Virgin Seeks Bad Boy (Bliss River #3) - Lili Valente Page 0,76

onto our stools and I signal Sophie for two coffees. “That the new neighbor? The one who bought the Parker place?”

“Yep.” I fold my arms on top of the bar, keeping my gaze out the window where the morning sun paints the vineyards hazy shades of pink and gold, determined not to give Ms. Haverford another second of my attention. “That’s the one.”

“She doesn’t look like Satan’s little sister,” Rafe observes, clearly amused. “In fact, she’s pretty damned cute. Petite, but curvy, and those eyes…” He hums appreciatively. “I’ve never seen eyes that big and blue in real life. Almost like a cartoon, but sexy. Is that crazy?”

I shake my head, determined to shut this down before it goes any further. “Yes. It’s crazy. Don’t even start with her. She’s the enemy. Stroker had all but signed over the deed to that property. Then she swooped in, offered ten grand over the asking price, and now suddenly he’s got to think things over.”

Rafe shrugs. “Ten grand is a lot of money.”

“I’ve been helping him bring in his harvest every October since I was twelve years old. I’m like a grandson to him—his words—and that’s not how you’re supposed to treat family.” I let out a long breath and drop my volume, making sure my next words are for Rafe’s ears only. “And she doesn’t date, anyway. Word through the grapevine is she’s turned down every guy who’s asked her out. Prefers staying home alone with a book.”

A book she probably looks really hot reading in those sexy glasses…

“That may be so,” Rafe says, a wicked grin curving his lips. “But she hasn’t had a Hunter man ask her out, has she?” His smile widens. “Or is that really why you can’t stand her, bro? Did you ask and she said no?”

I make a just-drank-lemon-juice-straight face that I hope expresses how much offense I take to his suggestion. “Hell, no. All I want from that woman is for her to stop interfering with this deal, stop complaining when I rip out blackberry bushes along the shared property line, stop riding her bicycle through town and slowing down traffic, and quit taking up a stool at my coffee shop and ruining my favorite half hour of the day.”

“Two coffees, extra cream and just a little sugar,” Sophie says, setting down two heavy white mugs on the scarred bar. “What else can I get you? Biscuit? Cinnamon roll? I’ve also got oatmeal with almonds and honey this morning.”

Rafe orders a cinnamon roll, and I opt for the oatmeal. Sophie shouts the order to the two younger women working the kitchen and then turns back to Rafe with a warm smile. “What’re you doing in town so early, doll? When was the last time you were in for morning coffee? A year ago, maybe two?”

From there, the conversation turns to the fire that consumed Rafe’s shop/apartment in downtown Santa Rosa, as well as a trendy restaurant, a tattoo parlor, and several other shops. Sophie—who has always had a soft spot for Rafe—clucks and fusses over him, repeating what everyone in our family’s said at least a dozen times since we got the call from him yesterday letting us know he was safe.

“Well, at least you’re okay. You’re the only thing that can’t be replaced.” She lays a freckled hand on his forearm and gives it a squeeze. “And it’s good to have you back in town. Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

“I won’t,” Rafe promises, nodding my way. “This one has to have the good stuff every morning, so I expect I’m going to be a regular.”

Sophie nods seriously, setting the red-and-gray bun atop her head bobbing. “Good. Life’s too short to drink shitty coffee. Dylan gets it. Learn from him. He’s a smart kid.”

Rafe laughs. “Smarter than he looks, anyway.”

I narrow my eyes, but that only makes the bastard laugh harder. He’s in excellent spirits for a man who just lost half a million dollars in vintage Harleys and parts. But they were insured, and Rafe has never been the kind to sweat the small stuff.

Or the big stuff. He doesn’t sweat much, in fact. He just jumps on his chopper and heads for the hills when things get hairy.

If anyone’s going to be learning lessons around here, it should be me. Rafe would never have let himself get so tangled up in a web of obligation that it’s going to require surgical extraction to get my life back on a track of my