Baby Business: Baby Steps

Mercy laughed.

“What’s so funny?”

“Anyone who didn’t know you would think you were this wussy Southern belle, all sweet and helpless. But let me tell you, if I had to pick someone to be on my team against the bad guys? I’d pick you in a heartbeat.”

Dana tilted her head at her friend. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The phone rang again the very moment a mother with four stair-step children tumbled into the shop.

“Great Expecta—”

“Hey, I’m on my way to another appointment,” C.J. said, and Dana’s face warmed with pleasure. Dumb. “But I just thought of a place I bet would be great for the shop. Don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner. Must be the heat. In any case, I’m tied up until five, but wondered if you wanted to see it then? It only came on the market this morning, and I don’t know how long it’s going to last. And the great thing is the owner’s willing to sell, so you could apply the rent toward the purchase price if you all want to buy eventually—”

“Slow down, slow down,” she said, laughing. “Yes, five would be fine. But let me meet you there.”

She wrote down the address on a scrap of paper, then hung up, deciding she was feeling all fluttery and trembly inside because of the prospect of finally finding the right location for the store. Yes, that must be it.

Mercy drifted over to the sales counter while the mother browsed and the kids wreaked havoc. Since there was little they could hurt or that could hurt them (despite the place being an obstacle course for Dana), no one paid the children any mind.

“Let me guess,” she said. “That was C.J.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Because your face wasn’t darker than your dress five minutes ago.”

“Bite me.”

That merited a cackle. “He ask you out?”

“No, goofball—he has another place to show me.”

“Miss?” the mother asked. “How much is this play kitchen?”

“It should be tagged,” Mercy said with a smile. “Let me see if I can find it for you.” Then, over her shoulder to Dana as she edged toward her customer, “I’ve got a real good feeling about this one.”

“Oh, for pity’s sake, Merce—”

“The property, the property,” Mercy said, saucer-eyed. “Why, what did you think I meant?”

Then she cackled again, and Dana thought, With friends like this …

Dana was so quiet, so expressionless. C.J. listened to her sandals tapping on the dusty wooden floor as she wordlessly walked from room to room in the quasi-Victorian, her expression telling him nothing.

“The Neighborhood Association would be thrilled to have you in the area. Plus, it’s close enough to Old Town to pull in a nice chunk of the tourist traffic. And I think the other businesses around would complement yours—”

She shushed him with a swat of her hand.

It was beastly hot in the house, which smelled of musty, overheated wood and dust and that damned perfume; several strands of her hair hung in damp tendrils around her neck.

And he stared. As if he’d never seen damp necks and tendrils before. So he looked out a grimy window, thinking maybe it was time to bring the electronic little black book out of retirement. Except the thought made him slightly nauseous.

The tapping came closer, stopped. He turned; she was smiling. Beaming.

“It’s perfect! When can the others see it?”

“Whenever you like.”

She clapped her hands and let out a squeal like a little girl, her happiness contagious. And C.J. hoped to hell his inoculations were up to date.

A few minutes later, after they’d returned to their cars, C.J. said, “See, what did I tell you? When it was right, you had no trouble at all making a decision.”

Her laugh seemed to tremble in the heat. “True. In fact …” Her gaze met his over the roof of his car. She glowed, from the heat, from excitement, from what he guessed was profound relief. “I feel downright … empowered.”

C. J. opened his car door, letting out the heat trapped inside. “And what,” he asked without thinking, “does an empowered Dana Malone do?”

Her grin broadened. “She offers to cook her Realtor dinner.”

Nothing to lose, Dana reminded herself as perspiration poured down her back in such a torrent she prayed a puddle wasn’t collecting at her feet. As she watched C.J.’s smile freeze in place, the undeniable beginnings of that Oh, crap look in his eyes.

“But before you get the wrong idea,” she said over her jittering stomach, “this is only to thank you for all your patience with me, especially since I know how busy you are and you probably eat out a lot, or stick things in the microwave—”

“Dana,” he said gently, looking wretched. “I’d love to, really—”

And here it comes.

“—but I don’t think … that would be a good idea.”

Despite having steeled herself for the rejection, embarrassment heated her face. Still, she managed a smile and a light, “Oh. Well, it was just a thought. No harm, no foul.” Except after she opened her own car door, she wheeled back around. “Although you could have at least lied like any other man, and told me you already had plans or something.”

“And if you’d been any other woman,” he said softly, “I probably would have. But you deserve better than that.” He drew in a breath, letting it out on, “You deserve better than me. Marriage, babies … not in my future, Dana. But something tells me you very much see them in yours.”

Her eyes popped wide open. “Who said anything about …? It was just dinner, for heaven’s sake!”

Now something dangerously close to pity flooded his gaze. “Would you have extended the same invitation if I were involved with someone? Or if you were?”

“Um … well …” She blew out a breath, then shook her head.

His smile was kind to the point of patronizing. “I’m a dead end, Dana. Don’t waste your effort on me.”

She glanced away, then back, her mouth thinned. “I’m sorry, it was stupid, thinking that you’d … be interested. Especially after everything Trish said.”

His head tilted slightly. “Trish?”

“Lovett. My cousin. She worked for you for about six months, oh, a year ago? And she said … never mind, it’s moot now.”

“Dana,” C.J. said, a pained look on his face, “trust me, it’s better this way.”