Page 17 of 7 Days and 7 Nights

“I’m not coming back, Dawg. We’re not kids, and I’m not interested in being your live-in girlfriend anymore.”

“Aw, JoBeth, honey.”

“Don’t you ‘JoBeth honey’ me. And don’t you come into my place of work and ogle other women.”

“But you’re the one who moved out. You’re the one who said—”

“I know exactly what I said. You don’t have to throw it back in my face. You’re the one who doesn’t seem to be getting the point.” Her fingers picked nervously at the fluted edge of the pie plate.

“Oh, I get the point all right. It’s just like Matt Ransom said. My big mistake was not being clear upfront. I love you, JoBeth, but I don’t want to get married. I’ve been married, and it’s not the picnic you seem to think it is.”

A hush fell over the diner as the last of the lunch crowd gave up the pretense of eating. JoBeth pried her gaze from Dawg’s for a slow scan of the room. Even the McCauleys were staring in shocked amazement at her and Dawg. Emmylou tittered out loud.

“Well, now you’ve managed to humiliate me in person.” Was that her voice going all shrill and quivery?

“Why don’t you just post on Facebook, ‘JoBeth Namey gives great milk but she’s not worth marrying.’ ”

Dawg shot her a look of such wounded outrage that she almost managed to get herself under control. If he’d apologized then or offered one ounce of reassurance that he’d never thought of her that way, she might have been able to avoid what came next. But keeping quiet had never been Dawg’s strong suit.

“Now that is about the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

“Stupid?” Her hands stilled. Embarrassment spiked up her spine, fueling her anger, which was a lot easier to deal with than the hurt and desperation she’d been feeling. Then he got that annoying look on his face, the one that said he was the calm, rational one, and she was some harebrained female, and her hands wrapped tighter around the aluminum pie plate.

“The stupidest thing I ever did was waste three years loving you." The next thing she knew, she was hefting the pie plate in her right hand, savoring its weight. “But I sure do hate to leave you without something to remember me by.”

A smart man would have backed off then, or at least put some distance between himself and an angry woman with a partially cocked pie, but Dawg just sat there glaring back at her, his face only inches from what remained of the strawberry rhubarb.

“Do what you gotta do, JoBeth. You are not making a lick of sense anyhow. And you haven’t been since you started calling that Dr. O.”

She knew better, really she did. It wasn’t going to solve anything, and it certainly wasn’t going to win her any waitressing awards. But a herd of wild animals couldn’t have made her put the pie down at this point.

She heard a collective gasp as she lifted the pie and pushed it firmly into the middle of Dawg’s irritating face. No one spoke as she ground the pie back and forth with the heel of her hand until the flaky brown crust worked its way into the grooves of his face.

Dawg sat completely still. He barely blinked as the red-colored goo began to drip down his chin. For a minute she half expected him to stick his tongue out for a taste like they did on TV, but he didn’t move a muscle.

Momentarily stunned by what she’d done, JoBeth froze, too. The silence ended just as suddenly as it had begun. The buzz of excitement built around her but it was once-removed, like something that was happening to someone else. She could barely think, let alone come up with an appropriately cutting remark. And instead of the elation she expected, she felt only regret... and the insistent welling of tears she refused to shed.

JoBeth placed the empty pie plate down on the counter in front of her. Then she untied her apron and laid it gently on the Formica next to it.

A dull ache settled around her heart as she faced the man she’d hoped to grow old with, but it was too late now for regrets. She straightened slowly and looked Dawg Rollins straight in the eye—the one not currently covered with crust.

With a small smile and an apologetic shrug, she pulled her order pad from her pocket and passed it over to Emmylou. She didn’t think she’d have any trouble getting the rest of the afternoon off.

“I’m sure Em’ll clean you up, Dawg. And I’ll take care of your tab.” She paused for a second to survey the damage she’d done before offering her parting shot. “But it looks like dessert’s on you."

Chapter Seven

Matt wiped steam from the bathroom mirror, still humming the tune he couldn't seem to push out of his head, he lathered his face and then shaved in time to the mental beat. A slash of deodorant, a splash of aftershave, and he was set.

With the towel tucked around his hips, he left the steamy warmth of the bathroom. From the hallway he spotted Olivia behind the kitchen counter, knife aloft, and spent a moment or two imagining just what sort of meal she might be making with the provisions she’d laid in.

Olivia kept her head down and her gaze on the counter, but the stiffness of her shoulders and the rigid tilt of her head revealed her awareness of him. He almost felt sorry for her, trapped as she was with a man who knew just how much heat simmered beneath her cool facade.

A gentleman would allow her to pretend indifference. But no one had ever accused him of being a gentleman.

In his bedroom, he dropped the towel and dressed quickly, then padded, barefoot, out to the living room.

Olivia looked up from her seat at the kitchen table.

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