Page 67 of Those Two Words

I debate feeding Lottie any more vegetables with the strength she’s pulling me from tent to tent, eager to see all the homemade trinkets and sniffing out anything made of sugar like a bloodhound.

“Lottie, hold your horses,” I call out, and she stops in her tracks.

“Where?” she asks, her head whipping left to right.

“Where what?”

“Where are the horses?” she asks, hands thrown up in question.

“Oh, spud, no, sorry. It’s a figure of speech. Like when I say, ‘Don’t let the bedbugs bite,’ they’re not really there. It’s just pretend,” I explain, though the wobble in her bottom lip informs me I’ve said the wrong thing.

“Bedbugs aren’t real?” she asks, and I swear tears are pooling in her eyes now.

“I mean, they are—Hey look, Uncle Boo and JoJo are over there. Let’s go say hi and tell your uncle his food stinks.”

Her head follows to where I’m pointing, and she lets out a cheer before darting over to their table.

Crisis averted.

I make sure to follow the top of her head through the crowd, the purple ribbons in her hair making it easy to spot her. When she reaches Booth, he picks her up and spins her around so many times, she falls on her butt when he puts her down, laughing hysterically from the floor. Jo watches from her spot behind the table, laughing at them as she hands over a lobster roll and a bottle of Moxie to a customer.

From this angle, I see her whole side profile, and I drink up every inch of her from where I’m standing. The black, skintight leggings she’s wearing don’t leave much to the imagination, and she’s wrapped up in a thick, dark green sweater. The shape of her curves is accentuated by the gray apron tied around her waist, tempting me even more.

In the two weeks since our talk on the docks, we’ve only found the time to steal a few kisses in the breakroom or talk over text. It’s not enough, though, and I’m a man starved for Johanna Thomas.She’s been working day and night to get the restaurant ready for the fair, and I’m grateful for that, because it’s allowed me to concentrate on other things.

There’s only so many times I can think about her draped over that pool table with my hand wrapped around my cock, until I go insane. Carrie is picking Lottie up soon, and I know Jo is clocking off shortly, and the moment she does, she’s mine.

She thanks the customer and gives them a kind smile as they walk away. I don’t make myself known, hiding in the sea of people to watch her. Every day she seems to shine a little brighter, and I could bathe in her light.

She looks up from her spot and glances around the crowd, like she’s searching for someone, and when her gaze lands on me, the grin that breaks across her face almost knocks me to my ass. The sun shines on her honey-blonde hair piled on top of her head, a few loose strands framing her face. Her eyes crinkle at the edges as she waves at me over the sea of bodies.

Shit, she’s perfect.

Just knowing I’m the reason behind that smile has deep satisfaction thrumming in my chest. Even when we were kids, making Jo smile was one of my favorite things to do.

I make my way over to their table, partially covered by the large marquee behind them. I grab Lottie by the hood of her coat before she dives headfirst into a bag of flour, pulling her gently along as I walk to where Jo is standing.

“Hey,” I greet. “This is looking great. How’s it been?”

“Crazy. We’ve hardly stopped since the fair opened,” Booth replies from behind us, wiping his station before finely chopping up some cilantro. “YoYo here has been killing it. We’re almost out of lobster tails and probably have about eight portions of fried clams left. I think a lot of the customers have been coming over to speak to her,” he says, winking at Jo, who rolls her eyes at him.

“What do you mean?” I look between the two of them.

“Just that a few gentlemen callers have been queuing up for some of my famous clams and a chance to talk to our lovely server,” Booth says, not looking up from his chopping board, but I don’t miss the way his shoulders shake. I should know better than to rise to his bait.

I saunter over to Jo while keeping an eye on Lottie, who is twirling in circles in front of the table.

“Hey.” She’s busy emptying out quarters into the makeshift cash register, and stands a little straighter when I approach her. “Have you been making some new friends?”

“Hey, yourself,” she says and ignores my question. “Are you guys having fun?”

Stepping closer, with my hand resting on her hip hidden behind her apron, my voice remains low and face neutral as I whisper down her ear. “I don’t share, Johanna.”

She bites her lip and slowly shakes her head. “I don’t want you to share me. Can’t blame a girl for providing the best customer service there is.”

“Be sure that’s all it is.” I round the table and stand in front of her. “You finishing up soon?”

“In about”—she looks at her watch—“twenty minutes, why?”

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