“There isn’t going to be an empty table for a while,” he said.
“I’m just noticing how dog-friendly this place could be.” Her dark gaze landed on him, those long lashes reaching up to arched brows, a hint of challenge in the look. “My plan would work, you know. You should change your vote.”
“I might if you eat outside.”
She huffed out a breath. “Fine.”
“Question for you,” he said when they stepped out into the sunshine. “Would you eat in a restaurant if a dog was at the next table?”
“It’s not about me. It’s about the town and the idea and building tourism.”
True, but something about a non-dog person using the love of dogs to her advantage rubbed him the wrong way.
Maybe Shane simply never met a challenge he didn’t want to conquer, but why the hell didn’t this woman like dogs? He’d suspected it from the first curled lip and he knew that’s why he’d abstained.
They crossed the street at the light, and he put his hand on her back, the gesture natural and protective, but he noticed she stiffened as though it were unexpected, too. “You have to practice what you preach.”
“Why?”
Was she that clueless? “I’m going to go out on a limb and guess that you have never lived in a small town before.”
“Then that limb would break,” she said. “I grew up in a town not much different than this one, though not as picturesque and our town coffers were probably in even worse shape. Little Fork, Kentucky, on the other side of those mountains.”
“Kentucky?” His brows drew. “I don’t hear that in your voice.”
“Because I’ve traveled. After I graduated from UK, I moved to Miami when I got a job with a marketing firm down there. My first client was a hotel chain, then I landed my first tourism account, for the city of Miami Beach.”
“A challenge to promote,” he said dryly.
“I learned so much and discovered I was good at it. I helped get a lot of business for the firm, then I went out on my own when I was twenty-five, which was seven years ago. I spend about three hundred days a year on the road.”
“Ugh.” The idea was so unappealing he couldn’t put it into words. “Don’t you get homesick?”
She shrugged. “Not for where I grew up certainly. And ‘home’ is a lovely apartment on Brickell Avenue with a view of the water, but not…” Her voice faded, then she finished with, “It’s more like home base and a place to sleep when I’m not on the road.”
What kind of life was that for a thirty-two-year-old woman? “Well, have your world travels taught you about local politics?”
“Enough. Except for one abstained vote, which I fully intend to change”—she elbowed him lightly—“I didn’t do too badly today.”
That was today. She could win today, but the whole town? Doubtful.
A few minutes later, they found a bench and picnic table, and he spread one of his extra napkins for her to sit on. She thanked him, brought out her ever-present hand sanitizer again, then carefully took her plastic fork out of a wrapper and opened her salad.
All the while, he sat across from her, watching. “So are you this particular about everything?” He imagined her folding each piece of clothing as she undressed. Imagined it a lot, to be fair.
“Pretty much.”
“Like, do you roll your underwear into perfect cylinders and stack them color-coded in your drawers?”
She looked up at him. “Didn’t take you long to get to my underwear.”
“But I’m right.”
She smiled, which was all he needed to know.
Just then, an older woman came around the path with a beauty of a golden retriever on a leash.
Shane looked over Chloe’s shoulder, tracking the dog. “That one’s been well trained,” he noted.
She turned and glanced at the dog. “How can you tell?”
“Experience.” He clicked his tongue and snapped his fingers, and the dog slowed its step and turned to Shane. So did his owner, so Shane pushed up.
“He’s a stunner,” he said to the lady, who beamed with pride, as most dog owners did, especially if they’d taken the time and love to train their doggo. “May I?” Shane asked, already on the way over.
“Of course.” As expected, the woman and dog came right toward him, and Shane got down and made eye contact.
“What’s his name?” he asked.
“Jackson,” she said warmly.
“Hey, Jackson.” He knew where retrievers liked to be scratched and adjusted his tone to one a dog would recognize as friendly. “Want to meet my friend, Chloe?”