“Why’s that?”

Because then I could put my hands all over you, rip the Band-Aid off two years of celibacy, and we could both walk away from this unscathed.

But he did like her. And his gut told him that if they crossed that line, things would get a hell of a lot more complicated than either of them was able to deal with right now.

“Never mind,” she said quickly, with a breathless laugh. “Somehow I’m getting the impression that I don’t want to know.”

Lincoln shook his head and took a sip of beer. No. She didn’t want to know.

He opened the hood of the grill, made sure it was preheated, and plopped the potatoes on the back rack.

“So what happens next for you?” Daisy asked, wisely letting her first question go unanswered. “How do you go about getting the material for your story?”

“I’ve been staying in your guesthouse for all of two days and you’re already trying to get rid of me?”

“Hardly,” she said with a smile. “I’m just genuinely curious how this works.”

“Well,” he said, closing the lid to let the potatoes start cooking ahead of the steak and asparagus. “It’s a lot of interviewing. If it’s all right with you, I’d like to maybe pick Whitney’s brain when she’s done on the phone. You think she’d mind?”

Daisy rolled her eyes. “Seriously? She’d love it.”

Lincoln had figured as much. “Figure she’ll be a good place to start on what the dating scene is like down here. What women look for, how many dates it takes to seal the deal, whether you’re more likely to score with a home-cooked meal or a fussy dinner out, and so on.”

“You haven’t asked me any of that,” she said, taking a sip of her drink.

He cut her a glance. “Didn’t get the impression you were out there in the dating world.”

“I told you I’d gone on two dates,” she said, her voice just a touch prickly.

“Yeah. Two,” he said with a little smile.

She didn’t smile back. “Just because I don’t date as frequently as Whitney doesn’t mean I’m not looking to find someone again.”

He was a little surprised by this. “Sorry, Wallflower. Back in New York I got the impression you were sort of over the happily-ever-after scene.”

Just like me.

Daisy set her margarita on the staging area next to the grill and turned so she was facing the backyard, both arms braced on the railing as she watched Kiwi chase after a still-chatting Whitney. “I don’t know. I go in waves. Like, most of the time I think that I don’t ever want to set myself up for that kind of hurt. And then all of a sudden, I start to feel like a jaded hermit, and I tell myself to get back out there. But then being out there totally sucks, and so I go back to being a recluse. The whole process makes me feel kind of…broken.”

He shifted, mimicking her position, his beer bottle dangling between his fingers as they both looked out at the impending twilight, Whitney’s chattering mingling pleasantly with the sound of birds.

“This is where you’re supposed to tell me I’m not broken,” she said, nudging his arm with hers.

He took a sip of beer. “Well, shit. I’m not sure I’m the person to know what’s broken and what’s not. I’ll tell you this, though…nothing wrong with being confused.”

“Are you confused?” she asked.

Hell yeah.

Instead of answering, he tilted his head back, wondering how long it would be before the stars she’d promised him that night in New York would show up in the sky.

He liked it here.

Despite the overly sculpted perfection of the front yard, her backyard was more comfortable. There was a fancy pool, yes, but the water feature provided a constant stream of ripples rather than looking still and pristine.

Similarly, the lines of her perfectly mowed lawn contrasted nicely with the slightly overgrown bunches of bright flowers bordering the yard. A yellow birdhouse hung from a tree branch, and a quaint bench next to a fountain looked like the perfect place to sit down with a book on a warm summer day.

The backyard, more than anything else about the property, felt like Daisy. As though it’d been the one place that she’d been allowed to do as she liked. Or perhaps it had just been the first thing she’d gotten her hands on when she’d gotten rid of her asshole ex.

“Tell you what,” he said. “How about as I work on this damn article, you tag along?”

“Scared you can’t handle us Southern girls?”

“Protect me?” he said, playing along.

Daisy laughed. “Please. I’ve seen you in action. You’re the most skilled person I know in deflecting unwanted attention without anyone feeling rejected.”

“Come along for your own sake then,” he said. “I write about women, but I write for men. I know how they work. I can help you weed out the bad ones.”

“To what end?”

“To whatever end you want. No expectation beyond helping you feel less confused.”

“Why?” she asked, her narrowed eyes showing her skepticism.

“You want to say no, just say no, Daisy.”

“No,” she said.

“All right then.” Lincoln straightened, noticing that Whitney had finished up her phone call and was making her way back to the deck. “How does everyone like their steak?”

“Say I did tag along,” Daisy blurted out. “You could tell me how to spot the jerks?”