His Proposal, Their Forever. Melissa McClone

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      “You might find a healthy meal and sleep a boon to your creativity.”

      “I’ll remember that the next time.”

      “No, you won’t,” he said.

      “I was trying to be polite.”

      “You sound annoyed.”

      “I’m that, too.”

      “Because you’re hungry.” He didn’t wait for a reply. “A burger sounds good. I need to pick up lunch because Wyatt gave the dog my turkey sandwich.”

      Bailey stopped. “Where is the dog?”

      “No idea. Dined and dashed. Probably headed home.”

      A look of concern returned to her face. “He could be a stray.”

      Nope. Justin wasn’t going there. She might want to drive around and try to find the damn thing. Then they’d have to call Animal Control and wait. Again. He’d wasted his morning. He wasn’t about to lose the entire day.

      Time to change the subject. “Which car is yours?”

      She pointed toward a four-door hatchback with a bright yellow exterior and black upholstered seats parked on the street.

      “Looks like a bee.” Tiny cars were annoying to drive, but this one was the color of a hot rod. He might not mind the leg cramps headed his way.

      Bailey nodded, then stumbled.

      He grabbed her with his free hand. “I’ve got you.”

      “Thanks.”

      He should be thanking her. Warmth and softness pressed against Justin, making him think of lazy autumn weekend mornings spent in bed, the brush of flannel sheets against skin, the feel of someone else’s heartbeat and the sound of another breath.

      Yes. He needed to get out more. Nothing serious, just for fun.

      He helped her into the car, closed the door, then walked around to the hatchback and loaded the painting. “Tell me about this burger place. Good food?”

      She turned and leaned between the front seats. “Best fries in town, thanks to a special seasoning mix. A little spicy, but not too much.”

      “I don’t mind a little heat.”

      His words came out more suggestive then he’d intended. But what could he say? That image of a bed and tangled flannel sheets was burned on his mind.

      She faced forward. “There are bungee cords, if you want to secure the painting.”

      Justin battened down the frame, then slid into the driver’s seat. His right knee crashed into the steering wheel. “Knowing that was coming didn’t help.”

      He expected her to laugh at him, tease him at the least, but no mocking laughter appeared in her eyes.

      “That had to hurt.” Her nose crinkled, her forehead, too. “You okay?”

      “That’s supposed to be my line.” He didn’t like being on the receiving end of her seeming to care. She was the enemy and would lose this fight to save the inn. “I’m fine.”

      “That’s my line.”

      “Now we’re even.” He adjusted the seat so his legs half fit, then saw the stick shift. “You managed to drive a clutch with your injured foot.”

      “You’re changing the subject.”

      “Damn straight I am.” The woman was unbelievable. But he knew that. “Did you even consider staying home or at least off the roads?”

      “I had no choice. If I hadn’t come, there wouldn’t be an inn.”

      So much for a truce. “If you’d been bleeding with your foot torn to shreds—”

      “That’s what rolls of gauze and bandages are for.”

      “You’re either dedicated or insane.”

      “A little of both.”

      Her admission surprised him. “Seriously?”

      “No one completely sane chooses to be a full-time artist. The market’s as fickle as the economy, creativity comes and goes and making a living is hard. But I give lessons, put on events and sell an occasional piece. Somehow things work out.”

      Her car sat lower to the road than any car he remembered driving. Not a bumblebee. More like a battery-powered toy. He fastened his seat belt. “You must be doing okay, given this car.”

      “I’m not a starving artist, even if I look like one. I travel back and forth to a gallery in Seattle. I need a reliable vehicle. This one fits the bill.”

      From crazy to practical in less than thirty seconds. She must drive her boyfriend to the brink of insanity.

      But what a way to go, a voice in his head whispered.

      Justin ignored it. He drove up the block to the inn and parked at the curb. “I’m going to bring out the rest of your artwork. Won’t take me long.”

      Five minutes later, he was back behind the wheel. “Which way?”

      “Follow Bay Street until you reach Third Avenue. You can only turn right. You’ll see the Burger Boat on the left.”

      He glanced at the digital clock on the dashboard. “Think you’ll be able to hold yourself together that long?”

      “Guess we’ll find out.”

      He couldn’t tell from her tone if she was joking or warning him.

      Justin drove past the marina. Many of the slips were empty. The fishermen and charter-boat captains who made a living on the sea must be hard at work. People like Bailey’s family.

      Across the street sat stores and cafés, one after another. The buildings looked newer, not just with a new coat of paint, but updated facades to add to the quaint, coastal feel of the town. One restaurant had a crow’s nest, but no drive-through window.

      People, dressed in shorts or sundresses, filled the boardwalk running the length of the Bay Street shops. The little town of Haley’s Bay was a big draw with Cape Disappointment and Long Beach nearby.

      A boat-shaped building with a giant plastic hamburger for the ship’s wheel caught his attention. Must be the Burger Boat. The blue-and-white paint job looked new, as did the windows. But the architecture screamed early 1970s tacky and retro-cool.

      “Follow the anchors painted on the pavement to get to the drive-through window.”

      He did and stopped behind a silver minivan. There was no intercom system with a digital screen to display an order, only a window. “What do you recommend besides the fries?”

      “The СКАЧАТЬ