Chapter 11
NORA
THE CLINT Eastwood glare is still on his face as he looks up at me, but when his eyes meet mine, his face softens ever so slightly and for such a short amount of time that I wonder if I really saw it. He’s so damn good-looking, if he just weren’t so cranky. All. The. Time.
His blue T-shirt is wet from the rain and sticking to his shoulders like a second skin, and I can see the definition of the muscles from his neck to the tops of his arms. The shaggy scruff on his sharp jaw looks like he hasn’t touched up in a few days and is shadowing his neck.
He has hat head from wearing his ball cap all day, but around his neck the hair is wet and curls against his skin. I’m not sure what it is about the sight that makes him look more innocent, almost like a kid caught in the rain, and I realize I’m staring at his neck.
Remembering what Kinley said this morning about how he used to be fun, and how sad she looked when she said she misses him, I see him in a slightly different light. Yesterday, he was just a cranky asshole with no manners. Today, he’s a man struggling with the effects of a life he didn’t ask for.
His large hand grasps the mug I just set in front of him, and he gives a small nod. “Thank you.”
Before I even think about it, I smile when I say, “You’re welcome.”
He doesn’t smile back, but as his eyes hold mine, I notice they are the same color as Kinley’s, and I try to imagine seeing humor in them like I saw in his sister’s this morning.
The hardness from before returns to his face, and he looks down at his mug before he lifts it to his lips, his gaze focused across the room in front of him.
As I step away to help the other tables in my section, I squash the tiny bloom of disappointment in my chest from him looking away like he’s dismissing me.
I don’t know why I thought he would be any different tonight than he was the last time I saw him, and I wish I didn’t know the things Kinley told me this morning.
When his dinner is set up in the window, I grab a set of silverware with one hand and slide the hot plate onto the other with a kitchen rag. He sees me coming, and I don’t miss the way his eyes move down my body as I’m moving between the tables, making my face flush.
For just a second, I wonder if he is checking me out, but then I hear Matt’s voice in my head, ‘If your hips weren’t so wide, you’d be almost perfect’.
The spark of self-confidence that makes me feel pretty evaporates like smoke, and I wonder if the snug miniskirt I bought last week was a bad idea. My thoughts quickly pivot from wondering if he is checking me out to wondering if he is thinking I shouldn’t wear something like this for my size.
Maybe I should have got something looser. I felt good about it when I bought it because I usually wear a size eleven\twelve, but I fit into a size nine\ten, and that made me feel flippin’ awesome.
He sits back away from the table when I’m next to him, his hands on his thighs, to give me room to set the plate in front of him.
I have to reach across to set the napkin-wrapped silverware to the side, and the scent of amber citrus floats to my nose.
It’s a warm, soft scent, which is the opposite of his personality.
The plate sitting on the rag between it and my palm is hot, so I’m letting it slide onto the tabletop, but I angle my arm to avoid putting my elbow in his face and the edge of the plate touches my wrist, making me flinch.
It’s a slight flinch, nothing anyone would really notice, it didn’t even burn that much, but he grabs the edges of the plate and quickly sets it on the table.
Worried about him burning his fingers, I suck in a breath and say, “Careful, it’s hot.”
Without acknowledging my warning, or even that it’s hot, he lets go of the plate, and his large hand gently grasps my wrist. The rough calluses of his palm scrape my skin, and he looks at the small pink mark left behind on my skin.
His hand is warm, and his thumb gently slides over the pink spot. My heart doubles its pace as I watch the crotchety, unfriendly man in front of me turn soft as he inspects a tiny spot on my arm like he’s looking for third-degree burns.
The contrast between the tender intention behind the scrutiny of my wrist and the coldness he has expressed every other time he’s seen me is so unexpected that I don’t pull my arm away. The part of me that has read too many romance manuscripts is curious about what he will do next.
Warmth travels up my arm, wrapping my chest, almost melting away the irritation I feel about his treatment the past two times I’ve seen him. I would never have thought this kind of tenderness could live inside a man who seems so uncaring.
It almost takes my breath away.
Seeming satisfied with his inspection, he nods his head and releases my wrist without looking at me and picks up the napkin next to his plate holding the silverware. Almost like he wasn’t just tenderly holding my hand in front of him to make sure I’m okay.
Like a gentleman.
Taking a step back, I wrap my own fingers around where he was, his warmth still hugging my skin. It takes a second to shake off the shock I’m feeling after seeing the night and day transformation in front of me.
Like a traitor, my heart pitter patters in my chest, and I clear my throat as I remind myself that I don’t have any room in my life for attachments. No matter how sweet they can be.
Like I’m not there, he slips from warm back into cold and cuts into his chicken fried steak, so I turn on my heel and go back to work.
Stepping up to the bar to rattle off an order to Stony, Sammy steps up next to me and sets her drink tray on the bar.
“Did I just see Tucker Harlow touching you?” She’s moved close to me and is talking quietly out of the side of her mouth.
Looking around us to make sure no one is listening, the ghost of the calluses on his palm still warming my skin, I nod my head. “The hot plate touched me, and he was checking for a burn.” I look at her sideways, my eyes wide. “It was unusual, to say the least.”
Her eyes flare as she looks at me. “Girl, that man doesn’t have a nice bone in his body, not anymore.”
Keeping my voice low, I watch Stony pour beer into mugs from the tap as I think about Kinley’s kind words about him this morning. “Maybe he’s just misunderstood.”
She snorts softly. “Before he got hurt, he was a huge player, interested only in one thing. He hasn’t even looked at a woman since he was discharged.” She bumps her shoulder against mine. “I think he likes you.”
Casually looking over my shoulder like I’m looking in my section, his eyes lift to meet mine as he puts a bite of mashed potatoes in his mouth. A spark of something that I shouldn’t be feeling ignites in my chest as I wonder if what she says could be true.
The part she shared about him being a player squashes my thoughts, as her description of him scrapes like sandpaper, and disappointment settles over me as I turn to her and clear my throat. “Well, I’m not a one-night-stand kind of girl, so he’s barking up the wrong tree.”
Even a hint of getting back into something that takes away my autonomy and self-esteem makes my stomach twist in knots. I’ll never let that happen again.
The same shoulder that just bumped me shrugs once, and she grins. “Too bad, I’ve heard he’s great in bed and has a big wang.”
Turning my head toward her, I scowl and wrinkle my nose. “Ugh. Gross, Sammy. That doesn’t change anything.” Rolling my eyes, I follow up with, “And besides, I don’t want to be with a man known to every woman in town.”
Stony sets the drinks I’m waiting for on my tray. “It looks like it’s going to be a slow night, I’m letting you go early tonight.” His voice is so loud that it booms across the pub every time he talks.
My heart drops because I need the money. I’ve got a couple more manuscripts to edit since I’ve been here, but I would need twenty more to get the amount of money I need for my car.
Stony’s right, though, the rain has kept some of the regulars away, and there are only two tables in my section with customers, one of which is the aforementioned grump. Since I’m low man on the totem pole, I get sent home before Sammy.
“Okay, when do you want me to clock out?”
His eyes flick to the windows at the front, and Sammy and I do the same. The earlier sprinkle has turned into a downpour, and he looks back at me. “Give it another hour, and you can clock out.”
Nodding, I grab my tray and turn to deliver drinks.
Feeling like I’m being watched, the skin on my arms pimples.
Glancing in Tucker’s direction again, I suck in a breath and ignore the little flip my heart just made in my chest when I make eye contact with him, which he holds for just a second before giving his attention back to his dinner.
I only get one other customer before my hour is up and set my tray on the stack of trays at the end of the bar. My tips are the lowest they’ve been in the two weeks I’ve worked here.
As I turn to go to the back room, Tucker stands from his table in the corner, unfolding his long body from his chair, his eyes on me before he puts his baseball hat on his head and starts limping to the front door.
His shoulders are broad, and even with the limp, he’s damn sexy.
His T-shirt has dried and hangs loose around his narrow waist, his firm butt cheeks shaping his worn jeans.
Flicking my eyes to the floor, I look around to see if anyone caught me looking at his ass, but no one is paying any attention.
Before I leave, I go to his table to clean up, and in the middle is a hundred-dollar bill.
I look over my shoulder at the large, muscular body walking out the door.
Why is he leaving me such large tips? Either he’s being overly generous or, and this thought makes my heart sink and pisses me off at the same time, he’s just warming me up to get me in bed.
If I didn’t need the money so bad, I would listen to the part of me that wants to pretend I don’t and leave it on the table.
In the break room, I untie my apron and toss it in the dirty linen basket before grabbing my purse from my locker in the short row of lockers on one wall.
The rain is blowing against the window, and I huff a breath - I don’t have an umbrella.
The bed-and-breakfast is only a five-minute walk, but I’ll for sure be soaked by the time I get there. With a groan, I walk to the front.
Tucker’s increasingly familiar figure is standing outside the front door, under the black awning.
He’s leaning against the brick next to the window with his thumbs hooked in his pockets.
As I step out of the pub, he turns to me, his eyes locking on mine.
He tips his head toward his large black truck. “I’ll give you a ride.”
It’s not a request. For a couple of seconds, I’m stunned and not sure what to think. Did he leave when he saw me getting ready to go so he could offer me a ride?
He’s waiting for me out here.
A flutter of hope stirs in my stomach, which slightly irritates me, but I tamp down the feeling again with a silent curse.
Reminding myself I’m leaving as soon as my car is fixed and I can pay for the repairs, the last thing I need is to get all giddy and happy like a schoolgirl over a guy who, most likely, is just wanting a piece of ass.
I’m not that girl.
That doesn’t mean I won’t accept an offer to not walk in the pouring rain.
Clearing my throat, I say, “Thank you.”
He only nods as he moves to the passenger door of his truck to open it. The limp is slowing him down, but he doesn’t seem to care that he’s getting soaked. When the door is open, I dart out into the deluge and step up onto the sideboard to climb into the passenger seat.
As I watch him slowly move around the front of the truck, I remember Kinley saying he was going to physical therapy today, and I wonder if he is in pain right now.
The door swings open, and he steps onto the sideboard with his left foot and keeps his weight off his right leg as he sits in his seat.
He’s dripping wet, and even though he would have gotten wet whether he was giving me a ride or not, I feel guilty that he got even wetter by opening the door for me.
“You still at Allison’s place?” He asks when he starts his truck and turns the heater to full blast. I can feel the rumble under my feet when it comes to life. Water is dripping off the bill of his hat onto his lap.
Clearing my throat, I nod as I look at his profile. “Yes.”
He hasn’t looked at me since I stepped out the front door of the pub. It feels like he’s avoiding looking at me as he puts the truck in reverse and pulls out onto the main street. He’s such an enigma, warmth wrapped in a sheet of ice.
It only takes a minute for him to reach the driveway of the B&B, and as he puts it in park, he moves to turn it off, but I stop him. “No, you don’t have to get out to open the door. No use in getting in the rain for that, I’ll do it.”
The exchange feels awkward because he doesn’t look at me when he nods his head again, and I wonder if he can’t wait to be rid of me. He can’t be too much of an asshole if he gave me a ride knowing I would have to walk in the rain otherwise. Right?
But why did he give me a ride after treating me like a bother the last two times I’ve been around him?
I’ve always had a nervous habit of blurting out my thoughts, so I pause with my hand on the door handle. “I thought you didn’t like me.”
He turns his head and looks out the driver’s side window. Silence stretches out for so long that I don’t think he is going to respond, so I look away and pull the door handle.
“You thought wrong.” His deep voice fills the cab, and my head swings in his direction as my hand freezes on the handle.
We only hold eye contact for a moment before he looks away and sets his hand on the gear shift, his usual stoic expression on his face. Reeling a little from the shock of his confession, I get out to run through the rain into the inn.