by Julia London
The jury was out as to whether this captivation was a good idea or not. Dax didn’t feel like his heart had quite healed from the split with Ashley. He didn’t feel like he had the strength to go through it all again. But there was something about that woman with the dark hair and the nutty little kid that had gotten under his skin. So Dax screwed up his courage, pulled out his phone, and scrolled through his contacts. There it was: Kyra the Neighbor.
He texted, Having a barbecue Saturday. Small group. You and coconut free? He stared at the text, wondered if he ought to edit it, and chewed on that a moment until he got impatient with himself. Once a guy started editing texts, that was it—he was hooked. It had been a couple of kisses, goddammit, not a date. This wasn’t a life decision, this wasn’t a commitment. It was a damn barbecue. He punched Send.
He waited.
And waited.
Approximately two hours after he’d sent the original text, his phone pinged. He pulled it out of his pocket. Yes, she wrote. Thanks! We’ll bring cookies.
Dax smiled. Otto’s tail began to thump. He looked at the dog staring up at him from his sprawl across the kitchen floor. “What are you looking at?” Dax demanded, and went back to work designing a new hutch.
Chapter Twelve
It figured that the one time Dax would host a barbecue, it would rain. It rained all day, on again, off again, and kept him guessing whether he’d have to cram five people into Number Two.
It felt a little as if God was messing with him.
At three o’clock, miraculously, there was a bit of sunshine over the lake and a break in the clouds. Maybe God had had his chuckles for the day and was going to cut Dax a break.
Dax went outside to make a picnic table. He spaced three sawhorses, then laid a couple of planks of pine across them and nailed those together.
He was unrolling the felt when he heard a small coconut shout, “Hey! What are you doing?”
He looked over his shoulder; she was hanging upside down on the fence.
“What are you doing?” she shouted again.
She must have thought he was deaf, because she was always repeating her questions in a very loud voice. “Making a table,” he said. “Does your mom know you’re out here?”
“No. I’m not supposed to get off the porch.”
There was no logic in that little red head. “Go ask her if you can come over and help me. Then get over here and help me.”
“Okay!” Ruby flipped off the fence and darted off.
She was back a few minutes later, climbing over the fence, tumbling down the other side, then racing across the lawn in her light-up boots, her ponytail waving like a flag behind her.
“Mommy said I could come,” she said breathlessly. “She’s putting makeup on her face and it’s taking a really long time.”
“Put your hand right there and hold this down and don’t move,” he said, pointing to the felt at one corner of his makeshift table.
Ruby did as he told her so Dax could staple the felt. “I have a new dress. See? It’s yellow.”
“Yeah, I see. Stop talking and hold this corner down,” he instructed her.
Ruby didn’t stop talking, of course not. She asked why he was using felt. She asked if they could cover the sawhorses with it. She asked if Otto knew how to shake hands because her friend Taleesha’s dog shook hands, and what did barbecue mean.
Dax told her if she didn’t stop talking he was going to cover her and Otto in felt and turned back to his task. Otto whimpered. “Not you, too,” he said, and glanced around to see what the fool dog was looking at now.
The fool dog was looking at Ruby, his tail swishing anxiously. Ruby’s eyes had taken on a glassy look, and her fingers were moving in that strange, fluttering way Dax had noticed before.
“Hey, kid,” he said and snapped his fingers before her face.
Ruby didn’t respond.
Dax sank down onto his haunches before her. He put his hand on her shoulder. “Ruby,” he said.
She blinked rapidly and her eyes refocused on him.
“Are you feeling okay?” he asked.
“Uh-huh.”
“Did anything just happen?”
She nodded.
“What happened?”
“Otto licked my hand,” she said.
Otto was licking her hand at that very moment.
“I guess that makes you a lollipop,” Dax said.
Ruby giggled. “I’m not a lollipop,” she informed Otto as she petted his head.
He’d noticed the petit mal seizures in Ruby a few times now. It didn’t concern him, exactly, as he knew from his training that it wasn’t unusual for some young children to have tiny epileptic episodes, otherwise known as absence seizures. Most children outgrew them in adolescence, and most were not harmful. Generally the child wasn’t even aware that it had happened—just like Ruby.
Nevertheless, while he supposed Kyra knew, he thought he ought to mention it to her just in case. If for some reason she didn’t know what was happening to Ruby, she needed to have the kid checked out on the slim chance it was related to something else.
Dax finished covering the felt with a plastic tablecloth he’d picked up at Eckland’s. At a quarter to four o’clock, which Bev had designated as the hour of his barbecue, the skies began to darken. Dax sent Ruby home to clean up. He went inside to change his clothes. He’d pulled on some clean jeans and a crisp, blue-collared shirt when the skies opened up.
“Freaking fabulous,” he muttered.
At five after four, the first car arrived in his drive—it was a Mercedes, and four doors swung open, and four people dashed to his front porch. Janet, Wallace, Wallace’s significant other, Curtis, and . . .
Jesus, it was Heather.
Dax was going to kill someone. He thought he’d start with Janet and then move on to Wallace. Maybe include Curtis just for being associated with Wallace.
At the same time he was opening the door to those four, glaring at Janet, frowning at Wallace, greeting Curtis and Heather with a thin smile—he wasn’t a complete hermit—he heard a “Yoo-hoo” from his back door. In walked John and Bev Sanders along with Mr. and Mrs. McCauley and a toddler he’d seen at the McCauley house on occasion. Otto was beside himself with glee, barking and jumping and wiggling around like he’d never met people before this very moment.
The child, as it turned out, was the McCauleys’ great-grandson, Ethan. They all crowded into the front room, chattering loudly about the weather, and the beans Mrs. McCauley had brought with her, and how Mr. McCauley was shocked—shocked—that Dax was hosting a barbecue, but had invited some of the new renters all the same, and John said that Dax’s good table saw was taking up too much space, and with Wallace’s direction, he and Mr. McCauley began to maneuver the thing out onto the porch. As they spilled out on the porch to shove it into the corner, Kyra and Ruby appeared, dashing across the lawn. Kyra was holding a cardboard box over her head and a plate in her hand. Ruby had on a hat.
They bounced up the steps, where Kyra set the box down, then shook out her long, dark hair. “Hey!” she said cheerfully. “Great day for a barbecue, huh?”
She’d spruced up for his barbecue. She was wearing makeup that made her eyes leap out of her head, and had donned a summer halter dress that showed off her fantastic legs. She was equal parts sexy and cute . . . maybe more sexy than cute. Okay, so sexy that Dax was having trouble keeping an eye on his prized table saw.
She smiled as if she was slightly concerned and slightly amused, and Dax realized he was staring at her. “Is that your idea of an umbrella?” he asked, averting his gaze to the box.
She laughed. “Poor girl’s umbrella.”
“Mommy, there’s a baby in there,” Ruby said, peering through the screen door.
“Really?”
“There’s enough people in there to field two soccer teams,” Dax muttered.
“Dax, darling, are you going to introduce us?” Wallace had appeared at Dax’s elbow and w
as eyeing Kyra with great interest.
“Can I go inside, Mommy?” Ruby asked.
“Just a minute, pumpkin,” Kyra said, and to Wallace, she smiled, juggled her plate of cookies—God help them all—and held out her hand. “Kyra Kokinos.”
“Wallace Pogue.” He said it as if he were the grand duke of East Beach, and took her hand and bowed over it. “I’m what you might call Dax’s best friend.”
“I would not call you that,” Dax said flatly.
“His love interest, then.”
“I definitely wouldn’t call you that, either,” Dax said, a little more firmly.
“I’m a little surprised Dax would have a best friend or a love interest,” Kyra said, and winked at Dax as Ruby grabbed her hand and tugged on it.
“I want to go inside, Mommy.”
“Is it okay with you if I put these in the kitchen?” Kyra asked, waving the plate under his nose.
He thought maybe he ought to ask her to leave the cookies on the porch in case a biohazard team had to be called, but said, “Sure.”
He watched her walk inside, Wallace gallantly holding the door open for her and crowding in after her. Dax made sure his table saw was unhurt, then followed the others.
Wallace was making all the introductions when Dax stepped into a crowded living room. Janet and Bev had already closed in on Kyra like a pair of vultures and were sizing up the juicy parts as if they meant to feast later.
“Hey!” Heather said, sidling up to him. She rose up on her tiptoes and surprised the hell out of him by pecking him on the cheek. “Hope you don’t mind that I tagged along with Janet,” she said. “When she asked if I’d come, she swore to me that you would be okay with it. I probably should have texted you to ask.”
She probably should have, because Dax wasn’t okay with any of it. However, it was a little late to complain about it. “Don’t give it another thought,” he said. “Glad you could make it.”
She beamed. Maybe he shouldn’t have said that.
“Can I help you with anything?” she asked.
“Ah . . . no, thanks,” he said, distracted again—Wallace was chatting Kyra up in a manner that smelled like trouble. “It’s only hot dogs. Wallace!” he said. “Did you bring that grill?”
Wallace very deliberately turned away from Kyra. “Yes, I did, sweet cheeks, but if you haven’t noticed, it’s raining.”
“We can put it in the oven!” Janet announced as if she were living there, too.
“Just give it a minute,” Dax said. “It’ll clear out.”
“Weather station says rain all night,” Mr. McCauley said. “I told Sue that we ought to bring you all up to the house, but she said it was your party, not hers.”
“I’ll just put these burgers in the fridge,” Janet announced. “We’ll give Dax’s theory a chance to play out, and if it doesn’t stop raining, we’ll put them in the oven.”
Dax didn’t know where to start—with the fact that it wasn’t Janet’s place to decide? Or that his fridge was so full of hot dogs there might be an issue? He didn’t want Janet rearranging things after he’d spent twenty minutes shoving everything into it. He decided to go with the more practical problem of fridge space and stepped forward before Janet could take over his kitchen. “I got this,” he said and took the platter of burgers from her and went into the kitchen.
Ruby and Ethan and Otto were under the table. Ruby was explaining to the toddler that she’d trained Otto to shake. The only contribution to Otto’s education that Ruby could possibly claim was to have helped hone his begging skills.
“Okay, don’t be mad,” Janet said, startling him—Dax hadn’t heard her come in. “But Heather had nothing to do, and I couldn’t stand the thought of her home alone while we were all over here having fun.” She opened his fridge. “She made a sheet cake. Isn’t that nice? She’s a really good baker. I think you should turn on the oven and let it warm up.”
“What are you doing?” Dax asked.
“Helping,” Janet said, and as she leaned into his fridge, Bev and Heather squeezed into the kitchen.
Janet suddenly squealed. She came out of the fridge with his platter of hot dogs and held them out before her as if offering them to the hot dog gods and said, “Are you kidding?”
“No. Stand aside.”
“You must have fifty hot dogs here, Dax!”
“So?” He didn’t care that they were processed meats and would offend everyone. They were easy. And they were good. He dared anyone to disagree with that.
“Do you think we’ll all eat five hot dogs?”
“I want five hot dogs!” Ruby shouted, sticking her head out from beneath the table.
“Okay, that’s it,” Dax said. “Everyone out. I’ve got work to do, and I’ve got this. Janet, put down the dogs and back away. Beverly and Heather, it would be great if you could step back into the living room. And you three,” he said, bending over to peer under the table, “go into the back bedroom to play. You know where it is, Coconut. Lead the way. Skedaddle. Get out of here.”
“Otto, too?” Ruby asked, climbing out from underneath the table.
“Otto, too,” Dax said and whistled. Otto hopped out from underneath the table and sauntered in and around the many legs in the kitchen and into the crowded living area, where Dax could hear Wallace’s voice rising above the others’.
“All right, the rest of you,” Dax said, pointing at the door before grabbing the platter of hot dogs.
Ruby ran, shouting at Ethan to follow her, which the kid did, toddling along as fast as he could. Bev and Janet were reluctant to leave but departed with a lot of grousing and just trying to helps. Dax was so annoyed with everything that he failed to notice Heather had not heeded his direction and was still in the kitchen. Now she, too, was looking in the fridge. “I think we can get all of it in there,” she said.
“I’ve got it.”
“You must be used to doing things on your own. But there’s nothing wrong with accepting a helping hand, you know.” Her smile twinkled at him.
He was not going to win this battle, he could see. “Fine. Put my dogs back,” he said and thrust the platter at her.
Heather laughed too loud and too long as she took the platter from him. She bent over to slide it into the fridge, then straightened up. “What about the burgers?”
Dax stepped up beside her to study the contents of his small refrigerator. He was calculating the number of items that would have to be moved when Heather turned and put herself directly between him and the shelves. Which meant she was standing very close to him, her head tilted back, her lips pursed in a smile of amusement.
“Tell me the truth, Dax. Is it jazz? Or is it me?”
“Pardon?”
“I mean, which is it that you don’t like? Jazz? Or me?” Her smile deepened with the certainty that it couldn’t possibly be her. Her gaze slipped to his mouth, like she wanted him to kiss her.
He did not want to kiss her, didn’t want any part of that. He was already in enough of a bind from kissing, and that was kissing he’d wanted to do. “I didn’t say that.”
“Great! Then maybe we can plan a date, just the two of us. How about Wednesday night?”
“Ah . . .” She’d caught him off guard, and Dax had to think about how best to say it—
“Is that a yes?” she purred.
“Hello?”
Kyra’s voice drifted over the top of the open fridge door, which was blocking his view of her.
“Yes?” he said quickly, and stepped back from Heather.
Kyra bent her head around the fridge, her eyes darting with surprise between him and Heather. “Oh! Hi,” she said hesitantly. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”
“Nope,” Dax said instantly.
“A little,” Heather said pleasantly and poked him in the ribs. “He’s a little shy,” she said.
“Oh. Hmm,” Kyra said and winced a little. “I, ah . . . I was going to put these down somewhere, but I don’t see . . .” Sh
e glanced around the kitchen, still holding the plate of lethal cookies.
Heather stepped around Dax, her hand trailing along his waist as she moved. “I can help you. What have you got there?”
“Cookies. My daughter and I made them.”
“That’s so sweet,” Heather said. “She’s such a cutie. You know, you look really familiar,” Heather said as she took the cookies from Kyra. “Have we met?”
“Ah . . . I waited on you and Dax at the Lakeside Bistro.”
Heather blinked. “Oh,” she said. “You sure did, didn’t you? I didn’t know that you knew Dax.”
“Oh, I . . . not really,” Kyra said, without looking at Dax. “I mean, we’re neighbors, that’s all. New neighbors. Very new.”
“Huh,” Heather said. She sounded, Dax thought, a little put off. “What’s your name?”
“Kyra.”
“Well, I’m Heather. We sure appreciate you bringing cookies.”
Who was we? And why was Heather thanking Kyra? Why did everyone seem to think this was their house and their barbecue?
Heather put the cookies on the last empty bit of counter space and smiled a little coolly at Dax.
“What’s happening in here?”
Now Wallace was popping in, Curtis crowding in behind him. “Have you decided what to do about this barbecue, Dax?” he asked. “Curtis and I are starving.”
Curtis held up a bright blue insulated box. “What should I do with this? I hope you don’t mind, Dax, but I brought some crudités.”
“What?” Dax said absently, wondering where he was going to put that box.
“Crudités. It’s raw vegetables—”
“I know what it is,” Dax said gruffly. “I meant . . . why?”
“Why? Because I am watching my figure.” Curtis sniffed. “I’m just going to arrange them on a platter and take it out there,” he said, pointing to the living room. “Do you have a platter?”
“No.”
“No?”
“I have a plate. Or a cutting board. You choose.”
“Oh my,” Curtis said, sharing a side eye with Wallace. “Well, I guess the cutting board will have to do.” He slanted another look at Wallace. “I told you to bring the dish.”