Busted (Promise Harbor Wedding) - By Sydney Somers Page 0,7
the best. And probably the only reason he happened to be looking toward the front door in time to see Hayley step inside.
She gave the crowded dining room only a cursory glance before making her way to the front counter. A couple on their way out waved at her in passing and she smiled in return.
Jackson searched his memory for that smile, but couldn’t recall much beyond Hayley always slipping from sight, her expression so serious, guarded. The blonde chewing on her bottom lip, one hand tucked in her back pocket, looked far more comfortable in her own skin than the withdrawn, often angry teenager he remembered.
The same one who’d intrigued the hell out of him even back then.
Leaving his friend for a moment, Jackson approached the counter. Within a few feet he noticed the smear of mint-green paint on her cheek and the wild tendrils of hair that had escaped the clip she used to pull the blonde mass back from her face.
She’d exchanged her pants and black shirt for a pair of faded jeans with a rip in one knee and paint-stained T-shirt. Any woman he’d spent time with would never have left the house without taking at least twenty minutes in the bathroom, let alone wearing painting clothes. Although besides his mother, he couldn’t think of another woman he knew who would be painting anything more than her nails.
It took a few seconds to realize that Hayley seemed to be looking everywhere in the room except at him. Just his imagination?
He edged a little closer, enough that anyone would have sensed a subtle invasion of personal space. She didn’t so much as glance in his direction. Definitely avoiding him. Interesting.
“Hi.”
Hayley took just long enough to look his way to confirm his suspicion that she’d known he was there all along. A polite nod and smile were all she spared him before flagging down a passing waitress to ask about her takeout order.
“Don’t you guys usually favor doughnut places?”
“You watch too many cop shows.”
“It’ll be just another few minutes, Hayley.” A different waitress emerged from the kitchen with a tray loaded with hickory burgers and fries.
Jackson’s stomach growled in protest as the tray went in the opposite direction of his and Josh’s table.
“No problem. Thanks, Pam.” Hayley’s smile faded when she noticed he hadn’t returned to his table.
“So people do call you by your first name.”
She picked at a blotch of dried paint on her thigh. “Some of them have even been doing it since I was born.”
He grinned at her sarcasm. “Does that mean I get to call you Hayley too, seeing as we’ve known each other since grade school?”
“You’ve known my brother since grade school,” she corrected.
“So what should I call you?”
She leveled those sharp eyes on him, and he fought the urge not to squirm for some reason. “How about Detective?”
A man in his late forties, wearing an apron covered in what Jackson would have bet was Barney’s famed hickory sauce, emerged from the kitchen with a paper bag in hand. “Here you go, Hayley.”
“Thanks, Roger.” She dug into her pocket, but the guy just waved her off.
“That’s for the one you didn’t get to finish a couple weeks back after that car chase.”
Hayley glanced at the door as if gauging how quickly she could make her escape. It was the first expression she’d made that he recognized.
Jackson slid two feet to the right, putting himself in her path. “Car chase?”
“Some lunatic three counties over robbed a 7-Eleven. Hayley ran him off the road, then tackled the bastard when he tried to get away on foot.”
Giving Jackson a wide berth, Hayley nodded at the cook. “Night, Roger.”
Jackson stayed on her heels. “So you’re some kind of hero, huh?”
She shook her head. “Hardly.”
“Ran a guy down and tackled him? I’m impressed.”
Her eyes searched his like she wasn’t sure if he meant that or not. “Don’t be. I’ve seen eighty-year-old women lining up for early-bird bingo move faster than that moron.”
Jackson reached the door first, but didn’t push the glass open. “You never said when I could make things up to you.”
“Are we still talking about the truck thing? That’s not necessary. Just water under the bridge, right?” She inclined her head toward his arm. “Are you actually going to open the door or are you waiting for a ref to blow a whistle first?”
Jackson laughed, but still didn’t open the door. The pleasant buzz of alcohol hummed through his veins, the effect magnified by an incredibly