“Except you like him.”
“Yes. Buthedoesn’t need to know that.” Bree lifted her chin. “And as long as he never finds out, all will be well.”
“Alllllll righty, then.” Audrey did a horrible impression of Jim Carrey.
Bree huffed a laugh. “You’ll see.” The longer the idea simmered, the better she felt about it. Silence was the golden key. Locking away her feelings for Owen was the best course of action. Audrey would see.
Chapter Sixteen
Owen tossed a sweaty towel into the hamper and stripped his shirt over his head in one fell swoop. He turned on the shower and finished undressing as the water cooled off. That was one thing about living in Texas: he had to wait for the warm water that was in the pipes to run out of the system before he dared step into the stream. He liked a cool shower after a workout—it rejuvenated him for whatever came next.
And what was next on the schedule was hovering around Bree’s bake sale and scaring off other guys. Bree was too innocent, too sweet to tell a guy no—although she’d tried with him. But he’d broken through her excuses like a weak defensive line. If he could do it, other guys could too. She needed someone to watch over her and keep the jerks away. There were guys who would take advantage of her trusting nature, and he’d be darned if he’d let them hurt her.
He tested the water before stepping in. He made short work of washing his hair thanks to shampoo and body wash in one. He turned around to rinse off and heard a splash. Looking down, his shower was full to overflowing. He stared for a moment, wondering if he was seeing things. But no, his brand-new house had a clogged drain. Cursing, he rinsed quickly and stepped out, careful not to slip in the quarter inch of water on the tile floor.
He cursed again. Instead of drying himself off, he tossed the towel on the floor and then emptied his cabinet of towels, each tan towel turning a dark brown as it soaked up water. He snatched his phone off the dresser and did a quick search for plumbers in the area. Tapping the first name, he hunted for a set of basketball shorts.
“Hello? Tyrell’s Plumbing.”
“Hey. I need a plumber.”
“Let’s see here.”
Owen checked the time on his alarm clock and groaned. He was late.
“How about Friday morning at ten?”
The mess in the bathroom couldn’t wait two days. “How about I pay double your regular price and you come right now?”
“Oh man—see, I was on my way to my girlfriend’s for a barbecue.”
“Triple.”
“You have yourself a deal.”
Owen rattled off his address and went back to the closet for a shirt and a dirty clothes basket. If he was lucky, and it didn’t appear he had any luck in his pockets, then he’d be to the dance hall in an hour. He prayed Tyrell was worth his money and gathered the dripping towels for the washing machine.
Chapter Seventeen
Bree stood behind the bake sale table. She’d hardly had a moment to sit down in the two hours since she’d arrived. It was a good thing her fringe boots were comfortable as well as stylish. More than one woman had eyed them appreciatively. The action made Bree feel proud and show-offish—a new combination of feelings for the bookworm.
The reason she hadn’t sat down was that she was constantly selling her baked goods. Not all at once like she had two weeks ago when Owen strode into the dance hall, but sales were steady. The oatmeal cookies were a hit. Thank goodness. The time spent wrapping individual cookies had her doubting her plan, but the results couldn’t be denied.
Bree stepped forward and craned her neck to see the door. She’d more than hoped that Owen would be here tonight; he’d hinted as much. His arms were strong and sure and his dance steps powerful and light. His grace on the dance floor was hard to ignore and she wanted another sample.
The door stayed shut, and she was forced to admit that the people who were going to polka tonight were probably already in the room. She frowned. Being stood up stunk!
Mike Silverton, who purchased both a brownie and a cookie, made his way over, covertly glancing her direction as he navigated the crowded room.
Bree moved two brownies to the edge of the table, hoping to sway his decision. Mike’s ash-blond hair swept over his forehead, the sides trimmed short. He’d flicked his head several times to get his hair off his forehead when they talked. Bree reached up and brushed her hair aside, hoping to trigger his subconscious to stop flicking his brain around. One could cause damage.
“Hi, Bree.”
“Hi, Mike.” She glanced down at the brownies, hoping he’d follow her eyes.
He didn’t. His gaze went from her to the floor to the wall behind her, and then back to her face. “Do you want to dance?”
Bree tucked her hair behind her ear. “Uh. Sure?” She glanced down at the cookies. She shouldn’t leave them, but then again, she’d made more tonight than any other night, and it wasn’t like everyone in the room didn’t know what they were for. If anyone tried to swipe a treat, she’d hear about it.