Page 2 of Glitches and Kisses (The Havenwood #2)
“Gentlemen,” he said smoothly, stepping back just slightly. “Your patience is about to be rewarded. Dinner’s almost up, and I have it on good authority that it’ll be worth the wait.”
Elliott smiled, lifting his glass. “Then I suppose we’re in your hands, Evan.”
Evan flashed that insufferable confident and cute expression, but when his eyes found mine, something in his expression sharpened. His focus dipped to the coffee in front of me, then slid back up to my face.
“Careful,” he said, voice low and smooth. “Keep looking at me like that and I’ll start thinking you missed me.”
My mouth opened, then closed again. I did not look at him like anything. Or did I? Heat crawled up the back of my neck, and I reached for my coffee just to give my hands something to do. “I wasn’t,” I said, too quickly. “Looking. Like anything.”
Evan’s smile deepened. He knew exactly what he was doing. “Sure you weren’t. Enjoy, fellas.”
And just like that, he stepped back, leaving me with my cup of coffee, a racing heart, and absolutely no idea how to respond like a functioning adult. Then he was gone again.
Heat surged through me, low, steady, unmistakable. The curls at the base of his neck, the smirk that carried too much swagger for anyone’s good, the way he looked at me like he already knew what I tasted like. It was ridiculous. Infuriating. Completely distracting.
What is this feeling? What is going on?
And then I blinked and realized I was just holding the cup. I hadn’t even taken a sip.
Jesus.
I lifted it to my lips, finally, letting the warmth settle into something quieter. Something grounding. Something that wasn’t him or the result of him in my groin.
“So,” Elliott said, watching me with a knowing smile, “when should we plan to return for a second dinner?”
I didn’t answer right away.
Because for the first time that evening, I wasn’t entirely sure.
Havenwood was nestled in the Appalachian Mountains of western North Carolina, about forty-five minutes outside Asheville.
People liked to call Asheville its louder, more commercial sister, full of craft breweries, street performers, and the looming tourist magnet that was Biltmore.
Havenwood had its own rhythm. Smaller. Quieter.
But still full of soul. An arts district that pulsed with local creativity, restaurants that didn’t need a waitlist to be memorable, bars where everyone knew your name or at least your drink order.
It didn’t try as hard to be anything. It just was.
Stepping out of The Rivermere Bistro, I drew in a breath of cool evening air.
March in Havenwood was unpredictable, with spring close, but winter not quite gone.
A light chill lingered, laced with the scent of rain and the last traces of snow.
The breeze carried hints of espresso and herbs still clinging to my clothes after staying inside longer than I planned.
I felt full. More than just in the literal sense.
Dinner had been so good. The kind of meal that felt like a slow, indulgent reward, every bite expertly crafted, every sip of coffee perfectly bitter. The chicken was moist, the vegetables perfectly seasoned, and the sauce had been so damn good that I had nearly scraped the plate clean.
And despite my best efforts of self-sabotage, I enjoyed myself.
Elliott, the smug bastard that he was, had been good company.
He always had a way of drawing conversation out of me, whether I wanted to participate or not.
Somewhere between reminiscing about old college pranks and bickering over his insistence that John Adams by David McCullough was the greatest book ever written (it wasn’t), my guard had slipped, just a little.
Elliott was a history teacher at Havenwood High and a damn good friend.
One of those rare ones that gets me and loves me in spite of and because of all the little quirks I have.
As we walked toward our cars, I sighed, shoving my hands into my pockets.
“Alright,” I admitted. “I might have been a little grumpy when we got here.”
Elliott snorted. “A little?”
I shot him a flat look. “Fine. Moderately.”
“Try ‘actively difficult’, but I do appreciate your self-awareness.”
I rolled my eyes and smiled.
“Either way, thanks for making me go. Dinner was really good.”
Elliott beamed. “High praise coming from you.”
I didn’t dignify that with a response.
Elliott watched me for a moment, then said more gently, “Do you ever think you’ll date again? I’m not trying to set you up or anything. Just… genuinely concerned about you.”
I looked down and stared at a crack in the sidewalk. “Mark really fucked that whole thing up. I’m not letting someone else hold that much power in my life again.”
Elliott nodded slowly. “You were really hurt. But let’s stop talking about Mark. He’s an asshole. Just… think about it, okay?” He offered the smallest smile. “Underneath the grumpy exterior, I know there’s a good guy with an even bigger heart.”
I shot him a look and hissed, “Jesus, Elliott, you trying to ruin my street cred? Say one more thing about my heart and I’ll cry on your sweater just to make it weird.”
Elliott laughed as he opened his arms and said, “Patel, may I have a hug?” And I did.
I am not the warm fuzzy type, not by a long shot, but I hugged him back, solid and real. Elliott is one of the few people I let in, and his hugs have always had a way of reminding me I’m not as alone as I sometimes convince myself I am.
I let go and reached for my car door, but something made me hesitate. A ripple of movement through the restaurant’s wide windows caught my attention, drawing my look back inside.
Evan.
He was behind the counter, laughing at something, a full-bodied, unrestrained kind of amusement that lit up his entire face.
His head tilted back slightly, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and for a brief moment, it was like he existed just a little more freely than everyone else in the room.
Like the world wasn’t pressing down on him the way it did on other people.
I turned away quickly, gripping the steering wheel a little too tightly as I slid into my seat.
This is nothing. It doesn’t matter. And I decided I would make no plans to come back to the Bistro to see Ev… to eat.