“What do you mean?” Dawson asked.
“Well, I don’t want them to smell like this place did when I first walked in, but I really want it to feel like we’re out in ranch country. And before you ask, I’m not going to use horse cutouts or something. I want authentic and something everyone can relate to.” Sinclair smiled and drew closer. Dawson looked like he was about to be hit, but then his eyes widened slightly as Sinclair stared at him.
“What are you thinking? Because if you want to repeat last night, this is not the place,” Dawson said.
Sinclair drew even closer. “Oh, I agree. If we repeat last night, I’d say we’d need four walls and drawn curtains, because there is no way in hell that I’m going to stop at a kiss.” His breath hitched as fire ignited in Dawson’s eyes. Damn, that was rewarding as all hell.
“You’re sure of that,” Dawson whispered.
“I see it in your eyes,” Sinclair said matter-of-factly. “But that isn’t what I meant. Not that looking at you isn’t a treat—it damn well is—but I was looking at the way you’re dressed and wondering if we could do something with that.” He was just talking out loud.
Dawson glanced down. “The way I dress? What’s wrong with it?” he snapped.
“Nothing is wrong with it. You look like the cowboy from a magazine ad, and that’s the feeling I want for the wedding. I want it to be genuine and to reflect everything that Ben and Lilly love, and that means horses, and outdoors, and….” Sinclair paused. “Wildflowers. That’s what I need. Texas wildflowers. Those should be what we decorate with. Everything will be blooming next month, and we can make the centerpieces out of flowers from the area.” He looked back at Dawson because, damn, he was just worth looking at.
Dawson blinked. “Your mind goes in a million directions all at once. Why don’t I go back to work, and you can find me if you figure out what it is you might need.”
Sinclair stared right down his nose. “What I need is for you to stand right where you are. You are what I need for this wedding.”
“Now you aren’t making any sense,” Dawson said. “I’m just the foreman here. I’m not some model or anyone to stand around and do parties and shit.” He was getting miffed again, and Sinclair hadn’t meant to do that.
“That isn’t what I meant,” Sinclair said. “Look, you’re hot, but that’s beside the point. It’s the look, what it represents, that I want to capture.” He took a second and then snatched the hat off Dawson’s head, revealing his short, jet-black hair, which he wanted to run his hands through.
“What are you doing?” Dawson asked, reaching for the hat, but Sinclair held it away.
“Cool it a minute. I’m not going to steal it or piss in your hat or anything.” He turned it over so the opening was upward. “Maybe we could use hats as the holders for the centerpieces.” He was just speaking out loud as Dawson grabbed his hat back and plopped it back on his head.
“No one is going to let you fill their hat with water to use it to hold flowers,” Dawson grumped, and headed for the door.
Sinclair hurried up behind him and snatched his hat off his head once more. The glare he got in return was priceless. “I don’t want to use your hat. Well, not this one anyway. But you have to have some that you don’t wear anymore.” He turned it over in his hands. The felt was smooth and the texture incredibly tactile, and each time he inhaled, the scent of Dawson, musky and yet kind of sweet, tickled the back of his nose.
“That may be, but I don’t want any of them filled with water. The one you have in your hand is a Stetson that Oliver gave me for the last birthday he was alive. And Rita gave me a couple of his hats that I keep in boxes on the top of my closet.” He reached out, and Sinclair handed the hat back. “These are very personal and aren’t just given away, even after we stop wearing them. If you’re serious about this idea, then go on into town to Matherton’s and see if they can help you. There are many types of hats, and maybe they can give you a deal on some.”
Sinclair couldn’t draw his gaze away from Dawson. “Maybe you’re right. I don’t want to take things away from people. I just thought that the hats might be a way to bring in some of the feel I wanted, but then again….”
“You don’t want the arrangements to look like funeral flowers,” Dawson said. “We often will incorporate a cowboy’s hat and boots into the arrangements either on or next to the casket at a funeral.”
“Then that’s out, Lord knows. I’ll have to think of something else… and I don’t want horns in the arrangements,” he added with a grin.
“Come on. I have a huge set of longhorns. We could use those on the head table, and they’d make quite a statement.” Dawson smiled back.
“I don’t want dead things in the wedding arrangements. I know the horns are iconic, but it’s also part of a dead animal.” Sinclair wanted something special, but maybe just simple wildflower arrangements would work with the candles hanging overhead. Sometimes he had a tendency to overthink things until he’d gotten off track.
“You could just ask Lilly what she wants,” Dawson chided.
“Of course I will. I’m just getting ideas that I can give her. This isn’t my wedding.” Sinclair stepped back and tried to imagine the space on the day with the candles, table arrangements, and sprays of flowers and white fabric trailing from the beams. It would be elegant and country at the same time. Still, he wanted the flowers to be special, but that was a small piece of things. And maybe Lilly would have some ideas. “I somehow doubt that I’ll ever get married.”
Dawson drew nearer. “You don’t intend to find someone and settle down?”
Sinclair shrugged. “I have plenty of people back in Houston who would love to settle down with me… if you understand. Though I think most of them are interested in my money than they are in me.” He didn’t sense anything like that here. Dawson seemed to him to be just the man he appeared. Well, maybe that wasn’t true. There were depths behind those incredible brown eyes that drew his curiosity.
“Then why don’t you marry one of them, settle down in a big house, and adopt a bunch of kids?” Dawson asked.
Sinclair shrugged. “Maybe I will.” He headed for the door. There was nothing more he could get from the space, and lingering wasn’t going to do him any good. “You know, I have a real taste for some barbeque. I understand this area has some amazing examples.”
Dawson cocked his eyebrows. “Is that your way of asking yourself to dinner?”
“No. But it is my way of asking you out on a date. I know you aren’t up for it, and I respect that. But how about we say that I’ll pick you up at seven and take you out for a huge meal?” Damn, he loved keeping Dawson off balance.
“I don’t date,” he whispered.
Sinclair rolled his eyes. “Is that the best excuse you can come up with? You would have done better if you had said you were washing your hair or something. Anyway, I’m not buying it. If you don’t date, then it’s time you did, and I’ll pick you up at seven. And don’t be all stubborn and shit. It’s not a marriage agreement, just dinner.” He grinned and stood right next to Dawson, angling his eyes upward. “That’s not to say that afterward there won’t be an indecent proposal that’s guaranteed to curl your toes.”