Page 25 of Careless Hope
“I don’t know. You’re pretty.”
She giggled again and I wondered how many drinks she’d had.
“Well thanks. You’re pretty too.”
“Yeah, but you’re like . . . conventionally pretty. Strong. Popular.” She let her mouth pop around each syllable.
I laughed.
“I should shut up,” she said, covering her mouth with her free hand.
“No, no, I like the way you’re complimentin’ me, darlin’.”
She did stop talking though, but it wasn’t awkward. We walked together in a comfortable silence down Main Street until she led us to turn onto Cypress Court, a street known for its old Victorians. After a few minutes, she stopped at the walkway of a yellow house with white gingerbread trim. It was smaller than the others, but just as beautiful, with a carefully landscaped yard and big wraparound porch.
“This is me.”
“It’s nice.”
“Thanks. I always loved this street growing up. It’s weird being an adult and owning a house on it now.”
“I bet,” I said with a laugh. “Everything about being an adult is weird.”
We stood there for a moment, neither of us moving. Then, she took a deep breath, her gaze meeting mine with an unexpected intensity.
“Walker,” she started, hesitating just a beat, “can I ask you something—a bit odd?”
“Shoot,” I said, bracing myself for whatever curveball was coming my way.
She bit her lip, considering her words. “Well, it’s just that . . . I’m not exactly skilled when it comes to . . . men. Flirting, dating, all that.”
My eyebrows shot up. Was Doc Cressley actually opening up about her love life—or lack thereof?
“And I was thinking,” she continued, “since you’re, well, experienced . . . ”
“Experienced, huh?” I teased, trying to keep the mood light despite the flutter in my stomach.
“Yes, experienced,” she confirmed with a small smile. “I was wondering if you’d teach me. How to flirt, how to . . . get a man’s attention.”
The request knocked the wind out of me like a wild bronco. Caroline Cressley, asking me for flirting lessons? This was the kind of thing I’d expect in a lighthearted dream, not standing here in the heart of town after a drinking session at the Dusty Barrel.
“Caroline, I . . . ” I trailed off, searching her earnest green eyes, seeing the vulnerability and the trust she was placing in me. It stirred something protective inside me, something warm and uncharted.
“Don’t say anything now. Just . . . think about it?” she offered, her voice barely above a whisper.
I should say no. This was Caroline—sweet, smart, not the type to get tangled in my usual whirlwind. But looking at her now, all grown up and asking for my help, something shifted inside me.
“Sure,” I said before I could second-guess myself. “I’ll think about it.”
Her relief was palpable, and she flashed a grateful smile that reached all the way to her eyes.
“Thanks, Walker. That means a lot.”
“Anytime, Doc,” I said, tipping my hat with a grin.
She gave me one last smile, then turned and walked to her door. I watched as she dropped her keys, cursed, then finally got the door unlocked and disappeared behind it.
Yeah, I should say no. But why did every part of me yearn to tell her yes?
