Page 9 of The Accidental (Redemption Inc.)

“Thank you,” Feb said, as much for herself as for her diners who Dylan had gone out of their way to make feel special. “You didn’t have to do all this, but they’ll appreciate it. I appreciate it.”

Blush deepening, Dylan averted their gaze, tracking Feb’s hand as she set the glass aside, then sliding to her open notebook still on the counter. “You still making menu revisions?”

“The sunchoke soup was a hit tonight. Swapping it out.”

“You’re always making it work.”

Feb took a deep breath, then stepped into the opening Dylan had presented. “I was afraid I hadn’t with you.”

Dylan continued to look anywhere but at Feb.

Not a good sign. Was the spark Feb felt between them one-sided?

Was she just imaging the heat in their gaze and the invitation in their smile?

Was Dylan just being polite and professional?

Had Feb really fucked things up that badly?

“I’m sorry that I just left Friday night. ”

They ducked their chin and ran a hand over the back of their neck.

Feb sensed they would’ve run it over their head too if not for the mohawk.

“It’s not you,” they said, then immediately jerked their chin up, apology swirling in their green gaze.

“Fuck, scratch that. No one ever wants to hear that line.” They dropped their hand, and for the first time that night, Feb glimpsed the tension they’d been hiding all service long.

The tightness in their shoulders and back, the divot between their eyes, the clench and fist of their hands, like even their fingers hurt.

“Some family shit hit the fan. That was where I was yesterday.”

“Is everyone okay?”

Dylan swiped Feb’s drink and drained the rest of it. “TBD.”

“If you need to take more time?—”

“I need to be here,” Dylan said, stepping closer as if they couldn’t help it, and hope flared inside Feb. She shifted on her stool, heels propped on the rung so her knees were bent on either side of Dylan’s hips. “Feb,” Dylan murmured, equal parts want and warning in their voice.

Feb took her chances on the first, snagging the end of their tie and drawing them closer. “Are we still on for Tuesday night?”

“I shouldn’t,” Dylan said, even as their expression said the opposite.

“Why?”

“Said family shit. I love them, but it’s complicated.”

“Let’s try not complicated.” Feb drew them the rest of the way in, straightening so they were at eye level, noses and lips a scant distance apart. “Do you want to go out with me Tuesday night?”

“Yes.” Zero hesitation.

Feb grinned. “Do you want me to kiss you right now?”

“Fuck yes.”

Green light.

And Feb didn’t hesitate to speed ahead, slamming their mouths together and claiming the kiss she’d wanted all night.

Had fantasized about the past two days. Hell, since Dylan Jacks had first entered her restaurant.

Dylan didn’t hold back either, their tongue tangling with Feb’s, their arms circling her neck and resting on Feb’s shoulders, their body as snug to Feb’s as it could be given their position and clothing.

Shame, that. The nook, barely larger than an airplane bathroom, didn’t hold nearly the possibilities of the bar, or better yet, a bed at her place or Dylan’s.

Some place she could kiss and tease every inch of the rockin’ body her hands were skating over, could see if the rest of Dylan flushed as lovely as their cheeks, could find out if the graceful movements she vaguely remembered through the whiskey haze of the other night held true as Dylan came apart at the seams from pleasure.

Dylan rocked their hips, causing Feb to moan, to drop a hand lower and clutch an ass cheek, holding Dylan closer, craving the friction. “Fuck, Feb,” Dylan gasped against her lips. “Tell me what you want.”

She whined, and Dylan’s answering chuckle was enough to break through the lust. Drawing back, she rested her forehead against Dylan’s. “I want more than this tiny little room can offer.”

“I could make it work,” Dylan said, lips trailing a path along her jaw. “Sit you up on that counter, haul down these yoga pants you love so much.” They snapped the elastic fiber on her thigh, the pop going straight to Feb’s already throbbing clit. “Eat the chef for a late-night snack.”

Wet heat pooled between her legs. Shame that too, because now that Feb actually had a date for Valentine’s Day, she wanted to make the most of it.

She playfully shoved Dylan back, a modicum of space between her body that was aching for release and the person she wanted to share that release with.

“I did not need to know you were good with the dirty talk.” Dylan’s sly smirk and dark, heated gaze were almost her undoing, but Feb held firm.

“And I want to hear more Tuesday night, but tomorrow, you’re off. ”

Their brows drew together. “But it’s prep day.”

“Exactly. You know the menu, you know the drink.” She flicked a glance at the empty glass, then back to the too-tempting bartender who’d concocted it.

“Take tomorrow to take care of your family, then I’m going to take care of you and us Tuesday night.

I want that date, Dylan,” she said. “And everything that comes after, especially the snacks.”