The Patriot A Small Town Romance - Jennifer Millikin Page 0,64
about to ask Greta how her morning is going when her eyes widen and she turns around faster than I would’ve thought was possible. “I almost forgot,” she says when she turns back around, holding a small box. “You’re new to town, so you don’t know, but we get these delivered once a week.” She sets the box down where her forearms had just been and pushes it to me. As I reach for the box, she says, “Those are from a bakery about ninety minutes away. They’re a big hit, and they don’t last long. I saved a couple for you, but I have to warn you, next week you’re on your own.”
I open the box. Blueberry muffins, and just the sight and smell instantly have my salivary glands doing their job. “Thank you.” I grin excitedly at Greta. “How did you know I love blueberry muffins?”
“Because people who don’t like blueberry muffins are fools, and you are no fool.”
“I like you, Greta.”
“Likewise, dear. Now, what else can I get for you?”
One finger taps the center of my lower lip as I consider the menu. What does Wes like? I’ve seen him eat steak. And a hamburger. He likes meat. I mean, obviously. He’s a cattle rancher. Can there be such a thing as a vegetarian cattle rancher? Talk about a conflict of interest.
“I’ll take two breakfast burritos with bacon, make one spicy please, and a side of homestyle potatoes. Add an avocado toast on whole wheat.” I pause to consider, knowing it’s unlikely Wes is an avocado toast guy, but keep it anyway. I like avocado toast. “And two tall coffees.”
Greta eyes me knowingly. “That’s an awful lot of food for a little thing like you.”
I shrug and go for my best innocent look. Greta wiggles her eyebrows and laughs knowingly. Everyone loves a lover. No matter that it’s one of the fake variety.
She gathers my order and loads it into a paper bag. I hand her my credit card and she swipes it. “Good for you,” she says when she hands the card back to me. “No sense in you being lonely while you’re here.”
“I agree.” I wink at her and slip the small box with the muffins on top of my bag.
“Any chance you want to divulge who kept your bed warm last night?” she asks, her tone cajoling.
I shake my head immediately, then remember it would benefit us for people to start talking. “Well.” I draw out the word. “Let’s just say his name rhymes with Jess Braydon.”
Greta pouts playfully. “Oh, honey, don’t expect me to work out your word quiz. I opened the store this morning.” She glances at a customer who’s just walked in. “See you soon, Dakota.”
I say goodbye and retrace my steps back to the hotel. With the bag balanced in one hand, I slide my key card into the slot and open the door as quietly as I can in case Wes is still sleeping.
Creeping in, I gently place the bag on the small table and look at the bed. No Wes.
My fists curl into tight balls of anger. How could he ghost me again? How could—
The faucet in the bathroom turns on. A breath I didn’t know I was holding rushes out of me. Wes steps from the bathroom. His hair glistens as if he’s just run wet hands through it. He wears only jeans and his smile is an unlikely combination of sexy and bashful. I can’t even begin to discuss the abs that go on for days and days. I will not think about dragging my lips across the plateaus of muscle, or sliding my tongue through the valleys.
When I drag my lust-filled gaze up his body to finally look him in the eyes, I find he’s wearing a smug smirk.
I’m on the verge of telling him to stow that obnoxious grin, but my growling stomach intervenes. “I brought breakfast,” I say, nodding my head at the bag on the table.
Wes nods. “I’m starving.” He removes everything from the bag and spreads it out on the table.
I sit down across from him and swipe the burrito that isn’t labeled ‘spicy’. “I thought you ghosted me again.”
“I know,” he responds, unwrapping the foil from the remaining burrito. “Your face shows your thoughts.”
“I wish you suffered from the same affliction,” I gripe, taking a bite. “You can be difficult to read. And when I say difficult, I mean impenetrable.”
Wes sits back. He is stoic, not saying a word, and