“No, thanks. That should do it.”
“All right. You have a good day now.”
But it hardly seemed possible. Dan was here, and May was not.
Fuckity fuck fuck fuck.
“Matt?” she called loudly. “Hon?”
“Yeah?” he called back.
“You and, uh … Dave should take the rental and head on back. I’ll be done in a sec, and I can follow you guys in our car.” She crossed her fingers. Catch on, Matty. Catch on.
“Who’s Dave?” he called back.
Allie barely resisted smacking her palm to her forehead. The guy with the camera started walking in Matt and Dan’s direction.
This is the problem with men who think the world is full of people as nice as he is, Allie thought as she sprinted down a parallel aisle. They never understand codes.
They also had trouble with dry humor, and they were too nice to even consider anal.
She cleared the end of the aisle. There they were: her fiancé and May’s erstwhile boyfriend standing together, wearing matching Why-has-Allie-gone-crazy expressions.
Executing a sharp ninety-degree turn, she flung her arms out and blocked the reporter from exiting his own aisle. “Matt, take Dan’s rental and leave,” she demanded. Reporter Guy pushed against her arm barrier, then thought better of it and jogged toward the back of the store.
Allie pivoted to make a shooing motion with her hands. “Go,” she hissed. “I’ll keep him here. When you get to the cabin, hide the rental where he won’t be able to see it. Maybe we can prevent him from finding us and ruining the whole trip, okay?”
Understanding dawned on Matt’s face. He grabbed Dan’s arm and started hauling him toward the door. “Who’s taking Roscoe?”
A brilliant plan occurred to Allie. So brilliant, she broke into a manic grin. “I am.”
She followed Matt and Dan through the doorway and unclipped her dog from the post, inviting him to follow her into the store with a soft tug and a cluck. The rental car unlocked behind her with a clunky mechanical noise.
“Good luck,” Matt called.
She barely waved her hand at him. All her attention was focused on the dog, who followed her eagerly into the store. “Do this for me, Roscoe, and I will give you all the salami,” she promised.
Having sprinted down the next aisle over, the reporter had just reached the register. Allie headed directly for him. Roscoe positively wiggled with excitement.
Allie felt like wiggling, too. She had a talent for getting in the way, but Roscoe took the ability to a whole new level.
When they got close, the reporter dodged left. Allie dropped the leash and made a whirling motion with her hand. “Round him up.”
She snapped her fingers and Roscoe took off like a shot, barking and running circles around the reporter. It only took a few seconds for the guy to fall down, ankles hopelessly ensnared.
“Oh, you poor man,” Allie said. “I’m so sorry.” She watched him surreptitiously beneath her aura of ditziness to ensure that he didn’t seem too frightened of Roscoe. Reporter or not, if he had a dog phobia, she’d never forgive herself for aggravating it.
He only looked mad, though, not scared. “Get this fucking dog off me,” he demanded, and she plastered a worried frown on her face as she walked in counterclockwise circles, waving her bags of cold cuts back and forth within range of Roscoe’s nose. The dog barked with excitement and nosed Reporter Guy in the thigh.
Inside, Allie was whirling in circles, her imaginary paws lifting off the floor with every excited bark.
Dan and Matt would have to be gone by now. She had saved the day.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“You want another shower to warm up?” Ben tossed his keys on the kitchen counter. “Or I could make you some more coffee.”
“Both would be great.”
May was perfectly warm, but she felt gross—drying on the outside but damp under her arms, along the insides of her thighs, and around her ankles. Her feet were swollen and sore from walking so much in her soaked shoes.
A shower and a hot coffee would go a long way toward improving her condition. Though the prospect did raise an uncomfortable question.
Ben answered it before she even had to ask. “You’re going to need something dry to wear. Let me see what I’ve got.”
May took a seat at the counter, awash in something like déjà vu spiked with Mexican jumping beans.
She’d never expected to come back here, but when the opportunity had arisen, she’d decided to say yes even before he finished asking.
Yes to whatever he offered. Yes to Ben.
She wasn’t sure when she’d made up her mind. Before she took the cab to the farmer’s market at union Square, though. Waiting in line at the airport, she’d been thinking about the way he’d looked while whipping cream for her. The flex of corded muscle in his working forearm and the way the other arm cradled the bowl against his stomach. The hollow of his throat above the neckline of his gray T-shirt.