Clean Slate by Holley Trent Page A

when she finds out?”
    Her eyebrows flitted up for a barely a second and she blew
out a scoff. “I guess that’ll depend on whether this endeavor tanks.” She grabbed
a few creamy swirled soaps off his tray and set them on plastic in front of
her. “If people don’t like them, she’ll probably say I told you so or something similar.” Her lips pulled up into the
barest smirk and she stole a glance at him.
    He nodded his encouragement.
    “She doesn’t trust me to think independently, I guess. I
don’t think she’s read the memo that I’m a grown up and am allowed to take
risks if I want.”
    Would she consider
me such a risk?
    He stood and carried his soaps to the box, never taking his
gaze from hers. Her eyes were some shade between blue and gray he had no name
for, at least not in English, framed by thick, lush, lashes. If she was aware
of her beauty, she certainly didn’t act like it. Any other woman would be
batting those captivating lashes at him. She could barely make eye contact.
    “And if you succeed?”
    She shrugged and resumed her packaging. “She’ll either
downplay it as a fluke or tell me how ungrateful I am for going at it alone.”
    “Sounds like you lose either way.”
    “That’s Momma. She’s always been like that, but maybe got
a little worse after the divorce.”
    “Divorce?”
    Her hands stilled. “Yes. Mine.”
    Ah. That explains
it. It’s like tiptoeing across a minefield and not knowing where the detonators
are.
    The situation required some delicacy, and he certainly
didn’t want to pry. He wanted her comfortable—at ease with him. But he
knew how to seize opportunities when they were presented. He might not have
another chance to broach the topic again, so he stuck his neck out and put as
much cheer in his voice as he could.
    “What happened? Did he decide he wasn’t good enough for
you and gave up on trying?”
    She pulled her lips back to reveal the broadest smile he’d
seen her manage in nearly a year. “Not even close. Just the typical
irreconcilable differences type of thing. We were okay dating in high school,
but actually having to move in together under the same roof turned out to be a
real eye-opener.”
    “I see.” He really didn’t. She was so gentle and had the
mildest demeanor he’d ever encountered in a woman, redhead or otherwise, and
couldn’t imagine anyone not getting along with her. Maybe she had a temper she
kept hidden away?
    She pushed some hair behind her ear and pulled over
another stack of soaps. The line of her neck, now visible with her hair tucked
back, was long and his eyes followed it down to the crook of her shoulder.
There was a smattering of freckles on either side of her tank top straps as if
she’d run outside shirtless when God was sprinkling extra bits of color from
the sky. Beyond her shoulders, she didn’t seem to have freckles anywhere else.
Not her arms. Not her cheeks.
    His gaze trailed down to the pert mounds of her breasts.
    Maybe there .
    He blew out a breath and stood. “I’m going to check the
refrigerator for bottled water,” he said, already in transit, and adjusting the
front of his pants as he moved. “Do you want something?”
    “No, thank you. I’m almost finished and want to get home.
Bad enough driving in the dark without having to do it tired. The deer are
awful on the roads this time of year.”
    We walked around the partition, opened the refrigerator
and let of whoosh of air escape his lungs in relief in seeing the row of water
bottles in the door. He held one against his forehead and leaned against the
wall, hidden from her sight, swearing to himself in Dutch.
    It hadn’t been that long since he’d held a woman. Had it?
    * * *
    Dork .
    Daisy kept repeating it to herself throughout the morning.
Every time she looked across the center console at Ben driving them in his
brother’s Jeep toward the trade show, she thought it again.
    Dork .
    She’d never seen a man look so damned good in pink in her
life,