she was believing she was relieved to have a break from him and his charisma, she’d seen his truck at the Methodist church. Of course he’d be there.
She’d pulled in. Not because of Jake’s truck, of course. One of her crew members had asked her to stop by. But she didn’t mind that Jake was there, too.
Then he’d brought her a sandwich.
Instead of the simple wave he’d been giving her all day, he’d approached her when she was done talking to Jeff and handed her a sandwich.
“I’m guessing you haven’t eaten all day,” was all he said.
She thought that was all it was going to be, but then he’d leaned in and kissed her cheek.
The sandwich was ham salad and not her favorite. Yet there she stood, watching him walk away, feeling a little . . . affected.
Avery pulled into the lot and parked her car beside the restaurant and bar known simply as A Bar. The real name of the place was Sorry Mom, We Bought A Bar, the tongue-in-cheek name the twin-sister owners had come up with when their mother said, “Can’t you do something more important with your life?”
Avery stayed in the car for a moment, breathing deeply. This was going to be fine. She didn’t disagree that Chance could use some fun, something positive to get caught up in, something to take their minds off the cleanup and insurance claims they were dealing with. Just that morning, she’d seen a reference to Chance on the news. Words like devastation and heartbreak had jumped out at her.
Was a bonfire with toasted marshmallows only a few days after the twister too soon? Maybe. Did it seem that they weren’t taking the disaster seriously and were making light of the losses? Possibly. Was a truck driving around town, filled with ice, bottled water, and Gatorade and blasting fun party music as people cleaned up a little overboard? Yes. But was Chance devastated or heartbroken? No. Chance was a wonderful place with warm people who’d been hit by a wave of bad luck. Period.
Avery could get behind anything that made the people of Chance smile and hope for the best. And if that included having a drink with Jake in the most public place in town and being civil, respectful, even friendly, then she was in. No matter what havoc it might play with her emotions. Not to mention her hormones.
Avery finally got out of the car and started up the sidewalk from the parking lot to the front door of the bar.
As long as she and Jake kept their hands to themselves in private, things would be fine.
Or avoided being in private together. Yes, that would be even better.
She shook her head.
Jake was just a guy. A good guy. A hot guy. But just a guy. There were other good, hot guys in Chance. More important, Jake was a good, hot guy who lived three hundred miles away, who visited Chance four times a year, and who had a reputation and personality that would no doubt take him even farther from Chance in the future. Jake was destined for great things. Big things. Things much more important than Chance. And her.
She needed to not let him under her skin. She needed to not daydream about his kisses. She needed to not get all tingly when she saw him smile, or go all soft when she heard he was looking for a puppy. She needed to—
“Hey.”
She needed to not feel all warm and . . . affected . . . when he said one-syllable words.
She took a deep breath and turned. “Hey.”
“We need a story.” He took her upper arm in his big, warm hand and pulled her around the far corner of the building.
She was, of course, instantly reminded of the way he’d backed her up against the door in the conference room.
That had been kind of private. As was this.
“A story?” She had to keep her cool. Jake had always picked up on the slightest sign from her that she was reacting, that he’d had an effect.
“About what happened in the shed during the tornado.”
She met his gaze, the memory of what had happened in the shed playing in her mind like an erotic film.
Dammit.
If she let her guard down and got any closer—and she’d essentially promised the mayor and Shelby that she would do exactly that—it was going to really suck when Jake left town.
Because he would leave.
And she’d still be here.
“Why do we need a story?”
“There