Page 11 of Heart of Dixie
His signals were mixed, and throwing me off. Was that an invitation? He hadn’t exactly posed it as a question, yet his eyebrow was cocked as if waiting for an answer. Deke McAllister in loose swimming trunks with ripped abs and bare skin glistening with sweat and water. The wonders Mother Nature had wrought to his body had my imagination in overdrive.
To distract myself, I skipped down the steps to the yard and took in the entire layout. Evergreens and enormous shade trees dotted the lawn leading down to the creek. Their canopies sheltered wooden benches and a pair of bright blue Adirondack chairs. A rectangular building off to one side looked as thoughit might be a shed or maybe a detached garage; its exterior mirrored the exquisite design of the house. “What’s that over there? Is that your garage?” In California, most were attached to the house.
His eyes followed the direction of my gaze before turning away. “No, that’s where I work.”
“Your office? Why a separate space with all those rooms still empty inside? This is an awfully big house for one person, Deke.”
He set the plate of meat on the table beside the rest of the meal and grinned over the rail. “I don’t plan to live alone forever, Dixie.”
“Oh. Sure. Right.” That shut me up.
The evening waswarm and sultry. A light breeze fluttered a wisp of hair into my face and I brushed the loose strand away. I pushed back my nearly empty plate—wiped clean except for an embarrassing number of rib bones. “Thank you again for inviting me. I can’t believe I ate so much.”
Deke had been funny, and entertaining with story after story about small town life and the teenage hijinks of his students. I shared a few details about managing the business lives of celebrity athletes and pop stars, which sometimes felt as though I was dealing with temperamental teenagers. It all made me remember why I’d liked him so much.
So far we’d managed to ignore the hot pink elephant seated in the chair between us, but the slide-off glances and half-finished sentences had me reaching for my never-empty glass as often as I did my fork. It was time to find a safe, preferably boring, topic of conversation.
“This morning I heard you’re running for mayor. That’s a bit of a departure for you.” Or it would have been for the introvertedDeke I knew. I leveled my breathing and held his gaze. Maybe he was into politics and public adulation now.
“In the running. Doesn’t mean I’ll win.” I must have appeared unconvinced. He braced his forearms on the table and leaned in. “This town is a great place to live, to raise a family. But it has problems. It needs growth—the right kind of growth—to convince our young people to stay rather than moving off to the big cities. I’d like to think I can help.”Was that a dig at me for leaving?I searched his expression, but it didn’t hold anything except sincere love for his town. I could let a careless slip of the tongue slide.
“That’s spoken like a true candidate. But you’ll need to earn my vote.”
He chuckled but his eyes had turned serious. He reached across the table for my hand. His palm was warm and calloused but smooth against mine. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. You have to be a resident to vote, Dixie.”
Right again. Whatever I thought would never count. “Regardless of my vote, I think you’re a lock. Have you seen all the campaign flyers around town? Everywhere I went today you were plastered in the window. You seem quite popular.”
Deke’s smile was self-deprecating. “So you hit the two or three places that have my posters hung, huh?”
Our hands separated as I leaned back in my seat and let my heels clatter to the deck. He’d left a bit of barbeque sauce on the side of my thumb. I lifted my hand to suck it off, and his throat bobbed with a heavy swallow. “Let’s see.” I raised my palm and used my fingers to count. “Nine hand lettered signs at the market. Nine. At one store. I counted them. Then there were the posters at the funeral home, and then at the florist—full color. Somebody laid out some cash for those bad boys.” When I crossed my legs and stretched them out under the table, my bare toes accidentally brushed his calf. The light matting of hair wascrisp against the firm muscle of his leg. His thumb began tracing the outline of his lips. Slowly, as though he might be pondering something life-changing, his eyebrows lowered. I was tempted to keep rubbing.
He lifted his glass and used it to point at me. “So far, you haven’t won your argument. That’s still only three stops. Surely I have more admirers than that.”
7
Dixie
Irolled my eyes; now he was making fun of me. I folded down each finger as I ticked more off my list. “I stopped by Cooter’s lawyer this afternoon. Mr. Jamison made sure I knew he favored you. He was quite effusive in his endorsement.”
“Tig Jamison, huh? You mean my dad’s golfing partner? Not exactly impartial, now, is he?
I allowed a smug smile to occupy my face. “While I was in town I also ran by the only realtor I could find. I had to wait in the lobby for the receptionist’s phone to quit ringing before she could help me. Do you realize she answers the telephone by saying ‘McAllister for mayor’?”
He bolted upright. “She doesn’t.”
“Hand to God!” I raised my palm. “Like it’s your campaign headquarters.”
He leaned back against the padded cushion, mirroring my casual posture, his gaze thoughtful. “So, it seems I may not need your vote after all. It also seems you made a bit of progress today. I hope people were helpful.”
“Oh, like you wouldn’t believe. Everyone has a tale about George.” I picked up my glass for a sip. It was because ofGeorgethat I was even here. “That reminds me, did you know you can order a funeral by number?”
He grimaced. “I’m afraid to ask.”
I nodded. “Sure. You got somebody recently departed? Just swing on by, they’ll hook you up. Offer as many add-ons as you like to the package. Yep, I’ll take a four please, supersized, hold the video.”
His eyes widened, then narrowed. He covered his mouth with his hand, probably to hide a smirk. “One stop shopping.” The thumb concealing his lips rubbed across them again. My thoughts took a left turn.
Would those lips feel the same as they had years ago—tentative, yet appealing? Or had Deke’s kisses matured along with the rest of him? I shook the image away and sputtered out a laugh. “Nearly, anyway.”
