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CHAPTER FIFTEEN

“Did something happen?” Badger asks as soon as I walk into the kitchen and hand him Jasper’s order.

“No. Just another rich customer checking out The Ugly Shrimp ,” I reply—maybe a bit too quickly—but what exactly could I say?

Nothing happened, except that for the third time in twenty-four hours, I came face-to-face with a man who’s apparently awakened every single sexual hormone in my body, who looks at me like he wants to strip me bare, but whose mouth keeps telling me to stay away.

“Then why do you look nervous?”

“I’m not.”

“Did the jerk try anything with you?”

“Okay, boss, let’s get something straight: I hope whatever’s going on between you and my mom works out, but I’m an adult. And for the record, it was my mom who told me to start enjoying life a little more—which is exactly what I plan to do on my day off tomorrow.”

“Alexis, you’ve said more in thirty seconds than you have all month. If the guy’s not bothering you and just getting under your skin, that’s fine—but you know I’m always here if you need anything.”

“I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“Hearing that from you sounds like a joke. I’m a jackass most of the time. What you might not have noticed is that I’m overprotective too.”

For the first time since Jasper walked into the restaurant, I manage a real smile. “Really? Never would’ve guessed.”

Looking back, I realize that even when I had no idea he and Mom were involved, Badger was always hovering around us—like he was wrapping us in an invisible hug.

I now remember all the little things, like how every time something broke at home, he showed up to fix it.

Maybe in his and my mom’s case, that old saying “dripping water hollows stone” worked literally.

I never thought she’d ever consider dating again, but after our last conversation, I’m starting to believe there’s something very real between them.

“Smartass.” He laughs. “You sure you don’t want to switch sections?”

“Why would she?” the waiter who just walked into the kitchen jumps in. “She’s the one who asked to take the rich guy’s table.”

I feel the blood rush straight to my face, and I know Badger’s not going to let that slide without an explanation.

“You knew him already?”

“Yeah. I mistook him for the guy who was supposed to check out Mom’s boat this morning. I think he’s just here on vacation.”

“Look, I don’t want to butt into your life or go against your mom’s advice, but can you at least be careful? I know dating’s not your thing.”

“Not for lack of suitors,” the same nosy waiter pipes up, raising an eyebrow in mock seriousness.

“Shut up,” I mutter, then turn back to Badger. “Relax. I just thought he was good-looking.”

“Those young men who visit Cape Cod . . .”

“He’s not a young man. He’s a grown man.” I don’t mention his age because I doubt my future stepdad would be thrilled to hear he’s only seven years older than the guy who makes my knees feel like jelly.

And really, that doesn’t matter at all. The chance of Jasper becoming my boyfriend is about as likely as me spending my next vacation on Mars.

“Don’t worry, okay? I’ll just take care of his table and then clock out.”

I picked up an early shift today, and whenever that happens, Badger lets me leave a bit ahead of schedule.

Tonight, I’ve got a special reason: my own little celebration.

Usually, I mark it quietly at home, but following Mom’s advice to enjoy life more, I’m going bold tonight: I’m getting a single-scoop cone and walking along the boardwalk.

Half an hour later, I approach Mr. Gorgeous’s table with his main course.

I didn’t come back to talk about the wine—I asked the sommelier Badger hired last week to handle that—and I didn’t serve his starter either.

All the courage I had for flirting with Jasper before he got to the restaurant vanished the second, I got close to him.

I’m not bold. I’m careful. And every instinct in me says to tread carefully. I’d be an idiot not to listen.

“I hope you enjoyed the starter,” I say as formally as I can to the demigod who’s looking at me in that unique way of his. Like he’s scanning my soul—and at the same time, not letting me read a single thing he’s thinking.

He doesn’t answer right away, and I grip the tray tighter, so I don’t make a scene and drop it.

“Why didn’t you come back?”

“It wasn’t my job to help you pick the wine. That’s what the sommelier’s for.”

“But it was your job to serve the starter.”

“Was the service poor?”

“No. But I wanted it to be you.”

“Why?”

“Because I like the way you talk to me.”

“What way is that?”

“Like you couldn’t care less what I think of you.”

“I don’t know how to be any other way. If I offended you, I’m sorry. Like I told you before, I’m a little antisocial and sometimes I come off as rude.”

“You didn’t say you were antisocial. You said you don’t like talking.” He’s speaking very close now as I set the plate down in front of him. The heat coming from him is so intense that I have to move more carefully not to melt around him.

“I thought it was the same thing. Being antisocial and not liking to talk.”

“No. I’m antisocial. I only like a few people in the world—never crowds. But I do enjoy talking to certain humans, specifically.”

“Like me, for example,” I say, finally able to breathe again, feeling a smile form even though I try to fight it.

God, I’m such an idiot for feeling special just because this arrogant man is giving me attention—but there’s nothing I can do. It’s like this warm rush in my chest. Like being chosen for an exclusive club only a few ever get into.

“Like you, for example.”

“Aren’t you going to try the food?”

“Will you sit and talk to me?”

“I can’t.”

“Because you’ve got more tables?”

“No. Actually, yours will be the last one because I came in early today. I couldn’t sit with you anyway—you’re a customer. But mostly because I have plans afterward.”

Something like a shadow passes behind his eyes, but it disappears as quickly as it came. “Going out with friends?”

“I don’t have friends, remember?”

“I didn’t mean actual friends.”

“Oh.” He meant a boyfriend . “No. I’m going to a celebration with myself.”

“What does that look like?”

“Your fish is going to get cold.”

“Answer me.”

“I’m getting an ice cream cone and walking along the boardwalk to celebrate my rescue.”

“You were kidnapped?”

“No. My rescue from the orphanage. Have a great dinner, Mr. Jasper,” I say, bolting before I say something more.

Jesus, what is it about this man that makes me babble like an idiot? I don’t usually talk this much about myself.

“Badger, is it okay if another waiter closes out table twelve?” I ask as soon as I walk back into the kitchen.

“I don’t mind. But your crush probably will.”

“He’s not my crush . He lives in another dimension, and I’ve got both feet planted firmly on the ground.”