No telling what was going on in his mind. Embarrassment, Bo suspected. Or guilt, maybe.
Whatever it was, he’d appeared to be just as uneasy and uncomfortable as Carly had been.
Maybe Greg was regretting the divorce. After all, he’d been more than generous with the settlement and had signed the house over to her. At least, that’s what Carly had told Bo the day he’d found her with red, puffy eyes and eating a bag of Oreos.
Divorces could get nasty. Bo had seen cases where once happy couples morphed into vicious, self-centered fiends when splitting up—even when there were kids involved, sad little victims looking for love and stability.
But Bo didn’t think a man would be as generous as Greg had been with Carly if he didn’t still have feelings for her.
In spite of his determination to keep his mind on driving, Bo glanced her way and caught her looking at him.
She offered him a smile. “I really appreciate this.”
“No problem. I’m glad I was able to give you a quick escape when you needed one.”
As he backed out of the parking space and pulled onto the street, he kept his focus fixed ahead rather than on his pretty passenger.
Or her bare legs.
“I can’t believe Greg showed up at the pool,” she said. “And in the middle of the day. He never used to take time off from work.”
Bo didn’t know what to say. “He probably didn’t expect to see you there, either, Carly.”
“Yeah, well, my neighbors thought it would do me good to get out.” She blew out a battered sigh. “And I can’t believe I let them convince me to do something so stupid. Boy, there’ll be a raging blizzard in August before I trek down to the public pool again—especially looking like this.”
“Like what?”
She glanced at the faded blue shirt she wore, then clicked her tongue. “Like something the cat dragged in.”
“Nah. You don’t look that bad. My mom has a couple of cats. And you’re a heck of a lot better to look at than the mangled remains they dump on her front porch.”
“Thanks.” A wry smile tugged at Carly’s lips as she crossed her arms, arched a brow and slid him an exasperated glance. “What a charming thing to say. You certainly know how to make a woman feel good.”
She was talking tongue in cheek, but his thoughts took an unexpected and unplanned sexual detour.
Bo did know how to make a woman feel good, but he wasn’t about to go that route with Carly. She was too vulnerable. And she was also the kind of woman a simple, middle-class guy ought to avoid.
But if, even for a few moments, he could help take her mind off her troubles this afternoon, he’d consider it his good deed for the day.
So he said, “I’m not sure why you’re feeling so self-conscious.”
She again tugged at the top she wore, a T-shirt like several he had in his chest of drawers and refused to get rid of. “Just look at me.”
He had been looking at her—more than was prudent for a guy who was adamant about not getting involved with a high-maintenance beauty into designer clothes, custom-made jewelry and luxury cars.
“I should have thrown this out years ago,” she added.
“Clothes don’t make the man or the woman, Carly. It’s what’s under them that counts.” Again, his thoughts drifted to the body that shirt covered up, those legs that could wrap around a man.
Damn. That wasn’t the direction he wanted his mind to go. So as a means of getting things back on track, he added, “You look real, as well as pretty. So what’s the problem?”
“Nothing. It’s just that…well, thanks for trying to make me feel better, but I’m not wearing any makeup, I haven’t spent any time on my hair and I should have found something different to wear over my suit.”
She didn’t know him very well, and he decided to set her straight. “I’m not blowing smoke, Carly. And I never say anything I don’t mean.”
He didn’t?
Carly’s gaze locked on Bo’s.
There was something in his eyes, something honest and solid. Something that made him more attractive, more appealing. For a moment, Carly wondered whether her friends might be right, wondered whether Bo might be interested in her in a male-female sort of way.
Or was he just being a nice guy?
He’d managed to tease her and coax a couple of smiles from her when she was such a pitiful mess, inside and out. And she hadn’t found anything remotely funny in months.
The small voice suggested it had been much longer than that, but Carly wouldn’t take the bait.
“I’m sorry,” she admitted. “I didn’t mean to sound unappreciative, but I don’t feel very pretty today, and there’s not much anyone can say to change my mind.”
“Beauty comes from within, Carly.”
She was familiar with the saying, even if she had trouble buying it. Her mom had told her something similar when she’d been a geeky adolescent, when a stupid kid at school had called her Bucky Beaver. But Carly had known getting her teeth straightened would help her feel better about herself. And she’d even approached her dad about it, knowing the family had a dental plan.
Are you nuts? he’d asked. Insurance doesn’t pay for cosmetic stuff. Besides, if you keep your mouth shut, people won’t focus on your teeth.
She’d gotten braces eventually—after she and Greg were married. And it had really bolstered her self-esteem.
So had a set of expensive white veneers.
“It’s more important to be pretty on the inside,” Bo added.
“You sound like a therapist.”
He shrugged. “Common sense comes easy to me. And so does looking beyond a person’s exterior.”
Oh, great. She sure hoped he couldn’t see beyond hers. There were things she’d never shared with anyone, not even with Greg. Things she didn’t want people to know.
“You’ve got a lot going for you, Carly.”
“I did,” she corrected. “But my husband and my marriage were my whole life. And now I’m not sure who I am anymore.”
“Probably the same person you used to be, only older and wiser.”
God, she hoped not. She’d left the overweight, geeky teenager with crooked teeth behind years ago.
Before the memories could draw her back in time, Bo pulled into the long drive, then circled to the front of the house and stopped.
As eager as Carly was to get inside, to slip into something more comfortable and dig through the freezer for a quart of cookie-dough ice cream she knew was hidden in a corner, she hesitated, not ready to let herself out.
“Thanks for the ride.”
“Anytime.”
She risked a glance across the seat, only to spot warmth in his smile, compassion in his gaze.
Or was it something else? A bond of some kind?
Over the course of the remodel, they’d spent time together, mostly just chatting. But today their conversation had taken a personal turn. More intimate.
She had no intention of voicing her thoughts, but the question slipped out anyway. “Are