“That’d be great.” I met his intense stare. “I’ll be done here in a little bit.”

“You can clock out now. It’s cool,” Yve said, leaning up against the counter and shamelessly listening in. I glanced her way, but her attention was fixed on Simon. “Take that girl out to get some food. She ain’t eatin’ enough to keep a ghost alive lately.”

Finally, Yve looked at me, and I glared back, giving her a seriously, bitch? look. She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow.

“Done.” Simon tucked a flyaway piece of hair behind my ear. “Anything you need before we go?”

“Just my bag,” I said, as Yve pulled it out from the cabinet beneath the counter. “And my bike.”

“We can put your bike in my car. I’ll meet you around back?”

“Okay. Thanks.” He smiled and headed for the door, pushing it open with as much gusto as when he’d come in. I looked at Yve.

“Seriously? Ain’t eating enough to keep a ghost alive? What the hell? Don’t even think about meddling.” Yve fancied herself a matchmaker. Her disastrous efforts to date hadn’t stopped her from trying.

She smiled a smug smile. “I don’t think I need to meddle. That man is hung up on you. I nearly swooned when he did that thing with your hair. Damn, I need a man who looks at me like that.”

“Just leave it alone, okay? More likely than not, this isn’t going anywhere,” I said, at the same time hoping I might be wrong. After Simon’s raw honesty on Tuesday morning, I’d been thinking about my own situation. An idea had taken root, but given my crazy work schedule, huffing and puffing halfway across town to see Huck, and then falling into bed at night, I hadn’t had much time to consider the implementation, let alone the ramifications of it. But the idea was germinating. I just wasn’t sure I had the courage—or the skill—to see it through.

Yve gave me a quick hug as I picked up my bag off the counter. “Later, girly. See you tomorrow morning. You better come ready to dish the dirty details.”

I rolled my eyes as I slipped out the back door.

Simon was leaning against the door of his X5. It was idling with the tailgate already open.

Within moments, Simon had my bike loaded, and classic rock was quietly thumping through the sound system. Spotting the volume control, I turned the song up, because “Hotel California” deserved to be more than background noise. He shot me a crooked smile, his dimples peeking out, and I had the urge to lean over and kiss him.

“Dinner before or after we see Huck?”

“After.” He pulled away from the curb.

“I figured you’d say that. Seafood okay?”

“Of course.” I gestured to myself. “But nothing fancy, obviously.”

“You look beautiful. And I have just the place.”

Simon drummed on the steering wheel as we headed to Jack’s clinic. The silence was companionable rather than awkward. But I had questions that I wanted answered.

“I tried to pay Dr. Richelieu. He wouldn’t take my money. Want to tell me why that is?”

Simon stopped at a red light, expression darkening. “Please tell me you did not ride your bike through this part of town with ten grand in cash.”

I looked down at the fancy tan floor mats embroidered with the BMW logo.

“Charlie…” His tone wouldn’t allow for anything but the truth.

“Okay, in hindsight, it wasn’t the best idea. But I only would’ve had to carry it one way if he would’ve taken the money. So really, it’s kind of your fault.” I glanced back up.

Simon’s knuckles whitened as he gripped the steering wheel. He may have whispered something about a prayer for patience. After a long pause, he said, “Let’s make a deal. You want to go see Huck, you call me. I’ll make sure I’m available.”

“You can’t just drop everything…”

“Just call me. Please. It would give me peace of mind. Otherwise I’m just going to wait outside the Dirty Dog for the next few days after closing and pick you up and put you in the car anyway.”

“That’s kind of stalkerish. And sort of kidnapping.”

“Exactly. So please spare me the disgrace.”

I tapped my finger on my lips.

“So do we have a deal?” Simon asked.

We were pulling into the clinic. It was the look of sincere concern on his face that made me cave.

“Fine. Deal.”

He reached out a hand, and I shook it. When I went to pull my hand back, he held on for a beat. “Thank you.”

Dr. Richelieu confirmed the good news: Huck would be well enough to come home on Sunday. I guess one of the perks of being friends with the vet was that he was willing to come in on his day off and give me all of the care instructions I’d need. I already knew that Huck’s recovery wasn’t going to be easy. I’d be moving downstairs into Harriet’s guest bedroom, because there was no way Huck would be able to tackle the stairs up to my place for at least a month, if not longer. He’d have to stay in his crate almost all the time, except for short trips outside to do his business. I scratched his ear, and Huck licked my hand and rested his giant head on my lap, his heavy tail thumping on the ground. I didn’t care about the inconvenience; I was just so damn glad that my big mutt was going to be okay.

Dinner was boiled crawfish served in a bucket and all the fixings. It was absolutely not what I expected. Which was turning out to be a theme when it came to Simon.

When I questioned his dinner choice, he explained, “What you don’t realize, is that I’ve got some bayou in my blood. My momma was raised in a house on stilts in Jean LaFitte, and crawfish was a regular Sunday dinner. My granddad captained his own commercial fishing boat until he died at age seventy-eight.”

“And here I thought you were as silver spoon as they come.”

“Maybe some, but this,” he flicked his tie, “is only one part of me. It’s just the surface.” He picked up my hand and traced the tattoos up my arm. “Just like you’re more than the sum of your ink. I want to know who you are beneath all this.” I shivered. Whether from his words or his touch, I’m not sure. But when he looked at me like that, it was like he was seeing inside me. There was no way in hell I’d hold up under his scrutiny.