Page 37 of About Yesterday (Foothills #5)

Straight from the horse's mouth

C loud fucking nine. Cole couldn’t remember the last time he felt so… happy. Like, could see that glimmer of hope extending in all directions, long-haul possible. Invincible.

Trace’s GPS guided them back into the main area of town and down a narrow side street to the restaurant.

Pippa may be tenacious, but she had good taste.

Clearly a converted house, now surrounded by the bustling tourist town, the sea-foam green paint on a black-stained sign outside the arched front door welcomed them in, and the scent of bacon wafting out invited him to let his stomach lead the way.

Hand linked with Trace’s, he didn’t want to let go, the connection so new, fragile and terrifying.

He turned the gold-toned knob and pushed open the door.

Bacon was just the beginning. Sausage, cheesy eggs loaded with the good stuff.

Blueberry muffins, cinnamon rolls, and fresh-baked bread.

Having lived with Ellen long enough, he knew how to follow his nose.

Trace hummed a sigh as they stopped on the black tile entry. She relaxed into him, never releasing his hand.

The hostess came over and beamed. “Good morning. Just the two of you?”

“Sutherland party?” Trace asked.

“Of course. You’re the first ones here. Come on back.”

First ones? He flicked up his wrist to check the time, and they were ten minutes early. So they would have had time to pick up where they’d left off. Not that he wanted to rush the first time, so it was probably a good thing that they’d hurried out of the room.

What used to be the parlor was now a dining area with six small tables.

The hostess walked them down the short hallway to the next room, maybe the former primary bedroom, and was doubly inviting thanks to a fire going in the river rock hearth in the corner.

Black lacquered tables had been pushed together with seating for fourteen.

There were tea candles in sparkly holders down the length of the table, white wooden chairs and sea-foam green napkins rolled up in gold napkin rings.

The wood floors creaked underfoot as they stepped into the cozy room.

He followed Trace, and she led the way to the other side of the table.

Their backs would be to the long window that looked out over another parking lot next to a series of shops, a secondary street beyond that, then hotels, then the ocean.

Not his favorite, to sit so exposed, but he was hell and gone from any threats.

No intel unreported, no targets assigned. Free and fucking clear.

While the hostess pulled out Trace’s chair, he stepped back and nodded that he could get his own.

“Coffees?” she offered.

“Please,” they answered simultaneously, a little too desperately.

Cole dropped into the chair next to Trace and put his arm on the back of her chair.

She turned toward him, propping her feet on the bottom rung of his chair. She set her elbows on her knees and grinned at him. Watching him, her expression bright with a bliss that matched his own, she opened her mouth to say something, then closed it again.

Fuck it. He cupped his hand at the back of her neck and touched his lips to hers. So raw, intense, he ached deep in his gut, ravenous for her. He was done tiptoeing around her and fearing she’d run away again.

Seeming to be on the same page, she shifted closer on her chair. She spread one hand on his chest for balance as she swept her tongue deeply over his, then dove in for more.

His pulse accelerated as fast as her breathing, as urgent as the kiss, and the world around them melted away.

Footsteps creaked down the short hallway, and he quickly released her, but it was too late.

“Aw,” Haley fussed, stopping under the arched entry to the room.

Cole bit his bottom lip as he pulled back, and relented to a blush.

“Hi,” Trace said, passing her friend a loving but undoubtedly threatening look, holding until Haley acknowledged.

Finn sauntered in, setting his hands on Haley’s hips as he came in behind her. “Damn something smells good. I’m hungry.”

Haley finished the look with Trace and gave her a knowing, secret-filled nod, that they’d talk later so please don’t acknowledge just yet.

The table gradually filled up. Asher’s parents gushed over how nice it was to see Cole.

Funny, as they knew he was more of a negative influence on their son despite Asher being a few years older.

Whenever he had seen them, it was more because Trace and Pippa were friends, not because Asher invited him to hang out with his family.

Hand resting on the back of Trace’s chair, he leaned in and whispered in her ear now and again.

Not because he had secrets to tell, but because he craved the nearness, hearing her laugh, and god fucking help him, because he loved the way she looked back at him, filled with adoration and he couldn’t wait to get her alone again.

Like she’d taken a sledgehammer to the wall that had separated this part of them, and he couldn’t wait to demolish every last fragment of it.

His fried eggs over sweet potato hash with chipotle sauce were delivered from the server’s right hand, Trace’s smoked salmon and goat cheese omelet coming in from the left. While they waited for the others to get their food, he leaned in to ask Trace, “Bite for a bite?”

Full blush flaming, she tongued the back of her canine as she turned to look at him. “Always,” she answered, driving a stake straight through his heart.

Unable to resist, he leaned in and kissed her. Just once, not too long, but Pippa’s enthusiasm vibrated the entire restaurant. “Ha. Success,” she hissed joyously. “I knew it.”

Sophie rolled her eyes and reached around to squeeze her friend’s opposite shoulder as she tugged her close, loving with a hint of threat. “Don’t get cocky. If I were them, I might be plotting my revenge.”

Cole leaned back and looked over his shoulder, watching the town waking up as he dodged the bullet of admitting he appreciated the devious move.

“When you least expect it,” Trace said with wicked delight.

The rain had let up and the sun pushed through a narrow break in the clouds, its glow glinting gold off the asphalt.

Shopkeepers strolled in to the backs of the shops across the parking lot to open for the day.

Tourists let their hoods down, beanies and French braids and ponytails secured tight, however, to combat the wind.

A single guy leaned against a light pole down the street, isolated in a narrow strip of shadow. Playing on his phone, looking up now and again. His hands must be freezing. A few feet to the side, and the scrap of sun would be much more comfortable.

His baseball cap masked his face. Not a very practical hat if he wanted to walk on the beach. The wind would flip that right up and over and carry it away like a kite with a snapped string.

“Cole?” Trace said, turning and resting her fingers on his jaw.

“Yeah?” he answered in a low voice without looking.

“Everything okay? Your food is getting cold.”

Her words bounced around in his brain without landing.

The man’s focus was controlled. He sure as hell wasn’t a local, and slim chance he was a tourist. Cole bit down on the side of his tongue, unable to look away.

The man suddenly turned away and lifted his phone to his ear. Almost out of sight, the man plucked off his cap and waved at someone. Full on chatting now, he walked efficiently out of sight.

Nothing. Just paranoia. Cole blinked away the moment and turned back toward his plate.

“Well, what’s left of it. I helped myself…” Trace said, worry leaching into her teasing manner.

He dragged himself fully into the moment and nudged her knee with his. He glared down at his plate. “Did you take my sausage?”

She snorted a laugh and shook her head, tipping a subtle accusation toward his other neighbor. “I know you better than that.”

At the end of the table next to him, Freya had her fork stabbed into the sausage, smiling as she ripped off a bite.

Next to her, Zane took a piece of bacon from Freya’s plate and tossed it onto Cole’s, winking at his wife as he did. Quietly, Zane tipped a nod to Cole. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Cole answered quickly. Everyone at the table was happily chatting, but Asher had been watching him, too.

Fuck, these guys were probably just as bad as he was, aware of every shadow.

“Old habits,” Cole added casually. He plucked up the bacon and snapped off a bite, tipping a teasing eyebrow at Freya as he did.

She hooted a laugh and scooped up a bite of her buckwheat pancake.

“You passed,” Sophie said, nodding with a goofily serious pride.

“I what?” he asked, not pausing as he hashed his last egg with sweet potato chunks.

“Not that it’s actually a test. Freya is a thief, but she always pays back and then some, usually with an original piece of art.”

Freya stole a hunk of bacon from Zane’s plate and munched another bite. “By value. It’s usually a win-win.”

“So what, do I get a cocktail napkin doodle for this?” he asked, snapping off another bite of bacon.

She shrugged and shared a mysterious look, as if she hadn’t decided yet. The table exploded with teases about clothing theft and historical paybacks, bouncing until the conversation migrated back to Pippa’s setup last night.

Trace lowered her hand and splayed it over his thigh, a gentle reassurance without bringing attention to the fact that he was miles away from the conversation. “Pippa’s got it coming,” Trace said, nose scrunched as she bounced her promised revenge with the increasingly one-upping table.

“Look at you, all happy and snuggly. Why would you question my methods, when they work?” Pippa beamed with her glowing honey eyes, flipping her hair back and laughing gleefully. Damn, Cole wished he had even half of that energy.