Page 19 of The Love Shack

Lawson grinned at her. “Were you doing a little bulldozing of your own, Lark?”

She flashed the guy a smile. “Just being my usual friendly self.”

Wheeler returned with a few massive, loaded bags of food. “Here you go, Lawson. You’re all set.”

“Thanks.”

“Good heavens,” Lark said. “Are you feeding an army?”

Still amused, Lawson shook his head. “This is my dinner for a week. Until I’m done renovating my place, it’s a lot easier to microwave a meal.”

“A masterful plan,” she declared.

The two of them conversed for a minute more, teasing back and forth while Oliver did his best to finish up. He wanted to retreat, to work out his arguments with Betty so he’d be prepared when next he spoke to her.

Naturally, he couldn’t concentrate with little Miss Sunshine sitting beside him, bubbling over with effusive charm. How old was she, anyway? Nineteen, twenty? With him being thirty-four, she was far too young for him to be noticing her.

Never mind that the girl had incredibly flawless skin, smooth and pale with the faintest rose hue on her cheeks. Her thick, nearly black hair framing her face offered a pretty contrast, as did those storm-colored eyes framed by dark lashes.

Sinking his teeth into his burger, Oliver tried to banish all the poetic BS from his brain. He didn’t care about her skin and hair, her gray eyes or that sweet smile...

Breaking into his thoughts, Lawson said, “I’m at the shop most weekdays.” He gathered up his bags. “If you find the time, stop by to chat. I can give you the ins and outs of the town council.”

Nice guy. Friendly, welcoming. Oliver nodded. “I appreciate that. Thanks.”

Lawson put a hand on Lark’s shoulder. “This one could give you a rundown of the vacationers. She’s had some unique experiences.”

“True that,” she said, as if they shared a secret.

What the hell did that even mean? Oliver eyed her, but didn’t ask. He wouldn’t ask. Instead he nodded at Lawson and then ate two more fries.

Suddenly Lawson glanced out the big front window, went alert at whatever he saw and quickly gave his goodbyes, leaving in a bit of a rush.

After watching him a moment, Lark dug back into her food with gusto.

Silence reigned. Not a companionable silence, either. More like the kind that throbbed with impatience, the kind that built tension until one of them broke.

He had no intention of starting another conversation, and made it clear by putting all his focus on his food.

Of course, that didn’t deter Miss Sunshine. After only a few minutes, she sighed. Loudly. “You know you’re curious.”

He gave her the side-eye and asked with believable confusion, “Are you talking to me?”

Laughing as if delighted by his act, she swiveled around on her stool to face him again. Her shiny hair, just long enough to drift across her shoulders, swung with her movement.

His fingers twitched—and he knew why. He wanted to touch her hair, touchher. Feel the softness of both. The warmth.

Didn’t matter that he’d been flying solo a little too long, or that she was boldly flirting. Becoming involved with her was not happening. He had priorities, and getting drawn into a dead-end relationship wasn’t one of them.

A bubbly, attractive, engaging young woman did not factor into his long-term plans.

“Stylists,” she said, while holding a pickle, “are a lot like bartenders. We hear everything, from everyone. Lawson is right. I have a feel for the town already.”

“Stylist, as in you do hair?”

“I do hair,” she confirmed, “and so much more.” Adding a lofty note to her voice, she claimed, “I create beauty, accentuate looks, give complete makeovers and make people feel good about themselves.”

And maybe she was a little full of herself, too. “Clearly your endless talents are wasted in Cemetery. Shouldn’t you be in Chicago, LA or maybe New York?”

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