Page 13 of Broken-Hearted

“I’ll be back,” he says as he walks to the counter.

I watch him curiously, trying to ignore my grumbling belly. I had a couple of pop tarts left over from my trip to the grocery store after work last night, but Nathan flashing me on his way to the bathroom distracted me so badly I forgot to grab them for breakfast this morning.

As I steal a couple of sips of coffee from Nathan’s mug, he’s at the counter speaking with my boss. His voice is too low to be overheard over the soft rock playing on the radio.

I’m even more confused when O’Shane passes Nathan an empty plate and a cup of coffee.

Did he see me stealing his coffee and decide he wanted a top up?

Nathan returns to the table and passes me the mug. “Here.”

I take it gratefully because I need it. It’s not even 11 yet and I have a long ass day on my feet ahead of me. “Because I drank some of yours?”

“Because you don’t have a drink.”

“And the plate?” I add creamer and sugar to my black coffee. Nathan drinks his black with an absurd amount of sugar. I need creamer to cut through the bitterness. Sugar is not enough.

Nathan splits the breakfast between the two plates. He pushes the fuller plate to my side of the table and hands me a fork. “Here. You skipped out on breakfast.”

I hesitate. “This feels suspiciously like a date, Blackshaw.”

“You’re reading too much into it,” he says with an innocence I don’t buy for a second.

“You don’t have to share your food with me.”

“I’m not.” I ignore the tingle of his hand on mine when he tucks the fork into my palm. “Iam sharingyourbreakfast.”

As I study him, his amiable expression doesn’t dim.

Shaking my head, I accept I’ve lost this battle. I’m starving and it would be stupid to refuse. “Thanks.”

We demolish the breakfast in minutes. Shifters have big appetites and neither of us ate this morning. I guess Nathan could’ve eaten last night, but given he’d parked himself outside my motel room, the chances of that are low.

By the time we’ve cleared our plates, the diner is filling up and the engines purring in the parking lot make it clear that we’re heading into the midday rush.

I move to get up.

Nathan’s hand circles my wrist.

“What?” I ask, when I take in his serious expression.

“Thank you for a delicious breakfast, Clara Vincent. It’s going down as my best ever,” he says so softly and genuinely I know he truly means it.

I hide my smile. “You’re just saying that to get me to go back to Hardin.”

He brushes a kiss across my knuckles and releases me. “I meant it.”

I think about that kiss for far longer than I should.

Throughout the busy lunch period as diners stop in to grab a meal before they continue on their journey, I think of that kiss.

As truckers stop in to fuel up on burgers and fries, I’m still thinking of Nathan’s kiss. No guy has ever kissed my knuckles before and I think I was missing out because it was surprisingly sweet.

I’m still thinking of how distracting it was, and how I wouldn’t have minded if it was on my lips instead of my knuckles when the front door swings open.

I glance at it, the way I have all day, and immediately spin around, my back to the door as my heart leaps up my throat when a handsome blond man in a button-down shirt steps in.

Adrian.

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