Chapter 6 #2
“I would never,” he says, all fake offense. “Unless it’s really dumb. Then I absolutely would.”
“You’re a menace.”
He leans against the counter, tilting his head. “A charming menace.”
“Debatable.”
“Admit it,” he says, reaching for one of the cookies Harper made and biting into it with zero shame. “You missed me since the Harvest Dance.”
I roll my eyes, but it’s weak. My body’s still buzzing. My thoughts are a mess. I keep staring at his mouth when I think he won’t notice. And I absolutely cannot ask him to be my fake boyfriend. I might faint in his company.
And because I think if he said yes, I might actually want it to be real.
He pulls back but produces a small tiffin box from his back. “Here. Arrow’s latest experiment he got our chef to make up. Pumpkin spice brownies with candied bacon and a maple whiskey glaze.”
I open it, and the smell has me grinning. “Are you trying to seduce me with delicious goods?”
“Is it working?”
“Maybe.”
“Then yes, absolutely that’s what I’m doing,” he says, watching me intently take a bite.
I groan before I can stop myself. It’s involuntary. Carnal. Possibly audible in the next zip code.
“Good?” he asks, eyes gleaming.
“I’m pretty sure this is drugs,” I murmur, licking maple glaze off my thumb.
His gaze follows my movement. “Butter, sugar, and lust,” he says. “Triple threat. Arrow believes butter is a love language.”
I laugh, mostly to stop myself from combusting.
My face is hot. My thighs are hotter. I’m going to need to dunk myself in the beer cooler if this continues.
He’s not even doing anything. Just standing there, being all smirky and sinful with his tousled devil hair and that little scruff shadow like he forgot to shave and somehow made it sexy.
Of course, that’s when a customer saunters up. Soccer mom in a halfhearted sexy cat costume. Plastic ears. Mesh bodysuit. Clearly regrets every decision that led her here but is now committing to the bit with claws and cleavage.
“What’s good here?” she purrs, aiming her entire body at Luke like she thinks he’s on tap.
“Everything,” I say, stepping in with my most helpful, totally-not-jealous smile. “Would you like to try the Witch’s Brew IPA?”
She doesn’t even blink at me. Just leans closer to Luke with a giggle. “What do you recommend, handsome?”
Luke doesn’t even look at her. “I recommend you listen to the woman who actually knows what she’s talking about.”
The woman blinks, stunned by the rejection. Luke casually gestures behind her. “Also, your tail’s on fire.”
She shrieks and spins, flailing to extinguish the tip of her costume now smoldering from a nearby jack-o’-lantern.
While she’s preoccupied with not becoming a cautionary tale, Luke slips behind the counter beside me, like he belongs there. Like he belongs next to me. Close enough to smell. Close enough that my body becomes a live wire.
“That was mean,” I whisper, trying to focus on literally anything but his mouth.
He leans in as though he has no understanding of personal space. “She was rude. You get my best behavior. For now.”
I glance up at him, caught in that devil-may-care smirk and the very real heat in his eyes.
“That supposed to impress me?” I ask, pretending my heart isn’t galloping like it’s being chased.
“No,” he says, low and unapologetic. “Supposed to make you think about what it’s like when I’m not on my best behavior.”
Oh, no.
Oh, no, no, no.
My brain short-circuits. My tongue forgets English. I nod at a keg that definitely doesn’t need checking.
“I’m just gonna… check on that thing… over there.”
He grins like he knows exactly what he’s doing.
Because I bet he does.
I duck my head and pretend to inspect the tap like it holds the answers to my moral collapse.
Luke leans on the counter, arms folded, watching me with entirely too much amusement. “That keg tell you anything interesting?”
“Only that I’m in danger.”
“Immediate or slow burn?”
“Death by embarrassment.”
He grins, all sinful delight. “Shame. I was hoping for something more dramatic. I brought a knife just in case things got interesting.”
I glance over. “You carry a knife?”
“I carry two. Depends on the outfit.” He quirks an eyebrow.
I laugh despite myself. “You planned your accessories around murder?”
“No, I planned them around brunch. But murder was the backup.”
He steps closer. I don’t move. Can’t. His scent slides under my skin like warm syrup. My stomach does a cartwheel. My brain forgets the alphabet. He’s not even touching me yet,and I swear my knees write a resignation letter.
Luke’s gaze drops to my lips, then flicks back up. He taps the counter between us.
“I could be a gentleman and step back,” he says. “But I’m not really built for disappointment.”
“That’s your line?”
“Would you prefer something with pirates? I’ve been workshopping one that involves treasure maps and well-timed winks.”
I shake my head, biting back a smile. “You’re dangerous.”
He leans in like he’s going to whisper something salacious. “Yeah. I’m a menace with banana bread too. Tell no one.”
I burst out laughing.
That’s when Harper reappears, completely empty-handed and radiating mischief from the way she grins and eyes us.
“Oh, look, you’re still here,” she says to Luke. “How convenient.”
“Your friend’s subtle,” Luke says.
“So subtle. Like a glitter cannon in a church,” Harper mutters, poking her tongue out at us.
Luke smiles at Harper. “I like you,” he says, then turns his attention to me. “But I’d marry you .”
I choke on air. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. I’m excellent at impulsive decisions. Got the tattoos and the arrest record to prove it.”
Harper whistles. “That might be the most unhinged proposal I’ve ever witnessed. I’m kind of impressed.”
Luke shrugs one shoulder, gaze still locked on me. “I don’t do halfway. If I want something, I take it.”
My throat goes dry. My brain is all fluttery and Do not swoon, you absolute idiot . “You don’t even know me.”
He smiles, slow, dark, and dangerous. “Not yet.”
Harper fans herself dramatically. “Okay, that’s it. I’m gonna need a helmet. Or a priest.”
“You always look like that when you eat something good?” he asks me, voice low.
I raise a brow. “Like what?”
Like you’re one bad decision away from letting someone wreck you.”
My stomach flips. I take another bite of the brownie just to avoid answering, but it doesn’t help. His eyes are still on me, tracking, testing. Like I’m already his and he’s just waiting for me to figure it out.
Harper breaks the moment with a groan. “Oh my God. Can you two not eye-fuck in public? It’s giving off unresolved tension, and I didn’t bring popcorn.”
“That obvious?” Luke asks.
I manage to swallow and mutter, “A little.”
He leans closer, and the air between us grows heavy, electric. “What would it take?”
“For what?”
“For you to stop pretending you’re not tempted.”
I choke on a laugh. “I’m not pretending.”
Harper fans herself. “Someone pour cold water on me. Or her. Or both.”
Still, Luke doesn’t glance away. Doesn’t blink. “I’d risk a lot more than a burned tongue for a bite.”
“Flattery from a man who smells like burnt sugar, sweat, and fire-roasted heat.”
His grin deepens, dangerous now. “And yet you’re still standing here.”
A sharp whistle slices through the tension. We both glance toward the food truck.
Arrow is leaning halfway out the service window, arms crossed. A line of people snakes down the field, a few shouting orders and waving cash.
Luke sighs, straightening up like it physically hurts to leave. “Duty calls.”
“Go,” I say, trying not to sound breathless. “Before your adoring public revolts.”
He backs away with a grin that promises unfinished business. “Try not to miss me.”
Too late.
Harper doesn’t wait. She picks up the tiffin and lifts the last murder brownie like it’s a holy relic. “Sorry, not sorry,” she says and takes a bite so sinful that her eyes flutter shut.
A beat passes. Then she moans loudly—inappropriate for daylight hours.
“Okay, I’m mad,” she declares through a mouthful. “That’s the best thing I’ve ever eaten. I’d sell a kidney to taste that again.”
I snort. “Just the one?”
She licks her finger. “Depends how big the batch is.”
We both dissolve into laughter, but it doesn’t last. Her gaze flicks toward me, sharp with intent. “Sooo…”
“No.”
“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”
“Yes, I do.” I rub at my temple. “No, I did not ask him to be my fake boyfriend.”
“Cindy!”
“I can’t just ask that! It’s weird!”
“It’s not. It’s direct.”
“I’d rather crawl into a mossy hole and die alone.”
Harper sighs and sits beside me, wrapping the tiffin shut like she’s closing a deal. “You know you’re gonna have to do it eventually.”
I glance sideways toward the food truck. I can’t see Luke or Arrow. Just the hum of their truck, alive with heat and spice and him. And the huge lineup.
“I know,” I mumble. “It’s just… he flirts, sure, but that doesn’t mean he’d actually do it.”
“He will. All three of them will.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do,” Harper says. “I’ve seen how they look at you. They’re not just messing around.”
I shake my head. “It’s not even about that. It’s about… what if one of them says yes, and then meets them? What if he sees how broken my family is, how they look at me like I’m a stain they can’t scrub out? What if he decides it’s not worth the hassle?”
Harper doesn’t answer right away. She scoots closer, resting her chin on my shoulder.
“I’m not scared of them judging me,” I say, softer now. “I’m scared of feeling special for five minutes… and then watching it get taken away.”
Harper wraps her arms around me. She smells like cinnamon sugar. “You’re special. Not because some guy flirts with you. Not because of whatever they did to you. You just are.”
I let myself lean into her for a breath. Maybe two.
And all I can think is What if I ask… and one of them says yes?