Page 12 of Redeem My Heart

I set down my clipboard and smile at her. “Thanks.” Then I go out to the front to find Dane standing there, looking slightly awkward, but ridiculously handsome at the same time.

He holds up a bag. “Brought you lunch, Sunshine.” His lips quirk in a smile and my stupid heart flips over in my chest.

This man is going to break my heart into a million pieces. Maybe it’ll be worth it. At least it’s for a good cause. All of those dogs need a safe home.

Yes, I know that’s not actually why we’re fake dating, but it’s what I’m telling myself because it’s more palatable than sticking it to three women whose opinions should not matter to me.

“Thanks. Come on back.”

He steps over to me and kisses my cheek.

“What did you bring me?” I chirp as if I was totally expecting the hottest man in Saddle Creek to come to my work with food.

“All your favorites from Ruthie’s,” he says.

Another flip-flop. Stupid, stupid heart.

I lead him into the storage room and over to the table. “I’ve just been doing inventory today while Lily is out inseminating some heifers.”

Ohmygosh! Why am I talking about insemination right now?

“I mean you know how it goes. Your family owns cattle.”

He grins at me with a full-fledged smile that literally steals my breath, and I make a weird choking noise. I quickly sit down to cover my awkwardness.

He chuckles and unpacks the food. And sure enough, he has brought my favorites. Chicken fried steak fingers with extra cream gravy. And fried pickles with ranch dressing.

“I’m a dipper,” I say stupidly. What is wrong with me? Stop saying words.

He pulls out the seat next to me and sits.

“What did you get?” I ask.

One meaty shoulder lifts in a shrug. “Cheeseburger with bacon and barbecue sauce. Fries. My usual.”

I dip a pickle in the ranch, then pop it into my mouth. “How did you know about my favorites?” I ask, pointing to the spread of fried goodness.

He scratches at the back of his neck. It’s a movement I’ve seen him do on more than one occasion. Maybe when he’s feeling unsure of himself. Which just seems crazy because he’s beautiful and smart and obviously kind. What could he possibly have to be self-conscious about?

“I might have begged for your sister’s number, then texted her to ask.”

I stare at him. Pretty sure my mouth is open, and I pray that a partially chewed pickle isn’t falling out onto the table. That took effort. All for a fake date?

“That was thoughtful. Thank you.”

Again, he lifts a boulder-sized shoulder up in a shrug. “I didn’t want to bring you anything you didn’t like or that you were allergic to or whatever.”

“I’m not allergic to anything. And the only foods I hate are mushrooms—they’re slimy—and tomatoes. But I do eat salsa and tomato sauce and yes, I realize that doesn’t make sense.”

“You’re fucking delightful. I hope you don’t mind me saying that.”

“Not at all.”

“Will you tell me why you hate your nickname?”

My spine goes still and all humor drains from my body.

He holds up a hand. “Sorry, that was abrupt and it’s not my business.”