Chapter 35
Chapter Thirty-Five
Ever
Three months later
Closing time crept closer, and the neon OPEN sign buzzed softly in the window as the last streaks of sunset faded from Main Street.
I wiped my hands on my apron and glanced at the clock. Ten minutes.
Close enough to start the closing routine.
I filled the sink with hot water, the steam fogging my glasses, and reached for the dish soap.
The bell above the door jingled.
“I’ll be right with you!” I called automatically, giving the soap bottle a quick squeeze and watching it ribbon into the water.
I turned toward the register, already rehearsing my apology for being slow, when I stopped short.
He wasn’t from Weston; I knew that immediately.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair that looked like it refused to stay neatly combed. He wore a worn denim jacket and had tattoos peeking out from under the sleeves. His hands rested casually on the counter, but his attention was fully on me.
Not the menu.
Not the Dairy Bar.
Me.
“Hi,” I said, suddenly aware of my apron, my ponytail, and the faint smudge of chocolate syrup on my wrist. “Can I help you?”
He glanced up at the order board, pretending to consider it, then looked back down at me with a slow smile that made my stomach flip.
“What do you recommend?” he asked. His eyes traveled over me. Not rude, not rushed. Just… interested.
My cheeks heated instantly.
That didn’t happen to me ever.
In Weston, I was just Ever. The Dairy Bar girl. The owner’s fat daughter. The familiar fixture behind the counter since I was old enough to reach the register.
I swallowed and straightened. “Um. Well. Depends on what you like.”
His gaze flicked to my name tag, then back to my face. “Ever,” he said, like he was testing the word. “That’s a beautiful name.”
It threw me completely.
“Oh—” I laughed, flustered, and pushed a stray curl behind my ear. “Thank you.”
My heart thumped a little harder than it should have. I wasn’t used to being flirted with. Not by men who looked like that. Men who smiled like they already knew something good was about to happen.
He leaned his elbows on the counter. “Tell me, Ever. What’s your favorite thing to eat here?”
I hesitated, then shrugged. “Honestly? I’m a sucker for a vanilla cone. Simple. Perfect. No frills.”
His smile widened. “Then I’ll take that.”
I reached for the cone, my fingers suddenly clumsier than usual. “Name for the order?”
Something shifted in his expression, just for a second. A flicker of something unreadable passed through his eyes before he answered. “Jesse, sweetheart,” he said smoothly. “You can call me Jesse.”