Chapter 4
SUTTON
Two Years Earlier
I look into her eyes, admiring the cool gray color.
They remind me of looking out into the misty fog that would creep over the pond at the top of the trail I used to hike up some mornings back in high school in New Mexico.
That striking color is only highlighted more by her smokey makeup and long, dark lashes.
I know if I keep staring, I’ll get lost in them.
The only thing that can lure me away from the pull of her eyes is—well—everything else about her.
Her shoulder length, straight, black hair and bangs frame her face, which is a stark contrast to her pale complexion.
The v-neck she’s wearing is cut just low enough that I can see the lines of a tattoo between her small, perky breasts and the edges of a black lace bra.
She hums, tapping one of her deep purple nails to her lower lip. I swallow, trying not to give away that I desperately want to know what those lips taste like.
She scrunches her upturned nose, eyeing me with suspicion. The little motion draws my eyes to the hoop piercing in her nostril and her septum ring. I’ve never cared much about piercings, but I’m suddenly very interested in hers.
I mimic the expression, prompting her to roll her eyes and groan in exasperation.
“Sour cream and onion. Your turn. You owe me an answer.”
I laugh. “Fine. My favorite potato chip flavor is paprika. Favorite sandwich?”
She grins. “PB and J on cheap, white bread. You?”
I hum in thought. “That’s a classic. I think I’d have the same thing, but add a drizzle of honey to it.”
She nods in approval and I continue my food interrogation. “What’s your favorite dessert?”
“Easy. Ice cream. What’s yours?”
“Woah. I feel like you cheated with that one,” I scoff, taking a swig of my beer. “There are so many choices. You have to pick a flavor.”
“Fine. Pistachio.”
I purse my lips together and nod. “OK. That’s a good one. My favorite dessert is black raspberry pie. My grandma made it all the time when I was growing up.”
Her eyes drop to my arm and I know she’s looking at the slice of pie inked on me. “Is her name Gloria?”
“Yep. She was the best.”
Her brow furrows. “Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t—”
I raise my hand and make a dismissive gesture. “It was years ago. Don’t worry about it.”
“Still, it sucks. I lost my grandma a few months ago.”
She gives me a wobbly smile and I can see the still fresh pain.
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
She nods to herself, looking down at her beer. “Thanks.”
An awkward silence settles in between us. There’s nothing really to say when it comes to this topic. Losing someone close to you is never easy. Time is one of the only things that can truly help heal some wounds. That doesn’t stop me from wishing I could make her pain go away though.
A loud catcall from across the bar gets our attention. We both look to the corner of the bar to see Monica with her back to us and sitting in my brother's lap—locked in a heated kiss.
I shudder. “Yikes. You weren’t kidding. I think she’s actually trying to eat him alive.”
Kelsey cranes her neck, tilting her head to the side. “They’re definitely giving everyone a show.”
Monica, to her credit, clearly doesn’t give a shit. She just brings one hand over her head and raises her middle finger.
Kelsey lets out a short laugh. “I should go check on her.”
When she walks away, my eyes are drawn to the way her tight black jeans hug the curves of her ass. They look like they’re painted on and my mind goes right to imagining what it would be like to peel those off and bury my face between her thighs.
I scrub my hand over my face and shake my head.
For fucks sake, I’m not trying to pick her up.
That’s not what I had in mind when I came here tonight, but I guess my cock thinks otherwise.
I shift in my seat and focus on a sports poster on the wall, trying to keep my dick from getting any harder than it already is.
I collect myself just in time for Kelsey to get back to the bar and stand next to me.
“So she wasn’t really clear on details, and I wasn’t going to ask for them either, but I think they’re going back to your place.”
I see the question in her eyes. “He’s staying in some bougie hotel around the corner.”
“Oh,” she says, seeming surprised by that answer. “What about you?”
“I just got a place here since I’ll be the one running the restaurant. It’s a giant mess of moving boxes right now, but it’ll be home soon enough.”
Today has been non-stop—go, go, go. I started helping the movers unload boxes and furniture as soon as I got out of my car.
It took me all of five minutes to realize that calling the charming, old farmhouse a mess is being generous.
Still, the place was exactly what we needed.
It’s spacious, a perfect location, and a good outdoor space for the kind of patio we want to take advantage of in the summer months.
The kitchen will be exactly the kind of setup I need to make the dishes I want to earn my own star.
Slade said purpose-built commercial real estate in Jackson is hard to come by and fixing up this place to meet our needs would be easier. He’s probably right because most of the old houses on that block all have some kind of business in them.
Either way, the first floor—where the restaurant is going—is an active construction zone, but the upstairs is habitable.
It will eventually be remodeled into two small apartments, a bigger one for me and a small studio apartment for Slade or family, if they come to visit.
In the meantime, I’ll be living out of the moving boxes.
Once the movers finally left, the first thing I did was tell Slade I need to get out for a beer somewhere.
“Cool,” she says. “Well, it’s a great town. I’m sure you’ll fit right in.”
“Thanks.” I smile back at her, noticing that she’s still standing and wondering why she hasn’t sat back down.
“Well, I think I’m going to get going. She might be off work tomorrow but I’m not, and I still need to get home and walk my dog before catching this week’s episode.
” She grabs her purse off the barstool. “If you like good coffee and haven’t unpacked your coffee maker, you should stop into Cowgirl Coffee tomorrow.
I’ll be there and coffee’s on me. Thanks for the beer. ”
She turns and starts heading toward the door. I panic and stand up, following her. I just met this girl, but I already don’t want this night to end.
“Can I walk you back? I wouldn’t mind seeing more of the town from a true local.”
She stops and her eyes rake over me from head to toe.
Shit. Maybe I came on too strong. It feels like my heart stops in my chest, worrying that I screwed this up before it even started.
Finally, she rolls her eyes before tilting her head toward the door.
“Come on, Pretty Boy. You won’t get much of a tour though.
I only live a couple blocks away, above the coffee shop.
The most exciting thing we might see tonight is Agnes, if she’s around. ”
“Agnes?” I squint at her skeptically while I feel my heart climb back into my chest.
She nods eagerly. “Oh yeah, Agnes is a true local. But if you see her, you better run.”
“Why would I run?”
“Because Agnes is an old, mangy moose and she doesn’t mind chasing people that get too close to her.” She grins, looking pleased with herself. “Pretty Boys included.”
“Is that a smile I see, Shadow?”
Her grin fades and her brows knit together. “Shadow?”
I shrug. “If you get to call me Pretty Boy, I get to call you Shadow.”
“But why Shadow?”
Part of me wants to tell her the truth. I already know images of her smoky eyes and smile will live at the edges of my dreams for the foreseeable future, following me like a shadow.
Instead I settle for something more lighthearted and smirk back at her.
“Because as charming as it might sound, Local Spewer of Verbal Diarrhea is a mouthful to say.”