Page 5

HOLT

I have the best family in the world.

Well, technically, Jeff is a friend. But that’s just semantics.

“I can’t believe you got him a new job that quick.” Merit shakes her head in awe. “It was who? Your friend’s dad?”

“My best friend’s dad,” I clarify. “We grew up together, so he’s more like my uncle. Jeff owns The Elegant Taste. It’s a catering company.”

She sits up straighter in her seat. “I know them! They’ve catered a lot of functions I’ve been to.” She leans back, automatically placing her hand on her stomach in appreciation. “Their food is amazing.”

I side glance at her. The streetlights reflect through the truck, softly lighting her face like she’s an angel. Her redwood hair fans across the tan leather of the headrest of my passenger seat. She blinks, waiting on me to agree with her.

“Try growing up next door to them. I’m lucky I don’t weigh five-hundred pounds.”

Grinning, she turns to the window, watching as we drive through town. She’s definitely the curious sort, asking me three times where we are going—even after I told her it was a surprise. I actually had to pull the truck over and tell her I wasn’t driving another inch until she promised she wouldn’t ask the question again. She pretended to be mad, but seeing as she does, in fact, wear her emotions all over her face, I know she found my hijinks funny after the drama at the restaurant.

“So, he’ll be part of their waitstaff at events? And they’ll work around his football games and practices?”

“Yeah. Jeff and Cullen know that weekday practices end at five. Our school does a block schedule, so we get to start practice at one-thirty. For the first three blocks, I teach physical education, and then I have football athletics for the fourth block. And they know Friday nights are off-limits as long as it’s football season. But, that’s fine…they’re so busy, Carson will probably work at least one event a weekend, if not more. It’ll be good money.”

“Who’s Cullen? Is that your best friend?”

“Jeff and Dana have two sons—Ridge and Cullen. Ridge is my best friend. We’re the same age. Cullen is a few years younger than us.”

“Ridge doesn’t work for The Elegant Taste too?”

“No, he’s a firefighter. And Cullen splits his time between the catering business and the bar.”

“The bar?”

“He and Will own a bar together. The Last Call. It’s downtown. Cullen was just a bartender, but Will sold him part of the business this past spring. It gives him more time to spend with Raylee and the kids because he and Cullen divide the workload.”

She nods, smiling brightly at the mention of my niece and nephew. “Anna and Ty are great kids. I love when they come in the store.”

“Raylee said you opened the store four years ago?”

I wait on her to answer, but it just so happens that I pull into our destination so my question takes a back seat to her surprise.

She glances from me to the restaurant. “Breakfast?”

I wave my hand at the front of the twenty-four-hour breakfast diner. “Well, I didn’t give you steak tonight. I figured the least I could do is blueberry pancakes.”

Blushing, she looks down at her dress and picks at an imaginary piece of lint. “Thank you.”

I nearly lost my shit when I saw her tonight.

She looks so beautiful in that short dress, heels, and makeup. Of course, she also looked beautiful in her T-shirt and shorts with her angry black eye. Her smooth, lean legs are driving me completely crazy. There’s a deep muscle line on the outside of her thighs that flexes each time she walks, each time she shifts in the seat. Not to mention, the fabric of her dress falls against the curve of her large breasts. I’m surprised I’ve been able to drive us around and keep us in one piece. My eyes keep leaving the road and roaming over her gorgeous body.

There is one thing that bothers me, though.

It’s black.

She doesn’t really strike me as the ‘black dress’ type. When I think of Merit, I think of colors. Bright and airy. Innocent and fun. Black is way too serious.

Turning off the truck, I race around, opening her door. When I offer my hand, she stares at it. For some reason, she doesn’t want to touch me now, but seeing as she held my hand during the shit show at the restaurant, she doesn’t know how to decline. Lifting her head, she stares straight into my eyes, sliding her fingers against mine.

How can someone be so scared and so brave at the exact same time?

What happened to her?

The hostess quickly shows us to our seats. I think back, trying to remember if I’ve ever brought a date to a simple diner like this. I don’t think I have. Not even in high school.

My fingers immediately stick to the menu. No matter how much cleaning they do, they’re covered in permanent remnants of syrup and bacon grease. Now I definitely know I’ve never brought a girl to a place like this. The women I seem to date would definitely complain about something like that. The thought alone makes me angry. Why do I always attract women who live outside the simple box of normal? Women who have to have everything perfect in life? A perfect life served on a silver platter.

Hell, not even silver. It seems my women always want it on a platinum platter. And they want me to pay for it.

And although I’m perfectly fine paying for things, having a woman who only wants me for that reason is not what I want in a partner. In a girlfriend. In a wife.

The waitress quickly brings over glasses of water. She’s plump with a frizz of gray hair. When she smiles, there’s a dimple on her left cheek. “Don’t you two kids look nice. Are you having a good night?”

I smile, watching Merit as she pretends to study the menu like she’s having to pass a written exam on it later. “It’s been wonderful, thanks.” I look at her name tag. “We’re just starving, Clara.”

“Well, honey, we can take care of that. Do y’all need more time? Or do you know what you want?”

I thump Merit’s menu with my finger, making her jump. “Blueberry pancakes?”

She blushes again, before quickly turning to Clara and politely nodding. “Yes, please.”

“We’ll take two of the biggest stacks of blueberry pancakes you’ve got.”

Clara smacks her ink pen against her order pad. “Perfect. Anything else?”

I watch Merit, amused by her nonverbal response to Clara’s question. She wants something else. I know she does. I can see it. “Better tell her now, Mer. I wasn’t kidding. I’m fading away to nothing over here.” I lean back in my seat and fold my hands behind my head. Her eyes dilate in pleasure and rake over my body, scalding me where I sit. I know exactly what I’m doing to her…and I like it—a lot.

She had the exact same reaction when I did this earlier, when we were talking to Carson at our table.

That’s why I’m doing it again.

Because I really like having her eyes on my body.

Clara pushes her. “Well, sweetie?”

She lets out a little sigh. “Bacon and sourdough toast, please.”

Laughing, I sit up straight. I hold up two fingers for Clara, letting her know I want the exact same thing.

“Sounds good. You kids holler if you need anything.”

Merit watches her walk away. “She’s really nice.”

You’re really nice.

“You never answered my question.”

She cocks her head to the side. “Hmm?”

“About the store.”

“Oh. Yes. I opened the store four years ago in May.”

“And it’s always been in the same spot?” I ask.

“Mmm-hmm. That small strip mall has been around for about twenty years. My store used to be a barbeque joint, so it took a ton of remodeling to get it ready. It’s just me and three other stores.” She holds up her fingers, ticking the places off one-by-one. “The place that sells men’s suits, the beauty salon, and the coffee shop.”

I take a sip of my water, wishing it were a beer. I like to drink when I’m nervous, and being with Merit makes me nervous.

Well, nervous and not-nervous all at the same time.

“I go to that coffee shop on the corner a couple of times a week.”

“I know. Their stuff is addictive, right? I don’t drink coffee, but I really like the smoothies,” she says.

“I’m surprised I haven’t seen you there before.”

She shrugs. “I try to only go there once a week. I typically pack my lunch and snacks for work. You know, sandwiches and stuff. It saves money.”

This is the first time one of my dates has voiced being concerned with saving money.

Minute by minute, that weird, fluttery feeling consuming my body grows. The feeling I’d never—in my entire life—experienced until seeing Merit yesterday. It’s expanded through my heart and brain. Slowly, inch by inch, it’s devouring my soul. It’s eating away at me, ripping from me the desolate dreams of how I thought my future would go. And that feeling is replacing each void it creates with a new dream of Merit. Visions of her kissing me, falling in love with me, being by my side.

She’s my own little mirage.

I clear my throat, trying to get back on track with our conversation. “Ella and her husband, Crutch, go there too. They sort of have a thing for that coffeehouse. I wonder if you’ve ever seen them there before.”

“You talk about your cousin a lot. Are you close?”

“We all are. We grew up together. Me, Raylee, Ella, Ridge, and Cullen.” I rub my fingers against my lip in thought, trailing them down my chin. “I had another cousin too.”

“Had?” Merit’s question is cautious. She’s scared to ask, but too curious not to.

“Ella’s sister, Carrie. She died.” I never say she passed away. That indicates a natural death. Carrie’s death was anything but natural.

Merit’s hand flies to her face, covering her open mouth. She lowers her fingers just enough for the words to escape. “I’m very sorry.” She leans forward, wanting me to see her sincerity. “I’m sorry you had to lose someone you were so close to.”

I reach across the table, wanting to touch her. Wanting to feel her hand in my hand. Unfortunately, she’s quicker than me.

Just this once.

She pulls her hands onto her lap, politely folding them. She reminds me of a porcelain doll when she does that.

Letting her think she’s won this small battle, I switch topics. “So, what did you do before opening the store?”

“I worked at an attorney’s office. I was an executive assistant and paralegal.”

“Oh yeah? For which office?”

“Plott, Ezzell, and Crispin.”

Un-fucking-believable. “You worked with Stanton Plott?”

“Yes. Do you know him?”

“And his son, Hudson?” I answer her question with a question.

She furrows her brow. “Well, Hudson is based out of the firm’s Mobile office, but yes, I know him. Why? You obviously know them?” she asks again.

“Yeah, I know them. They’re fucking grade-A assholes.”

Merit’s jaw falls slack in shock. Then, she starts to giggle uncontrollably, snorting in the process.

She’s so freakin’ cute.

I spread my hands across the table. “C’mon, you can’t tell me you don’t think the same thing about them.”

She busies herself by unwrapping her silverware and placing her paper napkin in her lap. She’s trying to bite back a smile, but I see it, nonetheless. “They can be…hard to take in large doses.”

“Stop being so diplomatic, they’re horrible. Please don’t tell me you were Stanton’s assistant.”

She shakes her head. “No, I worked mostly with Charles Ezzell and his son, Edward.”

“How in the world did you ever get hooked up with that place?” I hold my hands in the air. “Don’t get me wrong, I know it’s a prestigious law firm with lots of wins. But still…they’re a bunch of pricks.”

She looks down at the table, straightening her fork and knife. Eventually, she lifts her chin, focusing on my face. “Edward Ezzell was my husband.”

Holy hell.

“Here we go.” Clara pops between us, setting down a container of maple syrup and a pile of extra napkins. When she pushes the syrup to the middle of the table, the lid wobbles. “Uh-oh, looks like the lid is broken on this one. I’ll get you a new one,” she says, balancing the lopsided jar under her fingers.

I watch as Merit’s napkin falls from her lap to the floor. She bends forward, reaching to pick it up.

Before leaving, Clara leans across the table, grabbing Merit’s empty water glass. “Let me get you a fresh water, hon.”

And then it happens.

I’m not sure how it happens.

Well, actually, I know how it happens. I just can’t believe that it does happen.

After finding her napkin, Merit’s head snaps up, and she rams herself right into the pitcher of syrup dangling from Clara’s hand. The bottom of the container breaks off from the lid attachment. The glass jar clunks down, right on top of Merit’s head, and bounces off her in slow motion. But not before a huge pile of warm, gooey maple syrup coats the whole left side of her hair.

The three of us freeze, too stunned to even move. My mouth hangs open, and I watch in fascinated disbelief as sticky syrup travels down Merit’s hair like a slow-moving glacier.

Clara looks from Merit to me and back to Merit again, before dissolving in a puddle of panic. “Oh my gosh! Are you okay? I am so sorry!”

Flustered, Merit grabs a handful of napkins from the table and immediately runs them over her hair. The thin paper does nothing but stick in the syrup and break into small pieces.

This situation somehow got worse. It now looks like she got attacked by a duck and has a thousand small white feathers all over her head.

Clara huddles over Merit, trying to pick the pieces out.

Several customers snicker and whisper, and from the corner of my eye, I see a manager racing out of the kitchen to see what’s happening. I’m about to burst out laughing when I see the tears start to well in Merit’s eyes.

In that one short second, it becomes my life’s mission to never see this woman cry. To never see this woman hurt.

I quickly step into action, rising from the table and picking up the jar of syrup from the floor. We’re lucky it didn’t break. But now, there’s a huge swimming pool of syrup all over the tile. I hand it to Clara right as the manager comes rushing up.

“What happened?” she whisper-yells. “Clara!”

I use my on-field voice. Both women immediately turn to me, hushing and listening. “It’s fine. It was a complete accident. No one’s to blame. It’ll take some time to clean up the floor, though. Why don’t y’all work on that. Okay?”

Looking at each other, they both nod.

I lift Merit from the chair. Holding her by the arms, I stand right in front of her, grazing my body against hers. “Merit.” Her eyes are glossy and unfocused, so I say her name again and take a small step closer. Her breasts rub against me. “The bathroom is right over there.” I nod behind my shoulder, forcing her to follow my line of sight. “Why don’t you clean up as best as you can? I’ll take care of things out here, and I’ll come check on you in just a minute.”

Syrup slowly cascades down her hair, collecting against the straps of her dress and coating her naked shoulder. Blankly nodding, I watch as she disappears into the restroom.

It takes about ten minutes for me to finish up with the manager and Clara. They eagerly work to please me, quickly setting about getting a new table ready. Grabbing a chair, I pull it behind me and knock on the door of the ladies’ restroom. I push it open, just a crack, and see Merit bent over the sink sideways, trying to rinse her hair and epically failing. The faucet is squirting everywhere, and half of her body is drenched. It looks like she got in a water balloon fight with a group of rowdy kids. Once again, I have to bite back a laugh. “Merit, I’m coming in.”

“You can’t come in, Holt. This is the girls’ bathroom.”

I swing open the door, carrying the chair over my back. “Does it look like I care?” I dangle the small gift in my hand. “Manager had a bottle of shampoo in her locker.”

Her eyes light up and her fingers eagerly reach for it. I snatch it away and shake my head. “Nope.” I position the chair in front of the sink and nod at it. “Sit down.”

She pouts. “Huh?”

“Sit down and lean your head back. I’m gonna wash your hair.”

“Oh no, Holt, that’s not necessary. I can get it.”

“You can?” I slowly drag my eyes down her body. Water is dripping from her arms. “It looks like you went swimming in the ocean.” I lift my eyebrows, “And we’re five hours from the beach.”

Scowling, she spins around and plops down in the chair, gently laying her head back into the sink. Pouring nearly the whole bottle of strawberry-scented shampoo on her hair, I spend the next several minutes washing and rinsing all the suds and the breakfast condiment down the drain. I wring out her hair and pull a small white towel from my back pocket. “They assure me this has never been used.” I sniff it. “Although it does smell like sausage.”

For the first time since she became a walking breakfast burrito with feathers, she smiles. And it damn melts my heart. Yanking the towel from my hands, she eagerly towel-dries her hair and finger-combs it.

Eventually she stands up, turning to look at herself in the mirror.

And she stops smiling.

I have no idea why she stops smiling. Because I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone sexier. Her damp hair falls in waves around her. Her mascara has smudged, and most of her eye makeup has been washed away. The previously well-hidden black eye is back in full force, no longer concealed by whatever cream or powder she used. Her face is flushed, and her lips are swollen.

I step behind her, breathing deeply.

Plus, she smells like strawberries and sausage.

Her spine stiffens, and she stops breathing. My crotch grazes against her. I take a small step back so she won’t feel the jump of my dick. “You look beautiful.” Stepping to the side, I hold out my hand. “Shall we?”

What can she say? How can she deny me? I just washed her hair in the sink of a public bathroom. Underneath the shadow of a dispenser selling tampons for a quarter.

Her fingertips barely touch mine, and I’m pulling her behind me. When we make it back out into the dining room area, she gasps. The few patrons who saw our fiasco gently clap, trying to give Merit encouragement to finish the night in style. I guess they don’t know whether she’s my date, my girlfriend, or my wife, but they’re encouraging her to continue on with the night, regardless.

Clara and the manager set us up at a new table next to the window. They actually pushed three tables together for us. Just like I asked, they were able to dim the lights in this one small section and find a couple of candles. The soft, dancing candlelight really brings out the beauty of the blue, flame-retardant curtains.

More importantly, the table is filled with basically every single item from the menu. Pancakes, waffles, omelets, grits, hashbrowns, sourdough toast, bacon, sausage, ham, egg sandwiches, and more.

“Holy crap. Is that all for us?”

I lean down, whispering against the shell of her ear. “It’s for you.”

She shivers. “There’s no way we can eat it all,” she denies.

Right then, her stomach growls. Loudly.

This time, I can’t help but laugh. “No. But we can sure as hell try.”

***

I put the truck in park outside of her condo. “Let me walk you up.”

She’s already scrambling for the door. That’s not surprising, considering nerves were getting the best of her the closer we got to her house. With every mile, the conversation became more one-sided, meaning I heard more of my own voice than I wanted to. “No, that’s all right. I can make it,” she says, rushing through the words.

My hand snatches out, grabbing her wrist. “Merit, that’s not code for ‘I wanna come inside’. I promise, our date will end by the front door.”

Slowly nodding, she still climbs out of the truck on her own versus waiting on me to come around and get her. That’s a damn shame, too, because I like watching the way her dress inches up on her thighs.

As soon as we’re standing by the front door, she forces her key into the lock, and I notice her hands are shaking.

“When can I see you again?”

She bites her lip. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why is that?”

“Because I told you, I don’t date.”

I smirk. “I think we just proved that theory wrong, Mer.”

She scoffs. “I think we proved exactly why I shouldn’t date.” She tosses her hands in the air. “Tonight, I got someone fired from the fanciest restaurant in town, and I lathered myself up like some gigantic French toast stick.”

I chuckle, thinking back to our smorgasbord. “I wonder why they didn’t bring us any French toast?”

She groans, rubbing her flat stomach. “Uhh. Don’t even joke about food.”

I shake my head in disbelief. “I still can’t believe you invited every waitress and the whole kitchen staff to join us.”

She smiles sheepishly. “I didn’t know you ordered all that food. I thought they made it for free because they felt bad about my hair. I didn’t want it to go to waste.”

Granted, the manager did try to give me some free food, but I told her upfront that I would be paying for everything. What happened was no one’s fault. It was just an accident.

She lowers her head, staring at her feet. “I’m sorry.”

“What are you apologizing for?”

She shrugs. “For everything. For Carson. For the syrup. For inviting people to eat the food you paid for.”

Why hasn’t she looked back up yet? From what I’ve seen, she always steels herself, composes herself after a moment, and stares straight into my eyes. I like it. It gives me a chance to study all the colors in hers. My finger circles underneath her chin, tilting her face to mine.

“I’m accident-prone,” she offers.

I wink at her. “I figured that out.”

If I bent my head just a little, my mouth could be on hers. What would she taste like? What noises would she make? What would her tongue feel like sliding against mine. What would—fuck me, stop it, Holt. Refocusing, I jump back to our conversation. “So, like I said, when can I see you again?”

“Are you sure you wanna see me again?”

Hell, yeah.

“Can I see you tomorrow?” I beg.

Her eyes widen and her pink lips fall open. “Tomorrow?”

“Yeah. We’ll do something fun…that doesn’t involve syrup.”

“Like what?”

I shrug. “We’ll figure it out.”

She wants to say yes. I know she does. I can see it.

“Just one more chance,” I prod her with my whisper.

She sighs so deeply, I’m afraid she’s gonna crack a rib. I can literally hear the shaky breath as it tangles in her mouth, afraid to leave the sanctuary of her body. “O…okay.”

I snake my hand around her neck, relishing the feel of her soft skin underneath my hand, and I gently kiss her cheek. And then I walk back to my truck, grinning like a damn idiot the whole way.