Was he kidding? It was the hardest thing she'd ever done. She'd sent that four into the pocket when every muscle in her body was taut as a bowstring and every nerve was on fire.

He had her take one shot after another, showing her the physics and the strategy of the game, occasionally moving in to correct her stance. It got to the point where she wanted to screw up just so he'd show her a particular technique up close and personal. When she finally put the last ball away, she stood up and turned around to find Brandon behind her, staring down at her appreciatively.

"Nice shot," he said.

"Thank you."

"With just a little coaching, you should get better fast."

She smiled. "You're a good teacher."

"There are more lessons where that one came from. I could show you all kinds of things."

Alison felt a quiver of awareness, as if he was suggesting that the things he wanted to show her had nothing to do with pool. If so, she'd make sure she was his star pupil.

"Hey, you guys. Charlie and Bea just showed up."

Alison spun around to find Heather behind her. Damn. Her timing sucked.

"The big round corner booth is all set up," Heather said. "Let's eat."

As Brandon returned the cues to the rack on the wall, Heather and Alison started toward the table.

"You two sure seemed to be having fun together," Heather said.

Alison shrugged. "Yeah. I guess we were."

"That game was getting pretty friendly."

"He was just giving me some pointers."

"It's one thing to tell somebody how to play. It's another thing to show them."

"What do you mean?"

"He's interested."

"In what?"

"Oh, for heaven's sake," Heather muttered. "You."

Alison stopped short. "Me?"

"Yep."

Alison felt a surge of hope, but she refused to allow herself to believe it.

"No," she said. "We've been around each other a lot lately. If he wanted to ask me out, he'd have done it before now."

"Maybe it's that you're a client, so he doesn't feel as if he can."

Which was exactly what Alison had told her father, but she hadn't actually believed it herself. If Brandon thought he was the best match for her, why wasn't he stepping up?

"So do you have feelings for him?" Heather asked.

Feelings? Oh, hell, yes. Her attraction to Brandon had taken a whole new turn since he'd given her the kiss that wasn't real, bubbling up inside her like a volcano ready to blow. Every minute she'd spent with him lately made her feel weak and breathless and mushy inside. She'd watched him off and on all day long as they worked on his house, and the more he sweated, the hotter she got.

But she wasn't about to tell anyone that. Not even Heather. And she sure didn't want to admit that he'd kissed her, because it had meant nothing. And she'd also have to admit why he'd done it, and she'd been humiliated enough already.

"Feelings?" Alison said. "You mean, like, romantic feelings?"

"No. Like feelings of seething hatred. Of course I mean romantic feelings."

"Hmm. Not exactly."

"Not exactly? What does that mean?"

"It means I haven't really thought about it."

"Haven't thought about it? Alison, I've known you a long time. I can tell when you're thinking about eating a Mallorific bar, much less thinking about a man. Do you like him, or not?"

"Of course I like him," she said carefully. "But I'm not sure I like him like that."

"Like what?"

"Like more than just, you know. Liking him."

"Oh, please! You sound like you did in junior high when you had a crush on Bobby Wentworth. I'm talking about big-girl feelings, Alison. Got any of those lying around?"

"Oh, all right!" She let out a breath of frustration, grabbing Heather and pulling her aside at the same time she kept one eye on Brandon. "I can't stop thinking about him. I count the minutes until I can see him again. Every time he smiles at me, I feel like I'm melting from the inside out. There. Are you happy?"

Heather smiled. "Are you?"

"No," Alison said. "I'm miserable. You try having a conversation with a man when you can't stop looking at his lips. I feel like a deaf person."

"I'm glad you finally admitted it."

"But he doesn't feel the same way about me."

"I wouldn't be too sure about that."

"No. Don't do this. Don't you dare do this."

"Do what?"

"Get my hopes up. I don't like getting my hopes up. The fall from there isn't fun."

Heather sighed. "Okay. I hear you. Maybe I'm wrong."

"Well, don't tell me that, either. Give me...I don't know. About a twentyfive percent chance? That way I can still hope, but if nothing happens, I'll feel as if I haven't lost much."

Heather rolled her eyes. "Okay. You have a twenty-five percent chance that Brandon has the hots for you. Now, come on. Let's eat."

Chapter 20.

Alison had eaten at McCaffrey's approximately a thousand times, but not one of those meals had tasted anywhere nearly as good as this one. But it wasn't really the food that was so wonderful.

It was the company.

With the six of them stuffed into the round booth, she was squashed right next to Brandon, the length of his thigh pressed against hers. It felt heavenly. He swore he didn't like having a lot of people around, but he sure seemed comfortable there tonight, talking and laughing and in general having a good time. Every time his arm brushed against hers or he turned to talk to her and their eyes met, a shiver of excitement rushed through her. He suggested a trade-two of his buffalo wings for one of her quesadillas. She detested buffalo wings, but she ate them anyway, smiling as if the spicy heat wasn't blowing the top of her head off. The music gradually grew louder as the place filled up, the rhythm of it pulsing through her body in a most pleasant way. And when she pretended to occasionally have a hard time hearing what Brandon was saying to her, which caused him to lean that much closer to her when he spoke-well, that was just icing on the cake.

"We've had a very productive day, everyone," Alison said, speaking up so everyone at the table could hear her. "Brandon's house looks great." She held up her drink. "Here's to us."

They all clinked glasses and then drank.

"And here's to Brandon," Heather said, "for letting us use his house. Without it, the home tour would have been a disaster."

More clinking and drinking.

Brandon leaned in and whispered to Alison. "Heather was just nice. Does this mean she doesn't hate me?"

Alison whispered back. "I think it means she doesn't hate you," and felt a tremor of delight when he seemed pleased by that.

Brandon picked up his glass. "And here's to Tony and Heather for a wonderful dinner."

Everybody clinked. Except Charlie.

"Hey, Dad," Alison said. "We're toasting."

"Not me," he said, staring down at the remnants of his turkey burger. "Dinner sucked."

Bea held up her glass. "Here's to the loving daughter of a hardheaded man, who cares enough about her father to make sure he eats right at dinner after consuming four pieces of pizza at lunch."

Clinking. Drinking.

"Oh!" Alison said to Bea and Heather. "I meant to tell you guys. After you left today, Brandon and I found some vintage clothes in one of his closets. There was a dress that was probably his great-grandmother's. He said I could wear it on the day of the home tour."

"Oooh, that'll be good," Bea said.

"And Brandon is going to wear one of his great-grandfather's suits."

Brandon turned to Alison. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't I already say no to that? Twice?"

"Did you?" Alison said, blinking innocently. "I must have heard you wrong."

"Well, maybe you'll hear me this time." He leaned toward her and enunciated carefully. "No." Then he turned to Tony. "Back me up on this later, will you? When she tries to bring it up again?"

"Will do," Tony said. "Guys gotta stick together." He drained his beer and set the bottle down.

"It's getting busy in here," Heather said. "Tony and I probably need to get back to work. You guys enjoy the rest of the evening, okay?"

As they slid out of the booth, Charlie turned to Bea, nodding toward the dartboard on the far wall. "So are you as bad at darts as you are at painting?"

"Bad? Try again, buster."

"So show me. Ladies first."

She slid out of the booth, and Charlie followed. Now that there was extra space in the booth, she waited for Brandon to scoot over, giving each of them more room. Instead he stayed right next to her, his thigh still pressed against hers, and for the first time she allowed herself to think that maybe Heather was right.

They watched as Bea and Charlie grabbed darts and headed to the throw line to start playing. But then her father said something to Bea, and she turned around and put her fist on her hip and said something back. When he responded, she rolled her eyes and shooed him away so she could start the game.

"Aaargh," Alison said, dropping her head to her hands.

"What?" Brandon asked.

She looked up again. "My father is being just awful."

"Awful?"

"Yes. I was hoping he would straighten up his act just a little bit today. But he's been saying rude things to Bea, and she's been forced to come right back at him. He's my father and I love him, but she must think he's just horrible."

Brandon stared at Alison dumbly, then started to laugh. "You're kidding, right?"

She blinked. "Kidding?"

"That's not what's going on."

"What do you mean?"

He made a scoffing noise. "And I thought women were supposed to be the intuitive ones."

"What are you talking about?"

"Alison. They're flirting."

Alison drew back. "That's flirting? My father being crabby, and then Bea snapping back at him?"

"Yep."

Alison turned to watch them again. Bea threw her third dart, and it hit the bull's-eye. But Charlie wasn't watching the dartboard. He was watching Bea.