Page 50 of Those Two Words

A low whistle sounds from the sofa as I walk into my living room.

“Miss Ma’am! Who would have thought you’d just put away a full wheel of brie? Those jeans were made for you.”

Laughing, I try to hide my slight blush at Quinn’s compliments. Tonight was our wine and cheese night. A few bites into the cheese board I’d whipped up, I realized I’d double booked and forgotten about the team’s pool competition at Shirley’s. It would look bad if I didn’t show, so I asked Quinn to come with me, who didn’t need much persuasion.

A little buzzed from the bottle of wine we shared, we’ve changed out of our sweats and into something more appropriate. Well, I thought my original outfit was perfect for tonight. After I told Quinn what happened between Patrick and me the other week, she pulled out a pair of tight, black skinny jeans and a black silk corset, stating, “This will work up his appetite.” Quinn is likely to get some heads turning tonight from the knee-high boots and faded, blue denim dress hugging her curves.

I wanted to dress up in something nice, knowing Patrick would be there.

It’s been almost a week since my panic attack, and we haven’t had the chance to talk much since I found the care package at my door. We’ve seen each other at the restaurant, it just hasn’t been the right moment to talk and I’m secretly grateful, because it’s given me time to prepare myself for whatever he wants to discuss; the questions he might ask. I also don’t want to get my hopes up and overthink it all.

When I came back to town, kissing Patrick was the last thing I expected to happen. It doesn’t mean I haven’t thought about it for the last six years. Do I want it to happen again? Yes. I’m cautious to put my heart on the line, no matter how much it aches for him. It’s a defense mechanism I’ve picked up over the years. It has nothing to do with trust and more with how he’s going to look at me if I shed that last wall of vulnerability.

Although he’s been on my mind a lot, it’s easy not to let myself overthink everything with how busy the restaurant has become. We’ve seen an increase in customers, with reservations being made through the automated system I introduced. I also set up a social media account and asked a friend from Tennessee if they could help build a website for us. All in a week’s work. It’s been hectic, but I’m proud of myself for the positive impact it’s having.

I just hope it’s enough. As we near the end of March, I’m getting more and more nervous that no matter what we do, my dad and Claire will still have no choice but to sell the restaurant.

“Okay, the cab’s ordered. What’s the plan?” Quinn asks, looking way too excited for a night at the local dive bar.

“Um. Not to make a fool of myself?”

“Nope. One goal. Make Patrick feral. Flirt a little. Maybe get some dick, I dunno. The last part is negotiable.” She shrugs.

“That’s three things? And I highly doubt I’ll be getting any dick tonight.” I laugh as I slip on my heeled boots, pushing the concerns of the restaurant aside.

“A shot of something will change your mind.”

“I forget you’re still in your twenties until you say stuff like that. My days of shots are over, unless you want to hand-feed me greasy fries tomorrow morning.”

“The only person who will be eating is Patrick. Right outta’ the palm of your hand.”

Oh boy.

Twenty minutes later, we’re walking into the bar. It’s not typically this busy on a weekday, but with all the restaurant staff here, plus some locals and wandering tourists, it’s more crowded than usual.

“Okay, I’ll do one shot,” I announce, deciding I’ll need something stronger if Patrick wants to talk tonight.

Quinn squeals and pulls me over to the bar. I spot most of the team in the corner, crowded around the pool table, but don’t see Patrick.

We order two lemon drops, though Quinn has to explain to Lenny how to make them. When the fiery liquid glides down my throat, I shoot her a worried look. “I don’t think that was a lemon drop.”

She looks like she’s going to hurl but recovers quickly. “Yeah, that might have been paint stripper. You’re going to need it though.”

“Huh, why?”

“Because a certain single daddy is looking at you like you’re his next meal. Shit, even I’m getting hot and bothered from the way he’s looking you over.”

I don’t need to look to know he’s staring. His eyes are burning a slow path up my body. Despite the warmth of it, my skin pebbles in the wake of his gaze.

Slowly turning my head, using my hair to shield my face, I find him across the room. His hand is clenched around a glass of beer so tightly it might shatter. Even from where he’s standing, I can see his throat working as his eyes flit between my neck and chest, until we finally lock gazes.

I don’t look away, thankful for the liquid courage Quinn served me, and why would I want to? Having him look at me like this, desire brimming in his eyes, is thrilling. The way his jaw clenches is emboldening, sparking something in me that I’ve only ever felt with him.

He’s the only person to ever strike that match, and right now, those embers from our first night together are ready to be rekindled.

twenty-two

PATRICK

---