Page 10 of True Ruin

“What did I just agree to?” Dallas whispered, lifting his glasses to rub his eyes. “Did you hear him mention the wordseries? I’ll be doing five features before he’s done with me.”

Gabi smothered a laugh, but not well.

“Yeah, go on, laugh,” he muttered, shooting her an aggrieved look as his glasses slid into place. “You don’t know how cruel Halpern can be when he’s bending someone to his will. If I didn’t owe him my career, I would’ve said no. Town revitalization series, my ass.”

She lifted a shoulder, bumping the coffeepot against her hip. “What if you enjoy it? A smaller story than the ones you’re used to, one that’s personal, sounds like it could be fun.”

Dallas paused, those gorgeous green eyes of his widening behind the lenses. Not defensive. Not annoyed, the way Theo would have been at unsolicited advice. Just genuinely puzzled. His brows pulled together, lips parting, as if the possibility that he might enjoy writing for his hometown newspaper again had never once occurred to him.

The lengthening silence gave her ample time to notice that his upper lip was fuller than the lower, with a pinprick-pale scar just above its curve. A fresh curl of heat unfurled inside her as she imagined what she’d like to do to his mouth.

What she’d like to do tohim.

“I…” He blinked once, deliberately, something clicking into place. “Huh.”

For a man who’d reported from conflict zones, who’d seen more of the world than she ever would, he was endearingly clueless about himself.

“Why the name?” Gabi asked before she could stop herself, the question lingering since that charged moment at the festival. Maybe even since that long-ago kiss. “Your mom a fan ofThe Outsidersor something? I never asked.”

His gaze met hers, two parts shrewd, one part sheepish. Lifting a pen from the table, he turned it slowly between his fingers. “Did we talk back then? If we did, I must’ve missed it.”

And then it struck her, right between the ribs: they were going to pretend he hadn’t called her Sparkle. Pretend she’d never leaned in and kissed him one enchanting summer night.

Delight gripped Gabi, unmistakable and rusty from disuse.

So that’s how Dallas True wanted to play this.

A dare for a woman who hadn’t been dared in years.

FOUR

Goodbye–The Sundays

Dallas knewall about provoking a woman, then reaping the rewards. Flirting 101. But he hadn’t meant to challenge Gabi. Not out loud, at least.

What he did with her in the privacy of his mind was another matter entirely.

The trouble was, for a split second, she’d looked at him like she remembered everything. The reckless, uncertain boy he’d been and that brief but electric kiss. A version of himself—and a memory—he’d left behind for a reason. However, now she was the vulnerable one, and that stirred something in him he’d thought years of careful avoidance had stripped away.

What the hell was he supposed to call this—wanting to protect her and kiss her senseless in the same breath?

Unable to untangle that particular puzzle, he’d dragged himself to the mill that morning, determined to bury the absurd tangle of tenderness and want beneath something useful. Journalism, preferably.

Instead, he’d wound up doing demolition.

Which worked, too.

Promise Cotton was nearly unrecognizable from the shuttered ruin it had been the last time he’d seen it. The old brickwork still bore scars, but the vast space throbbed with life—hammers cracking, saws whining, the dull thud of lumber hitting concrete. A fall breeze drifted through the open loading doors, but sweat still gathered along Dallas’s spine as he awkwardly crouched beside a short stack of two-by-fours and nudged them into alignment. He felt damp, dusty, grit working into every crease. His T-shirt clung to his shoulder blades, and fine dust coated his glasses. The air smelled like heart pine and hot metal. It was bracing, in a way he hadn’t realized he needed.

Working shoulder to shoulder with his family, for one of the few times in his life.

Justin, an architect by trade and artist at heart, was across the room reviewing blueprints, a pencil tucked behind one ear like he’d been born with it. Campbell was perched on the desk he’d shoved against the wall, wearing the grim patience of a landlord who’d bet big on his own vision. And Ransom, the eldest and self-appointed lead, fresh off a construction management project in New York, barked orders from atop a sawhorse, determined not to let the venture go sideways. Amazingly, family was the one thing pulling them together and keeping the whole gamble from flying apart.

Around them, the younger True brigade tore through the place like caffeinated gremlins. Luca sprinted past with a measuring tape dragging behind him like a tail, shouting something about square footage, while Kit tried to climb a stack of drywall and Campbell yelled at him to get down unless he wanted to become part of the foundation. Dallas kind of loved the chaos.

“This phase’ll be done in two months if people quit improvising,” Ransom shouted, glaring at Dallas, which was unfair, given that he’d only improvised twice today—and saving a length of original molding for Gabi’s coffee bar had been a good call.

Was he not allowed to becreative?