2. Val #2
The harsh neon of a corner bar caught my eye. The Tabula Rasa would have to do. Besides, a quick bite to eat and a stiff drink could help numb the pit in my stomach.
I pulled my car into a parking space and tugged open the marred wooden door.
More than a dozen pairs of eyes pinned me in place, and all conversation died at my entrance.
The sea of eyes tracked my movements as I walked toward the bathroom.
When I finished and headed back toward the bar, I was still being watched.
A lone bartender made eye contact, rubbing a glass with a green bar rag.
“Tough crowd.” I pulled a wooden stool out and used my palms to tap out a rhythm against the worn oak of the bar. Slowly the din of conversations started behind me, but I continued to feel eyes rake over my back .
“Don’t mind them.” The bartender was tall and lean. He wore a full white beard, and other than his face, I couldn’t see a patch of skin that wasn’t covered in tattoos. “Just not used to seeing new faces that often.”
“Charming.” I smiled at him as though we’d shared some inside joke.
In return, I received a hard stare. “This is our town, darling. Get used to it or hit the fucking road.”
I could only blink when he turned his back on me.
“Hey, can I get a menu?” I called. One furtive glance over his shoulder killed all hopes of me getting anything to eat.
I sighed and swiveled in my chair, taking in the patrons that filled the small space.
Families eating dinner, a few guys playing darts or pool.
A baseball game on the television held the attention of most everyone sitting at the bar.
Nothing about the people there seemed cold or dismissive, so their reaction to my presence unnerved me. Everyone looked so normal .
Giving up, I stood and tucked the stool under the bar.
When I turned, awareness hit me in the chest. Sitting in a darkened corner, the most intense blue eyes pinned me in place.
The man sitting alone at the small table was large, almost comically large for the small wooden chair beneath him.
His hair hung at the nape of his neck and was thick and dark.
The nearly scruffy beard gave serious lumberjack vibes, but the way his eyes held me captive said only one thing: dangerous.
Under the intensity of his stare, I glanced away. I swallowed but looked back and smiled. The dark stranger was still staring, despite the waitress delivering two to-go containers, one large and one small, to his table. I tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear and turned back toward the bar.
I really need that drink.
I tried again, unsuccessfully, to get the bartender’s attention.
In fact, he was actively ignoring any attempts I made to signal to him.
Tired, drained, and defeated, I slung my purse over my shoulder and headed toward the exit.
I gulped the fresh spring air and tried to settle my nerves on the darkening walk toward my car.
If this place was going to be my home for the next few months while Agent Walsh worked on my fitness for duty eval, I was going to have to understand it.
Get used to its quirks and customs and rules.
Clearly, outsiders were not welcomed with open arms in Tipp.
My stomach rumbled, rioting against the twelve hours since I’d last eaten, and I pulled my jacket tighter around my middle.
Not two strides from my car, I sensed footsteps on the gravel behind me just before a deep voice called over my shoulder.
“Hey.”
My eyebrows popped up when I turned to see the tall stranger from the bar walking toward me. His long legs ate up the distance between us, and damn those legs were impressive. Even beneath the denim, his thick muscles were evident. I stopped, staring at the imposing man who’d grabbed my attention.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
I squared my stance slightly. “You didn’t.” What an odd thing for him to think.
“Oh,” he said, clearing his throat as I watched his Adam’s apple bob. “Good. Well, here.” The man shoved a large, white Styrofoam container in my direction.
I raised an eyebrow and eyed the container he was holding up for me. When I didn’t reach for it, he added, “Al, the bartender? He’s a prick sometimes. Looked like you could use dinner.”
I slowly raised my hand to grab the container from him. The warmth from the food inside caused my stomach to groan again, loudly enough for him to hear it. A small laugh escaped him. “Thought so.”
“I, uh.” I shook my head. “I don’t really know what to say. Thank you.” I lifted the container slightly in salute.
He waved a hand in dismissal. “It’s nothing. This town’s just a little weird about strangers. Doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be polite.”
At that, I relaxed and smiled. Something about the way his cool blue eyes softened as they scanned my face caused a pinch in my chest. This man was tall, huge even, with muscles that tested the limits of his long-sleeve cotton shirt.
Despite my preference for leaner, smaller men, the most animalistic part of me could appreciate just how well-built this stranger was.
We stood at a standstill, both staring and neither speaking. Finally, I added, “But I really can’t accept your dinner. That wouldn’t be right.”
He stuffed his hands in the front pockets of his jeans, and I couldn’t help but appreciate his wide palms as they slid against his trim hips.
When he spoke again, my eyes whipped back to his.
“Well, don’t feel too bad.” A boyish grin spread across his face, transforming him from brooding stranger to charming boy next door. That smile was devastating.
Dangerous.
“Tonight was Irma’s night to make pie. Apple. I kept that.” After a shrug, his cobalt eyes met mine, and a hint of mischief played at their edges. Together we shared a small laugh .
“Well, if there’s no pie, I don’t want any of it,” I teased back, feeling an unexpected blush heat my cheeks.
We both laughed again, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d flirted with a man.
It felt foreign and unexpected, but also a little exciting.
“Actually, I really appreciate this. You made my night.”
The man nodded, then turned. “And you,” he said over his shoulder as he walked away, “were an unexpected surprise. Welcome to Tipp.”