A Dog and a Diamond (4 page)

“Ordering us some dinner. What do you want?”

* * *

All Chelsea wanted was her dog back and she thought she'd made that perfectly clear, but now that Callum mentioned it, she was starting to feel a little light-headed. Maybe she needed food. Or maybe the dizziness was because of being in a confined space with six-feet-plus of sexy McKinnel. Either way, she found herself asking for a fried chicken sandwich and a serving of french fries. Callum ordered the same, but added some coleslaw. The teenager behind the speaker who took their order giggled ridiculously at the sound of his deep sexy voice.

“Did your mom tell you that you should have veggies with every meal?” Chelsea asked as they waited in front of the window for their food. She thought it kinda cute the way he'd mentioned his mother a few times.

“Something like that.” He almost smiled and something inside her quivered so that she had to glance away. Looking out the window made her realize she hadn't thought of Muffin in all of two minutes. Not that she wanted to forget him—she desperately wanted, needed to find him—but Callum had given her a few moments' reprieve from her anxiety.

When their orders were ready. Callum took their food from the teenage attendant and passed it over to Chelsea. The smell of hot, greasy goodness filled the car, making her want to moan out loud. She rarely ate takeout—years of not being able to afford such luxuries had become a habit.

“Let me give you some money for this,” she said, snapping back to reality and realizing she was sitting in a stranger's car—a client's ex's car more to the point—and he'd just paid for her dinner.

He waved a hand in dismissal as he drove away from the restaurant. The warmth of the food seeped through the paper bag, making her thighs hot. She inhaled again and her taste buds begged her for a fry, but Callum couldn't eat while driving and she couldn't very well eat hers in front of him.

“We can pull over somewhere a few moments if you like so you can eat,” she suggested.

“Or we could go back to your place and eat there.” His tone was innocuous and it wasn't that she thought he was about to take advantage, but the idea of eating dinner with a guy in her house was so alien it made her nervous.

“But we haven't found Muffin yet.” She hated the neediness in her tone but couldn't help it.

“Look, Chels,” Callum began, turning to look at her so that his deep green eyes sought hers and made her skin hot. Or that could simply be the way he'd used a nickname for her, as if they were friends, rather than recent acquaintances. She was loath to admit it, but she liked it. “I know you're worried about Muffin, but we've both searched high and low. I've called every dog refuge in a three-hundred-mile radius of Bend. I think maybe it's time to call it a night. What if Muffin comes home while you're not there?”

And with that one simple question, he got her. The thought of her dog finding his way back to the house and her not being there to welcome him tore at her heartstrings. “Okay.” She gave one nod of defeat. “If you could take me home, that would be great.”

He gave her a warm smile and turned the SUV in the direction of her place. The closer they got, the more nervous she began to feel. Not nervous that maybe she would never find Muffin, but nervous about Callum McKinnel coming into her house. Granted, he'd already spent a good deal of time there earlier in the day, but this now felt like the closest thing she'd had to a date in months.

Don't be ridiculous
, came a voice inside her head.
The man just got dumped by his long-term fiancée.

Actually you dumped him
, said an opposing voice, but she blocked her ears—that was simply semantics. Besides, he likely wouldn't stay long—just enough time to scarf down his dinner and, as he was a guy, that could be merely a matter of minutes.

Ten minutes later, Callum parked in her driveway for the third time that day. Chelsea got out of the vehicle and carried their takeout up the path to the front door, all the while trying to act calm, cool and collected. Callum was a few steps behind her and only when she read the note he'd stuck to her door did she remember he had her new house keys. She spun around and almost slammed right into him.

“Sorry,” she mumbled as his hands shot out to steady her.

“Not a problem.” That smile again. Quite aside from the fact Callum was a client's ex, as a McKinnel, he was also
way
out of her league.

She swallowed a groan of disappointment as he let her go and then retrieved a bunch of shiny keys from his jacket pocket. Stepping past her, he selected a key and slid it into the lock, then turned it and opened the door to
her
house for her. Bamboozled by his touch, she let him usher her inside and take the lead.

“Shall we eat in the kitchen or do you prefer the couch?” he asked, shutting her door behind them.

Silence echoed around the house, reminding her of Muffin's absence, but in spite of the aching hole in her heart, she couldn't help notice the state of her house. All clean and tidy now, barely any evidence of the burglary. “Did you do this?” She gaped around and then turned her attention on him.

He nodded and shrugged. “Had to do something while I waited for the security company.”

No, actually, he did not. He owed her sweet eff all, but for some reason unknown to her, he'd gone out of his way to look out for her today. That Bailey Sawyer needed her head read. Who cared if Callum wasn't
all that
between the sheets? He was kind and thoughtful, not to mention hotter than the sun itself; these traits weren't ones to be scoffed at in a man. All she could think to say was “Thank you.”

“You're welcome.”

She looked away because she could no longer handle his intoxicating smile. “Let's eat in the living room. It's more comfortable there.”

He followed her to the couch, where he sat beside her as she handed out their food. She'd taken a bite into her sandwich before she remembered her manners. Dammit, she wasn't used to hosting guests. “Can I get you a drink?” she asked, putting the sandwich on the coffee table and shooting to her feet. “I've got club soda or cola.”

“I'll have a cola, thanks.” He smiled again and then sank his teeth into his own sandwich. It was the sexiest thing she'd ever seen in her life.
Maybe I'm the one who needs her head read?
With that thought she scuttled away to the kitchen, wishing it was farther away so she'd have a little more time to pull herself together.

Chelsea opened the fridge, pulled two cans of cola out and pressed one against her forehead, thankful Callum had his back to her. She could see him from the kitchen, sitting back against her couch as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She shook her head—was this some kind of weird dream? Nightmare? Maybe she'd wake up and discover Muffin sleeping by her feet as he always did and find out Callum McKinnel was nothing but a figment of her imagination. Yet the pain when she pinched herself to check this spurred her into action and she carried the cans and two glasses back over to him. No one in her family had ever drunk soda out of glasses—unless the soda was mixed with something stronger, which it usually was—but Callum had a mom who made him carry a hanky, so the glasses felt necessary.

“Thanks,” he said as she cracked open a can and poured it into a glass for him. She tried not to drool as he lifted said glass to his lips and took a sip, the thick columns of his neck muscles flexing as he did so.

Right, time to get a grip on reality.
She poured cola into the other glass and downed approximately half of it. Although she hadn't eaten since this morning, the butterflies dancing in her stomach put her off eating. She racked her brain for something to say and then remembered how she'd fled from his office without offering her full service.

“I'm sorry about this morning,” she said.

Callum raised an eyebrow. “About dumping me?” He made it sound like they'd been in a relationship and she'd ended it.

She shook her head. “Usually after I've delivered a message to someone, I hang around to chat and see if they're okay.”

His other eyebrow lifted. “Good customer service? I approve. So why did you not follow through on that promise this morning?”

The way he spoke, the way he looked at her, made her think he knew the reason and heat rushed to her cheeks. “I'm...not...sure.”

“It's okay,” he said, half chuckling. “I'm not a big talker and Bailey probably did me a favor.”

“Really?”

“Sure, I wouldn't want to be with a woman who didn't consider me Mr. Right.”

Callum sounded so lighthearted, but she guessed there had to be pain behind those words. She was about to offer to talk about it now, but he asked a question before she could.

“This breakup business? Is it seriously what you do for a living?”

Surprisingly, she detected none of the repulsion he'd had earlier in his tone.

“Yes. Until recently I also waited tables.” She named a well-known establishment in Bend. “But it was either hire another employee to take on some of the breakup load or quit my second job. I chose the latter.”

His eyes widened. “No offense, but I'm surprised breaking up with other people's partners is such a lucrative profession.”

She couldn't help but laugh. “I wouldn't say lucrative, but I take pride in my work and my reputation is spreading. Breaking up is never easy to do. My service is much like hiring someone to clean your house or mow your lawn. Only cleaners and landscapers don't usually offer counseling, as well.”

“How many of these gigs do you get a day?”

She did a quick mental tally. “One or two in-person breakups a week—I only offer that service to customers in Bend and surrounding areas, but I do a lot of online work. Emails, et cetera. Follow-up phone calls for the brokenhearted. Business is good enough that I'm thinking of expanding and looking for freelancers to do face-to-face breakups in other areas.”

“You learn something new every day.” He popped a french fry into his mouth and she ate one, as well. Then he said, “How exactly did you get into this business?”

Chelsea took a deep breath and surprised herself by telling him pretty much the truth. “My best friend, Rosie—she lives back in Portland—actually suggested it. I have this thing where I can't manage to hold down a relationship for long. Rosie believes I'm just dating the wrong guys, but whatever the reason, at about the three-month mark, I always lose interest and we break up. But we always manage to stay friends. So far this year, I've been to five weddings of ex-boyfriends. Anyway, Rosie once joked that I was the queen of breaking up and could do it for a living and then a friend of hers actually asked me to do so. I only did it as a favor, but it went so well someone else asked me to do it. And...”

“The rest as they say is history?”

She smiled as she nodded. “Yes. I'll admit it's not a very common profession but I honestly think I'm doing a necessary service. Do you know how many people stay in bad relationships because they're too scared to get out?”

He shook his head and she guessed he came from one of those perfect families. She didn't know much about the McKinnels, but his father's obituary had definitely painted him as the ideal family man. And Callum had
how
many
brothers and sisters? She racked her brain but couldn't come up with the number. It was a lot, anyway, reminding her again what different worlds they came from.

“Well,” she said, “it's a lot.” Then she said, “Thanks for the dinner. It was good.” Hopefully he'd take the hint that it was time for him to leave. That she no longer needed babysitting, even if a tiny part of her wanted it.

He nodded toward her sandwich still sitting on its grease-proof paper on the table. “You barely ate.”

“Sorry.” She bit her lip. “I'm too worried about Muffin.”

He nodded grimly. “Fair enough. I guess I'd better be going.” But he didn't make a move to stand—for some unfathomable reason, he didn't appear in a hurry to abscond.

“Thanks for everything,” she said, trying to encourage him. She just wanted him gone so she could ignore her hormones and get back to worrying about Muffin.

Callum reached out and wrapped his long fingers around hers, then gave a little squeeze. “I'm sure he'll be okay. You'll find him.”

“Thanks,” she said again, slipping her hand out of his for self-protection and then standing. If the guys she'd dated before had all been as lovely as him, maybe she wouldn't have felt compelled to dump them.

He stood, as well, and awkwardness buzzed between them. What was the protocol here? This wasn't a date. He wasn't going to kiss her good-night and ask when they could see each other again. Likely they'd never see each other again and tonight would become some distant memory and she would one day wonder if it had ever actually happened.

“Well.” He cleared his throat and looked down at her—not many men looked down on her and she liked the thrill it gave her. “Maybe call me when you find Muffin. Just so I know.”

She rubbed her lips together, loving the confidence in his voice that she'd find her dog but also joyful at the prospect of an excuse to call him. Her tongue twisted at the thought, so she nodded.

“You'll need my number,” he said.

“I think it's on my front door.”

“Right...of course it is.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “In that case, good night.”

Chelsea followed him out, waved as he reversed out of the drive and then closed the door behind her, the thud echoing around the now empty house. Having Callum here had been so bizarre, it had given her a few minutes' pardon from missing and worrying about Muffin, but now that he was gone, she had nothing left to do but worry. She retreated to the couch, collapsed into a heap and wished there was something more constructive she could do than cry.