down out there.”
“And it’s cold,” she added, shivering. “My toes are freezing.”
“You should have worn thicker shoes.”
“You’re right. I should have.”
“Thanks for the shelter,” he said, nodding toward the umbrella. “I was still damp from getting into my car at the office.”
She shivered again. “No problem. I think I’m going to hurry upstairs, change into dry clothes and have a cup of hot chocolate to try to get warm. I’m cold all the way to the bone.”
“Hot chocolate. With marshmallows?” he asked, his expression instantly wistful.
“Maybe.”
“Sounds good. My mom used to make hot chocolate with marshmallows for me on cold, rainy afternoons.”
Even though she knew full well she was being played, she gave in. Who’d have imagined this tough FBI agent would have perfected the art of puppy-dog eyes? “I suppose I could make two cups of hot chocolate—if you’d like one.”
His face lit up. “I’d love a cup, if it’s not too much trouble.”
She hoped she wouldn’t regret this moment of weakness. “Just give me time to change and it’ll be ready.”
He pressed the elevator button. “I’ll save you the discomfort of climbing stairs in squishy shoes.”
She chuckled when her shoes squished as she walked into the elevator. Wet footprints glistened on the tile floor behind her. “I appreciate it.”
He leaned against the back of the elevator, his arms crossed over his chest. “You’re in a good mood today.”
“I guess.”
“Any particular reason?”
She shrugged. “It’s just been a good day.”
“Glad to hear it.”
The elevator opened on their floor and she sloshed out. “I’ll see you in a few minutes,” she said.
“I’m looking forward to it.” He moved toward his apartment, adding over his shoulder, “It’s been a long time since I’ve had hot chocolate.”
Dani smiled wryly as she walked into her apartment, kicking off her wet shoes the moment she was inside. Trust Teague to make sure she didn’t think it was her company he was anticipating so eagerly. It was the hot chocolate that excited him—with marshmallows, apparently.
Which reminded her, she hoped she had some, she thought, hurrying into her small kitchen. Fortunately, she did. She remembered now that she’d picked up a bag when she’d bought the ingredients for the hot chocolate. Figuring she wouldn’t have much time before he arrived, she moved into her bedroom to change out of her damp clothes.
Tossing the shirt and jeans she’d worn into the hamper, she stood in bra and panties in front of her closet, her hand hovering over the hangers. It annoyed her to realize how long it was taking her to make a decision. Why was she acting as if she were dressing for a date? This was just an impromptu cup of cocoa with a neighbor, nothing more.
Donning an old pair of jeans and a rather baggy navy sweater, she slipped her feet into warm, fuzzy pink slippers and tied her hair up in a careless ponytail. She didn’t think she could make the message any more clear that she was making no effort to attract him.
He tapped on her door just as she was preparing to pour the cocoa into two sturdy mugs. She opened the door to him, and noticed immediately that he looked as though he’d had a quick shower in the fifteen minutes since they’d separated. His hair had been damp before; it was even more so now, slicked back from his face in a style that actually looked good on him.
He hadn’t shaved, and that, along with the sideburns he wore, gave him a rugged, tough look that made her heart skip. For a fleeting moment she wished she’d taken a bit more care with her own appearance. And then she shook her head in annoyance, pointing out to herself that he wore jeans, a gray T-shirt and sneakers, as casual as she was herself. She’d have looked ridiculous had she dressed up for this. Not to mention that she had no reason to want to primp for him.
Teague sniffed the air. “I smell hot chocolate.”
She smiled in response to his eagerness. “It’s in the kitchen. I was just about to add the marshmallows.”
“I like lots of marshmallows.”
“Then come add your own.” She led him into the kitchen.
She couldn’t help laughing as she watched Teague stack marshmallows in his cup. “You aren’t going to be able to get to your drink.”
“Watch me,” he said with a grin, carrying the mug to the table. “I don’t suppose you have anything to eat to go with this? I skipped lunch, and I’m kind of hungry.”
He didn’t lack for nerve. She supposed that was a good thing for an FBI agent. “I could make you a sandwich.”
“That would be great, if it isn’t too much trouble.”
“It’s no trouble.” She watched him for a moment before moving toward the fridge. “How can you possibly drink that without getting a marshmallow mustache?”
He chuckled. “Talent. This is really good, Dani. Tastes just like I remember my mom making.”
She sipped her own as she pulled the makings for a turkey and Swiss sandwich from the fridge. “Is your mother still living?”
“No, she died when I was a kid. My dad remarried a few years later. He’s gone now, too, but I’ve stayed in contact with my stepmother.”
“Does she live in this area?”
He shook his head. “She’s in a retirement community in Florida. I get out to see her a couple of times a year. What about you? Is your family around here?”
“No, they all live in Atlanta.”
“I thought that was a Georgia accent I heard from you. Both your parents still living?”
Keeping her back to him, she swallowed hard. “My mother is. My dad died of a heart attack a few years ago.”
He must have heard the pain that she still couldn’t quite hide when she talked about her father.
“I’m sorry. It’s hard to lose them, isn’t it?”
Some people said that sort of thing almost routinely, not knowing what else to say. Because Teague had lost his parents, she took the quiet question the way he’d probably intended it. Literally. “Yes, very hard. Do you want mustard or mayo?”
“Mustard.”
“Lettuce?”
“Yes, please. Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
“An older sister, newly married, no children yet, and a younger brother, a single college student. You?”
Chuckling at the concise efficiency of her reply, he shook his head. “No siblings.”
She set the sandwich and a handful of baked chips in front of him, noticing that he’d almost emptied his cocoa mug already. “Do you want something else to go with this? Cola? Iced tea?”
“Tea sounds good. Aren’t you eating?”
“Not right now. I had a late lunch with one of my piano students and her mother.”
He swallowed a big bite of the sandwich. “It’s good,” he murmured. “Thank you.”
Setting a glass of iced tea in front of him, she took a seat across the table, her cooling cocoa gripped loosely between her hands. “You’re welcome.”
“This is nice,” he said, smiling companionably at her. “It’s good to have friends in the building.”
Friends. She was beginning to think that really was all he wanted from her. She had to admit that was a rather new concept for her. She wasn’t even sure it was entirely feasible—but she couldn’t help but be intrigued by the possibility.
So what did one talk about with a guy who only wanted to be friends? Searching her mind, she came up with, “How long have you worked for the FBI?”
“Almost eight years. I tried a few different jobs after college before sort of stumbling into this when I was twenty-five.”
“And are you—I don’t know what you call it. A special agent?”
He smiled patiently. “Yes. That’s what we’re called.”
“So you track down bad guys and stuff?”
“Yeah. Something like that.”
; “Do you like it?”
He didn’t seem to quite know how to answer what she had thought of as a simple question. “It’s my job,” he said after a pause. “I guess you could say it’s pretty much who I am.”
“So you aren’t tired of it?”
“Not tired of it. Just plain tired, at times,” he replied with a wry twist to his mouth. “The hours have been pretty long lately.”
“I’ve noticed. Don’t you get vacation time?”
“I have some built up. I’m thinking about taking some days off around the holidays this year. Maybe I’ll go see my stepmother. I could use some beach time.”
“Sounds nice. I’ll be going home to Atlanta for Thanksgiving.”
He cocked his head. “Do I detect a hint of reluctance?”
“Oh. You know. Family.”
He smiled. “Even though I haven’t had a lot of dealings with family, I’ve heard enough from others to understand what you mean.”
“I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t sound insensitive.”
“No, you didn’t. What’s your family like?”
She laughed shortly. “That’s a little hard to answer. Why do you ask?”
“Not having much of a family of my own, I guess I’m curious about other people’s.”
When he put it that way, it seemed churlish not to at least attempt a reply. “My grandmother is nosy, blunt-spoken, addicted to celebrity gossip and rabidly loyal when it comes to her friends and family. Mother’s sort of flaky, has an incurable addiction to cutesy country decor and has a heart as big as Georgia. Rachel’s a talented interior designer, the smart, capable, organized one in the family. She’s married to a nice, good-looking physician, Mark Brannon.
“My brother, Clay, is still figuring out who and what he is. He came close to turning into a real loser a year or so ago, but Mark’s been a good influence on him. Clay seems to be trying to make something of himself now. He’s a decent guy, really, just drifted into the wrong crowd for a while.”
“That happens.” Popping the last chip into his mouth, Teague crunched, swallowed, washed it down with a sip of tea, then asked, “How would your family describe you, if I asked them?”
She grimaced. “Let’s just say I’m working to change the way they would describe me.”