Chapter 7
7
Poppy
Cutting the engine, he looks at me out of the corner of his eye. They’re so blue, a powdery blue standing in contrast to his dark hair, but not his mood. By all appearances, he fits the air he gives off—brooding. A little Edward Cullen. A lot Lestat.
I shouldn’t be surprised. I interrupted his night, which is a no-no in my business. Clients of his magnitude, who can afford my fees as a personal chef, generally don’t like to have contact with the staff. I consider it a perk of my job, if I’m being honest. In this case, my bad.
Although that leaves me unsure of when he expects me to prepare his dinner, I wonder if I was wrong. It’s his house. His time, which I’m sure is valuable, considering he can afford a private chef for a week in the middle of nowhere. In comparison, I’m being paid for mine to be there.
His heavy sigh has me imagining him dragging his feet. “Are you hungry?”
“Are you asking me on a date? ”
No laugh, making me think my joke didn’t land as intended. His jaw tic grabs my attention as his gaze shoots forward through the windshield toward the restaurant. I’m given another sigh, more exasperated than the last, and then he says, “You seem to be good at stalking, so I guess I don’t need to tell you where to find me.” He gets out of the truck and shuts the door before I have time to understand what he’s even talking about.
Stalking?
What the hell?
I grab my phone, ready to call Marina, but when I search the dash of the car, there doesn’t seem to be anywhere for me to charge it. There’s a lighter and the air conditioner has a slider. By the style, I knew the truck was old, but it’s ancient. He’s probably some techie millionaire who paid too much so he can pretend he’s down to earth.
He's lucky I signed an NDA.
Speaking of, I don’t even know his name. With a dead phone and no way to access my emails, that only leaves one way for me to find out. I hop out of the truck and march into Maggie’s Café to find him. What else am I going to do? Sit out here and wait for him.
A bell dings above my head when I open the door. I don’t need to stop and look around. He stands out in the bustling restaurant and bar.
I’ll give it to him; he knows how to be difficult. He doesn’t even bother to look, though I know he knows I’m here. I tap my fingers on the back of the wooden chair across from him.
It’s then that I realize I can’t ask him. That makes me look like an idiot for not knowing who I agreed to work for. I know it said a production company of some sort, but I’m not sure if it ever specifically named the client .
His eyes finally lift from the menu, and he stares at me. Getting a full look at his face causes my knees to weaken. Good lord, I had no idea men like him—body of a superhero and a face that belongs on magazine covers—walked on this planet. Holy crap, he’s hot. He’s just out here living in the world like he doesn’t look, well, like this.
He shifts, using the menu to wall himself off from the restaurant area. “I’d prefer you sit rather than stand staring at me all night.” His eyes dart around the room as if I’ve embarrassed him with the unwanted attention.
I look around as well. No one is looking at him, but I catch a few eyeing me up. “They all have their own lives to live. Nobody cares what we’re doing.”
I’m caught in a solid glare of his, which has me hustling to sit down. “Fine. I’ll sit.” I have so many questions like hey, what’s your name, and are you famous or paranoid by how you’re hiding behind that menu?
The thing is, I can’t ask either. Not only is it not allowed per my contract, but it’s insulting. Like he is. I wonder if the two things being equal will cancel out the no-questions portion of the contract. I’m no lawyer, but I don’t think it works like that.
Me not working for him any longer might nullify it, though.
A woman on a mission heads in our direction. As soon as she pulls a pen from behind her ear and a pad from her apron, I scan the menu quickly. “You know we could have been eating my famous chicken pesto.”
“Hi there,” the server asks, sidling closer to blue eyes on the other side of the table and rattling off the specials. She loses me after the dunked and shredded cheesy catfish. I don’t know what that means, but it sounds horrific.
My attention is leveraged to the way she keeps bumping into his arm anytime he looks at the menu or worse, I assume, at me.
Jealousy doesn’t factor into my DNA. Never has, but I find it odd how close she stands to him. Give the man some breathing room, lady.
“And for you?”
“Oh, um,” I hum, perusing the menu. “I don’t know. I don’t know.” I glance at him, leaning back all comfortable in a chair that is clearly too small for his large frame. He drags his tongue over his bottom lip while appearing to stare at my mouth. I blink twice and then again as goose bumps scatter across my chest. “I’ll have what he’s having.”
“Drink?” she asks, tapping the top of the menu in front of me. “We have a house wine from the Lackmont Valley over in Wyoming.”
Glancing at the selection, I find nothing stands out as something I want to consume. “Water please, annnnd —”
“She’ll have what I’m having,” he says with his eyes locked on me.
As soon as she snatches our menus and walks away, I lean forward. “And that is?”
“Beer. It’s a beer joint. I don’t even drink wine, and I know better than to order that in a place like this.”
I rest back and grin. “I didn’t know you cared.”
He looks away from me like the very insinuation angers him. And apparently, he knows how to hold a grudge since his gaze doesn’t come near me until the server returns five minutes later with the beers.
I catch him eyeing me when she’s blocking most of the view, though his gaze pivots away just as quickly.
Two can play this game.
I take a sip of the beer while he gulps his. She lingers a bit, asking him how long he’ll be in town, but he looks straight at me when she fondles his shoulder. No grudge to be found in his expression, but some familiar emotion takes up residency. I just don’t know what it is.
And then I catch on . . .
I reach across the table and hold his hand. “We’re together.”
“Oh,” she says, stepping back while looking between us. “I’m sorry. You two don’t look like you belong together.”
“Why is that?” I ask, trying to keep calm while being weirdly insulted that she thinks Blue Eyes and I don’t look like a couple.
“Well . . . I should probably . . .” She disappears, but I barely notice because his thumb has been rubbing my palm since I started holding his hand.
I let my eyes drift to the connection and watch in rapt fascination.
“It’s been so long since I’ve held hands with anyone,” I whisper without thinking of the consequences.
He’s fast, pulling back and downing half his beer. His eyes land on anything and anyone other than myself, but he still asks, “Why’d you do that?” His gaze finally meets mine, giving me comfort I didn’t know I was seeking. “Why did you say we were together?”
I glance away, seeing the server with her hands on some other guy at the bar. “I, um . . .” Turning back, I say, “You look like you need saving.”
“Looked or look?”
“Looked,” I correct. “You looked like you didn’t appreciate her hanging on you.”
He chuckles, but no smile appears. “Now you’re worried about me? Interesting.”
“What is interesting about it? You looked like you didn’t want the attention. I helped you out. End of story.” I push up from the chair. “What is wrong with you? Why are you so awful?”
“You tell me, Poppy.” Hearing my name reminds me of how he said it back at the cabin when I fell.
“So you were expecting me?”
He almost spews the beer in his mouth. As he sets it down, his laughter overtakes him. “Yeah, you’re a few years late.”
“What? Ugh.” I throw my hands in front of me. “I can’t do this anymore.” I turn to leave and start weaving through the tables.
“Nothing’s changed,” he says, causing me to stop. “You just run away without saying a fucking word, not even goodbye.”
I have no idea what he’s going on about, so I keep walking until I’m outside. I’ll take the cold over the company inside any day. Leaning against the front of the truck, I wrap my arms around myself, keeping the cardigan pulled tighter around me.
The purpose is lost even on me after a while. I could have been eating in the warmth inside instead of standing in the cold out here. My pride is too sensitive right now to go back, so I hold my position, frustrated I didn’t charge my phone when I was at the table.
I catch two guys as they head for the door. They look local enough by how they appear to be dressed like everyone else in Maggie’s. “Excuse me, do you have the number of a mechanic by chance?”
The two stop, and both adjust their jeans by pulling them up at the waist. The one with a backward ball cap replies, “You’re standing in front of him now. I’m the closest for twenty miles. ”
“It might be my lucky day after all.”
He grins, looking me up and down, and then comes a little closer. “It just might be. How can I be of service?”
“My car broke down about fifteen or twenty minutes from here. I need to get it towed to the shop.” Not wanting to sound like I don’t know what I’m talking about, I add, “Dead battery and might need to take a look at the fuel pump.”
“Well, first off, that describes almost every road in the county. Any names or signs?”
My memory snaps back. “Yes, there was a bear sign. A bear crossing sign.”
“That doesn’t help. These woods are full of them. How do you know it’s the fuel pump?”
“Wild guess and some sputtering.”
Rubbing his chin, he says, “Doesn’t matter the make or model. I don’t keep pumps at the shop, so I’ll have to order it.”
My hope falls along with my shoulders. “How long will that take?”
“Probably a week. Sometimes less if Agnes’s hips are giving her trouble.”
Why do I feel like I’m on another planet? “Who’s Agnes?”
The guy with him appears bored by how he’s kicking up dust. Reaching for the door, he says, “Come on.”
“The mail carrier.”
“What? Can’t we just get it from LA tomorrow?”
Shaking his head, he backs toward the door. “No can do. Tomorrow is Sunday, and Darlie doesn’t let me work on Sunday. Call me on Monday, and we’ll try to find where you lost your car.”
“Who’s Darlie?”
“My wife.”
“Ah. Anyway, I didn’t lose it. It’s . . .” I look back over my shoulder and then wave in that direction. “Over there somewhere.”
His friend tugs the door open just as Blue Eyes fills the doorway. They’re quick to step aside, but their eyes light up like Christmas trees staring at him. He nods and changes places with them. The door closes, and he only gives me a passing glance. “The mechanic won’t be in until Monday.”
“Yeah,” I say, standing there wondering what’s next. Dropping my butt against truck’s grill, I cross my arms over my chest again. “I just met him.”
He opens his door but doesn’t get in. Instead, he says, “We have two choices. I can book a short-term rental for you in the area until Monday.”
I get up and face him. “You’d do that for me?”
Shrugging so casually like we’re old friends, he asks, “Do I have a choice?”
“You always have a choice.”
“Or you can return to the property. The cabin you were staying in is still available.”
“Huh.”
“What’s huh?”
I shrug this time. “I’m surprised you haven’t moved in the next one from the agency.”
His narrowing eyes aren’t less striking, and he’s still ridiculously handsome even when confusion scrunches his forehead. Maybe even more so. As if shaking the cobwebs from his mind, he stares at me a second longer. “You can deal with your car. . .” He continues like I never said anything at all. Typical . “On Monday and then go about your life like we never saw each other again.” Holding up a bag, he adds, “I got the food to go.”
“Why’d you do that? ”
Without missing a beat, he says, “Because I’m sure you’re hungry just like I am.”
The gesture shocks me, considering our brief history. Still staring at this mammoth of a man, I let my thoughts wander to who he is and where he came from. It’s as if he was put in my path for a reason. I’m not ungrateful, even if I do detest him. “That was thoughtful.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I am,” I reply, dropping my guard an inch or two.
“Don’t read too much into it. It’s not like we’re having dinner together.”
Is he softening on me? Which is something a man would never want to hear. His words don’t seem to match his actions. “No, that would be awful.” It would . . . for sure . . . be just terrible to spend time with him . . . most likely.
I’m shot a look not meant to make me smile, but it does. I should take the short-term rental offer, but for some reason, I like the challenge he presents. I might even get him to eat my chicken pesto one day. It’s life-changing, and if I’ve ever met a man who needs their life changed, it’s him.
I think he gets a kick out of a challenge as well, and I have no intention of letting off the gas with him. “Option two.”
“Good choice.” He gets into the truck and flips on the headlights. Since I’m caught in the spotlights, I might as well make the most of it since I know his eyes are glued to me. I wriggle my shoulders and return to the cab. Marina’s not the only one who can put on a show. I taught her everything she knows. Not her acting skills but how to not take jack crap from anyone, especially not a guy.
I might be hearing things, but the faintest of growls has me checking over my shoulder for wild animals. I scurry up into the truck and hear it again when I’m buckling up. He’s shifting beside me, a pinched expression noting his irritation.
Tension lingers in the small space I’m sharing with him. I’m glad the battle has ended tonight, but I wonder if the war will continue in the morning.
He’s going for unapproachable, but I’m determined to figure a few things out.
One. His name. That’s not going to be fun.
Two. How does he have the same tattoo as me? Of all the people in the world, I just so happened to meet the one person who chose a star and rose design like mine?
Impossible and utterly intriguing.
No time like the present, I glance over once more. I’m unsure how to broach either topic, but I decide to rip off the proverbial bandage. “What is your name?”