Chapter 9 #2
Gillian ran after us. “I don’t have coverage for you,” she shouted then stomped her foot as Ronan let the door swing in her face. Her hand came up to slap the window of the door.
The wraparound porch was still full of customers, all of them watching Ronan carry me like some hag.
“You are really living up to your name tonight, Viking.”
He gave me a feral smile. “Just wait until we get to the pillaging part.”
The laugh bubbled up even though I should’ve been outraged. “Think we already did that.” I hooked my arm tighter around his neck as he took the stairs two at a time through the crush of people.
He’d effectively stolen me from my job. What the hell was happening right now?
Gillian was still staring out the window, her eyes narrowed, her hands on her hips as I glanced back at The Mason Jar rapidly disappearing from view.
Without the hum of voices pressing in on me, I noticed Ronan’s smile was a little forced. “I’m really okay. You can put me down now.”
“I really can’t.” His boots crunched over the gravel parking lot as he stalked to the edge of the property where his truck was parked.
“My car is the other way.”
“We’ll come back for your car.”
“Ronan—oof.” I linked my ankles as he twisted me to the front of him, my breasts flattening against the muscled slab of his chest and my thin, cotton pants curving to every ridge at the front zipper of his jeans.
He reached into the back of his truck and released the lever for the tailgate then set me down. His big hands gentled as they cupped my face. “Sure you’re okay?”
I rolled my eyes. “I’ve dealt with drunk idiots nearly every day of my life.”
He plucked a slice of orange out of my hair and tossed it over his shoulder. “Yeah, well, from where I was standing, it looked like more than just a drunk guy trying to grope you.”
I slapped his hand away when he fished out a cherry from under my neckline. “Would you quit that?”
“Just cleaning you up before you get in my truck.”
“Which is why I should be getting in my car.”
“While I agree your beater is not going to be hurt by your current state—no.”
“I’ll have you know Matilda is pristine on the inside. Mostly.” I tried not to think about the rusting spot on the back floorboard.
His eyebrow hiked. “Matilda?”
I shrugged. “I named her after my grandmother who gave me the car.”
The only person who had helped me…after. The least I could do was name the car after her when she left it to me in her will.
His thumb drifted over my cheek as his long fingers tunneled into my hair to get the last of the debris free. When a lemon rolled down my breast to plop onto my lap, I was horrified at the quick prick of tears.
I must be frightening to look at.
The Mason Jar was the one place where I was generally pulled together. The one place who only ever saw the confident and self-assured Kira.
And now I was—this.
I flicked the lemon wedge away, watching it bounce along the dusty gravel.
“Hey.” He tried to tip my chin up.
I sniffled and then punched him in the gut. Anger was easier than tears. Because not only had that idiot drunk guy caused chaos, this outrageous Viking of a man had created more.
Making a spectacle of me again.
He barely grunted.
I tried to push him back. “Let me down.”
He simply settled his big hands at my waist and let me push and struggle—all the while, he remained a granite wall in front of me.
I growled and sniffled and dashed at my eyes as angry tears burned down my face. I hated to cry more than anything in this world. It didn’t accomplish a damn thing except give me a headache and a red nose. Not to mention the snot.
I was not a pretty crier.
Generally tears made most men head for the hills, but somehow not this one.
“I have two sisters. I can wait an hour if I need to.”
I sniffled again. “What are their names?”
He sighed. “Not exactly on topic, Sunshine.”
“I do not look or act like sunshine!”
He laughed.
“Do not laugh at me, dammit.” Which of course made a giggle bubble up in my chest. “It’s not funny.”
He picked out another bit of garnish from my hair and tossed it over his shoulder. “It’s a little funny.” He tugged on my hair until I tipped my head back to meet his gaze. The fact that the tiny lick of pain hit something low inside of me was to be ignored at this particular juncture in time.
Finally, I stared at him. The sun was setting behind him which tossed most of him into shadow with the halo of firelight on his wild curls.
“Even on the shittiest days, the sun is always there. And that’s what I’m used to when I’m around you.
You are always moving forward, making things better.
Maybe a little bossy.” His eyebrow rose sharply.
“But you’re a force. And that’s why you’re sunshine to me.
That and when I’m around you, I want to take my clothes off for some reason. ”
I didn’t want to smile up at him, but I couldn’t stop my lips from bending upward. I even put my hand up to cover my mouth and he pulled it away.
“Now tell me why there’s tears. Or if you don’t want to tell me why, tell me how to fix it.”
“I’m just embarrassed.”
He frowned. “Why would you be embarrassed? You kicked his ass and were the ultimate badass.”
“You manhandled me out of that place. We were a spectacle!”
“Ashamed of me?” He tipped his head and those killer eyes blazed.
“What? No. There’s nothing to be ashamed of because we’re just colleagues. Not that anyone will believe that after today. Gillian will be sure to push that information far and wide.”
“I don’t know who that is.”
“The super-hot brunette hostess.”
“I only saw the super-hot bartender.”
“Stop.” I poked him in the belly. “Now you’re just being ridiculous. No one can miss Gillian—and if they do, she makes sure that doesn’t last for long.”
“And who cares if she does?”
“The Taproom is the first time I’ve managed anything. I don’t want anyone thinking I’m not taking my job seriously.”
“Okay. I get that. But why would that make a difference at the restaurant?”
The laughter was easier now. “You really don’t know how small towns work, do you?”
“Gossip, all right. I get it.”
But he really didn’t because this didn’t matter to a man who had his level of confidence. He didn’t know how it felt for all the eyes to be on you and for the whispers to chase you.
Because I’d been whispered about for the last five years. And none of the whispers had been kind.
Trash.
Liar.
Thief.