This made her smile again. “You’re definitely not from around here. Wilfred wasn’t kidding about the reservations. They’re booked for weeks out.”
Now it was Burke’s turn to smile. When money was plenty, the reservations were too. “You let me take care of that part. What do you say?”
Chapter 6
Yes. That’s what she’d said.
Justine replayed that conversation as Burke pulled onto her quiet drive. He’d asked her to the Steakhouse and she’d said yes.
“No gate on your property?” Burke asked as he tipped his head, eyes set on her house. A modest rambler that looked more square than rectangular from the front.
“No.” She gulped, reached for the door handle, and paused as a recollection came to mind. “Am I the one who hit you in the shin?” she asked. “Because if I am, I didn’t realize it. I was—”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said.
“Distracted,” she finished.
With a pair of hypnotizing blue eyes, Burke held her gaze, a certain energy surging in the small space between them. Justine couldn’t figure him out. In a way, this stranger had come to her rescue twice that day. First with the cat in her distraught moment and then with Gramps.
“So,” she said. “I’ll go get ready…”
“Sounds good. My cabin’s not more than fifteen minutes away. I’ll do the same and then meet you back here.”
Justine bit her lip and gave him a nod. “Okay.”
“Okay.”
She turned away from him then, cracked open the car door, and climbed out, groceries in one fist, her purse strap in the other. She couldn’t get past the feel of his gaze on her as she climbed up the shallow porch steps.
She was quick to twist the brass knob of her pale blue door—a contrast to the white siding on her home—and hurry inside. Only once the door was closed did she hear Burke’s engine rev, indicating he was backing out of the drive at last. She flicked the switch by her side and sighed as warm, yellowed lamplight filled the space.
Burke had waited until she got inside.
That was sweet.
It wasn’t exactly the same as getting out of the car, opening her door, and carrying her stuff inside, but it was a caring gesture just the same. And gentlemanly. Stop swooning, Justine. It wasn’t as if he’d asked her out on a date.
Or was it? The truth was, Justine had no idea how to interpret what had just taken place. But Burke…he was something else. She swerved her way through the living room, crowded with the refurbished furniture she planned to sell at the festival, and hurried down the hall. Once at her bedroom, Justine flicked on the light by the doorway, hurried over to the bed, and flung herself onto the center, belly first.
With her face in the fluff of her throw pillows, Justine grinned wide. Who cared if she was swooning? He really was magnificent. Gorgeous blue eyes that came alive when he held her gaze. There were sparks. Actual, undeniable sparks between them. Yeah, yeah, nothing would probably come out of it, but that was okay.
One short chuckle escaped her lips as she shrugged from her tummy and onto her back. This wasn’t like her, which is probably what made the scenario so exciting. Some seriously attractive man swoops in, helps bury the roadside cat, offers to play the role of her fake fiancé but only if she agrees to let him take her to dinner at her favorite restaurant outside of town?
But what on earth would she wear? The question was enough to force her off of the softness of her quilt-covered bed and send her bolting toward her small closet. A quick fling of the single door, a short tug on the pull chain, and Justine was looking at her seriously sad options beneath the bare bulb of light.
The fact was, she had only three options where a place like the Steakhouse was concerned. She couldn’t wear jeans, and since that—along with the sweaters, flannels, and t-shirts she wore with them—made up over ninety percent of her wardrobe, Justine would have to pick either the white summer dress, the business looking pencil skirt and matching jacket she’d bought for her lunch with the neighboring mayors, or the black cocktail dress she’d bought but never stepped out of the house in.
She slid the hangers to the far left end of her closet. Past the jeans, past her shirts and sweatshirts, until the small black dress was in sight. There it hung, flat against the far end of her closet, price tag still dangling from the little gold safety pin attached to the zipper.
Did she dare wear it tonight? It would impress him more than the others. Not that she should be worried about that. But who was she kidding? That’s exactly what she was thinking about. Justine could show him that—though she was a country girl who buried cats and refinished furniture—she could shine up like any other woman.
She reached out, gripped hold of the dress, and pulled it up to her form. It was perfect.
Her elation was accompanied by another round of hot, fast-moving adrenaline. Now she knew with certainty what she would wear. What Justine didn’t know is what the night ahead would be like.
Chapter 7
Burke gripped the steering wheel as he headed out of the rental cabin’s narrow drive. Long limbs reached over the roughly paved road, making the night even darker in the wooded area.
In the minutes that passed since he’d dropped Justine off, Burke had called the Steakhouse, managed to score the reservation as he hoped—a rooftop table at that—then searched up the towing guy Justine mentioned. She was right; the town had only one option, Frank’s Towing.
Arranging for the guy to tow the truck back to Justine’s place was simple enough since Frank knew who she was and where she lived. He did, however, sound unnerved by the stranger making the request.
While getting ready for his date, Burke had done a whole lot of thinking about Justine. He was used to assessing people, putting them into “like” categories. Lenny, for instance, was like his first real estate partner back in Manhattan. Lorraine Benton with her savvy business sense reminded him of his mom, but that tender side of her was more like his maternal grandmother. A good combination, actually.
He’d barely reached the end of his driveway when a buzz sounded. His phone, already propped into place on the dash, showed an incoming call from Lorraine Benton herself.
Burke tapped the speaker to answer, allowing him to put his hands back on the wheel, and spoke up. “I was just thinking about you, Lorraine.”
“Please, call me Grandma Lo,” the woman said. “So, did you get to see the property you purchased out there?”
“Yes,” he said. “It’s big. It’s nice. Think it should make a good turnaround profit.”
“That’s great, dear. I’m calling because I’ve got some news for you. Claudia is on board with the interview.”
A wave of relief washed over him. “She is?”
“She is. I’ve contacted Mornings in Mind. We’re looking at a few dates. I’ll let you know once it’s final.”
He nodded as a dose of warmth stirred around his heart. “That’s…that’s great. Thank you, truly.”
“It’s as much for me as it is for you,” Lorraine assured.
“Hey,” Burke said, his mind shifting back to the property. “The agent here warned me that the town wouldn’t—what were his words—take too kindly to my client, which is me, of course, for buying the property I snatched up. Sounds like they don’t welcome much change around here.”