CHAPTER SEVEN

AVERY

Julie and I finished setting up for the YMCA-hosted Friday night baseball game a few days after my lunch with Dominic. I'm still not sure what possessed me to say ‘yes' to our agreement—boredom, morbid curiosity?—but I can admit I'm excited to start. I've been saving inspiration photos to a Pinterest board during my spare time, imagining a finished product as sleek and professional as the offices I've found online.

Even my friends Elsie and Grace are on board with this opportunity, despite the things they've heard from me about Dominic.

"It's the perfect way to practice remaining professional with a tough client," Grace had said, and that's how I plan to approach our arrangement. Besides, it"s bound to look good to a future employer, right?

A booming voice comes through the baseball field speakers to announce the teams, interrupting my wayward thoughts. We're selling special T-shirts tonight in order to drum up extra business for Design Time. Usually, I'm excused from these sorts of things since I work regular store hours, but Kristina got sick at the last minute and asked me to fill in.

"We should be set to go," I tell Julie once we test the card reader attached to my phone. She nods, her attention glued to the field where players are taking the field ahead of the first pitch.

Generally, Julie works hard and stays focused, but some of the players are her friends, so people keep stopping by to chat, leaving me to handle most of our customers.

Until there's a lull during the fourth inning.

"I"m going to get a drink. Do you want anything?" I ask. She shakes her head no, freeing me to hurry over to the concessions line before we get busy again.

The queue is so long it wraps around the building that houses concessions on the bottom and the announcers' booth up top. Everyone must have decided now would be a good time to get snacks.

Dammit, why couldn't they wait for the seventh inning stretch like normal baseball fans? All I want is an ice-cold lemon shake-up. Is that too much to ask?

Resigning myself to an extended wait, I scroll through my reading app to continue North and South. The BBC miniseries popped up on my streaming service a few weeks ago, immediately prompting my obsession with the stoic Mr. Thornton and falling down a rabbit hole of video edits of his character. With my interest piqued, I figured it was time to read the book last Saturday, but it's been slow going.

I've read Pride Prejudice, so this isn't that much different, but the writing is admittedly a slog at some points. Margaret and Mr. Thornton are finally about to meet around the time I'm almost at the front of the line.

And that's when someone decides to cut in front of me.

"Oh, hey! The line starts back there." I point to a dad and his two kids ten feet back before noticing who weaseled their way between me and the lady next to order.

Freaking Dominic is the cutting culprit.

"You!"

"Well, hello to you, too." He smirks, and the scar slashing his eyebrow twitches. "The line moved. You didn"t."

"That's because a large oaf chose to block my path forward. You can"t just cut because you feel like it." His arrogance is so annoying. He saunters around like he's freaking Simba and owns everything the light touches.

Are you sure you want to work with him?

He shrugs his broad shoulders and grins, showing off a crooked tooth that should not be endearing. "I"ll make it up to you."

"I don"t want you to make it up to me." I huff, tearing my focus away from his mouth. "I want you to follow the rules and leave. What are you even doing here? Rec league baseball doesn"t seem your style."

I"m surprised no one has said anything about him cutting. Usually, people are all too eager to punish others for wrongdoing, even for the tiniest perceived thing. And now, when I need the fire and brimstone, everyone's fine with Dominic stepping in.

I bet they think we're a couple like that waitress from Pickle Rye.

My body trembles at the thought. No way would that ever be true. The man is too frustrating for me to ever be romantically interested in him—even if his gruff exterior is starting to grow on me.

No, it's not!

"My business partner and I were invited by a client. Matt thought it would be a good idea to socialize and make new friends to grow the business."

At a baseball game? I swear he must work all the time.

"Ever heard of taking a break? This is supposed to be a fun evening. It"s not meant to be used for your personal gain." We move with the line, closer to the smell of hot dogs and funnel cakes. My stomach growls at the thought of food since I skipped dinner to come straight here after closing Design Time.

Maybe I"ll grab a hot dog to go along with my lemon shake-up.

"Hey, don"t blame me. I wouldn"t be here except Matt wasn"t able to make it tonight, and I couldn"t cancel at the last minute. I would much rather be at home finalizing other clients" contracts. But I understand the importance of becoming part of the Suitor's Crossing community." Dominic glances over at me with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "Besides, this is fun. I ran into you, didn't I?"

"Are you trying to be charming?" Dominic can be described as a lot of things, but charming is definitely not one of them.

"I"m being honest." His voice is gruffer as his jaw tightens, the humorous light fading from his eyes.

Oh, shit.I think I hurt his feelings by laughing at him, which is confusing. Nothing fazes Dominic. He doesn"t care what people think of him, and if someone tosses out an insult, he rebounds with matching snark. At least, that's been my experience.

Searching for a way to bring the conversation back to familiar territory, I tease, "Guess I can see why you'd enjoy running into me, though. I'm pretty awesome."

"Humble, too." Dominic releases a low chuckle, and some of the rigidity around his jaw lessens. "Yet I"m the cocky one."

I exhaled a sigh of relief. Safe territory again. "You still need to move to the back of the line, though. It"s not fair to everyone else who"s had to wait their turn."

"Geez, you"re like a dog with a bone. Let it go. We"re here." He motions to the teenager standing behind the concessions counter.

That was fast considering the snail's pace we were moving before Dominic appeared.

Before I can speak, Dominic orders two coffees, no cream or sugar.

Yes, because buying something that I don"t want will make up for things.

Before I can add to the order, the teen disappears only to return a minute later with steaming cups of coffee. Dominic offers a cup to me with a raised brow, and the next person in line pushes forward. Deciding not to make a scene, my shoulders slump, and I get out of their way, following Dominic to an empty space away from the crowd—hangry.

Where"s a Snickers bar when you need one?

"Was that so hard? And you got a free drink, too. You"re welcome."

The coffee is warm in my hand as I contemplate my choices. I could toss the drink in his face, but then he"d be horribly burned and scarred for life.

Jail would suck.

Guess that"s out.

Maybe I should pour it at his feet. He"d get the point without the injuries.

A brief thought pops into my head of actually drinking the coffee and letting everything go, but I throw that out immediately.

Rational thought isn't driving me at the moment.

Hunger and anger are.

I wanted that sweet lemon shake-up and hot dog, dammit!

Seeing a woman briskly rubbing her arms against a cool summer breeze, the perfect solution presents itself. "Thanks, but no thanks," I say, then hurry over to the woman and hand her my coffee. She's surprised but grateful as she huddles over the steaming cup.

Refusing to check out Dominic's reaction, I headed back to Julie and our table without a backward glance, leaving him standing alone—and in awe of my audacity.

That"s what I imagine anyway.

"You didn't get anything?" Julie asks when she notices my empty hands.

"Nope." Unwilling to explain what happened, I ignored her confused stare and my growling stomach.

Could this night get any worse?