couple of hours, I’m going to enjoy this weird sense of peace.
“Right this way.” The hostess grabs two menus and escorts us through the restaurant.
The place is decorated like a log cabin with little country sayings and pictures on the walls. The booths are covered in a burnt-orange vinyl, probably to make it easier to clean up after the families filling most seats.
My hand goes to the small of Haley’s back as we venture through the other patrons. She glances at me out of the corner of her eye and gives me a shy smile unlike the ones I usually get from her.
The scent of vanilla ripples off her body. It winds around me, almost luring me closer to her. My fingers press into the fabric of her shirt, craving the contact, as we approach an open booth in the back.
I remind myself to behave, to remember who she is and who she isn’t. She’s not a woman I’m taking out as a precursor to a quick fuck after. She’s not that at all.
That might just be why I like her.
And that’s just plain weird.
“Here you go.” The menus are dropped on the table. “Your server is Delia, and she’ll be with you in a few minutes.”
“Sounds good.”
I wait for Haley to sit before taking my seat across from her.
“I figured a steakhouse was a safe bet,” I say, resting my forearms on the table. “With all the food issues you didn’t have . . .”
She puts her purse on the chair beside her. “I didn’t want to seem too picky. I hate when people list off all the things they refuse to eat. If it’s a food allergy or something, I get it. That’s different. But if you’re just making my life hard by refusing to eat beef that’s not grass fed . . .” She shakes her head. “I’m not into that kind of pickiness.”
“Lorene promised me this was a good spot.”
“Ah, I heard about you and Lorene,” she says, leaning my way. “I heard through the grapevine you were doing chores for her and you took her to breakfast.”
“You tell that grapevine named Claire to mind her own business,” I joke. “But, yeah, I did take her to eat and moved some pictures around. She’s very grandmotherly.”
She grins. “That she is. Has she given you pie yet?”
“No, but I smelled something pretty amazing before I left the inn tonight. I have high hopes.”
“If you want another dinner with me, you’re going to have to bring me some of Lorene’s pie. And don’t try to get a counterfeit piece, because I’ll know.”
I laugh, watching her eyes dance. “I saw you with a doughnut. I can only imagine what you’d do over pie.”
God, no, don’t go there, Kelly. Watching her gorgeous lips surround the pie-filled fork would probably unman me. If she groaned one time . . .
“I’m not even going to pretend to be embarrassed by or dispute that,” she says with a hint of defiance.
I grab a menu, needing to change the subject quick. “Have you been here before?”
“Yes, actually. And I love it here. The food is super good and not overpriced.” She picks up her menu. “I can’t eat food that costs more than what I make in a day.”
I lower my menu. “So if I told you my favorite meal is a filet mignon with crab at Morris’s Steakhouse in Nashville, you’d be . . .”
She lowers her menu too. “How much is it?”
“Oh, like a hundred bucks or something. With sides,” I add in as her eyes go wide.
“That’s ridiculous, Trevor.”
“It’s really good.”
Her menu slowly rises until it covers her eyes.
“Are you judging me over there?” I ask. “I can feel your judginess through the menu, and I don’t appreciate it.”
“No. You waste your money however you feel necessary. No judgment here.”
“You’re a brat,” I say with a laugh. An adorable, beautiful brat. But still a brat.
Our attention is drawn to the side as a woman with a name tag reading DELIA approaches. “Welcome,” she says, pulling an order form out of her apron. “I’m Delia, as you can probably read. And pardon the ketchup I’m currently wearing. A three-year-old didn’t appreciate the macaroni and cheese and let me know that with gusto.”
Haley giggles. “No macaroni and cheese, then. Got it.”
“Sorry.” She blows her bangs out of her eyes. “So what can I start you off with tonight?”
I look across the table at the deep-brown eyes staring back at me. “What would you