Page 14 of Dining for Love

He chuckles and steers us onto the street. “And what kind of guy do I look like?”

I consider. “A Mustang,” I finally say. “A black one. With a really loud muffler or whatever, so that everyone hears you coming. And a vanity plate.”

He straight up guffaws, the laugh emanating from deep within his belly, and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t make me feel some kind of way to hear it. And to know that I did it.

I shake myself free of the thoughts. This is a date for my sister. I’m just the third wheel. We meet up with Goldie after Reid parks the truck, and we walk to the coffee shop.

“Need more to eat?” Reid asks, his attention never really straying from me. Which is weird because Goldie looks pretty as a picture in her sunshine-yellow dress and curled hair hanging down her back.

Goldie looks at me sharply. “Are you okay?”

I shrug, a little embarrassed at the fuss they’re making over me. “I’m fine. No need to worry about me—let’s go to Marnie’s Art Shop first.”

But Goldie’s not having it. “You definitely need to eat. I can see it all over your face. What did you give her?” Her tone is sharp.

Reid doesn’t miss a beat. “Oatmeal Cream Pie and a Coke.”

Her eyes bug out. “Seriously?”

He shrugs. “She nearly fainted, and it’s what I had to offer.”

Goldie threads her arm through mine. “Come on. You need actual food, and then we’ll do the art walk.”

I let myself be led away, and after a quick meal of sandwiches and tea at the coffee shop, we head out to the main section of downtown where the art is. It’s one of my favorite weekends of the month, and I don’t get to go nearly as much as I’d like to. Working as Dad’s only other main cook has its advantages, but there are plenty of disadvantages, too. Namely, not being able to take off every weekend like I would if I had a more regular job. Then again, what’s the fun in a regular job? Besides, it’s not like I’d know what a “regular job” was if it walked up and introduced itself to me.

Goldie positions Reid between the two of us, which makes no sense. Unfortunately, Reid’s giant form blocks me from looking at my sister and eyeing her. I peel off to a pop-up booth on the sidewalk at my earliest opportunity, and in between inspecting the handmade wooden spoons that should really be on display in a gallery and not be for sale to use willy-nilly like this, I hiss at Goldie. “What are you doing?”

She looks at me, the picture of innocence. “What are you talking about?”

I set a spoon down and cross my arms. “Putting Reid between us. We’re here for you, not me.”

Her eyes widen. “Willa, we’re just showing our new police officer around town. He needs friends.”

I make a noise of disgust and turn around, knocking right into the man of the hour’s very formidable—and very solid—chest.

“Oof,” I breathe out, unable to help myself from flattening my hands on that awesome chest we just reviewed.

Holy muscles. Again. I should be used to this by now, but alas, I am not.

“You okay?” he asks, his hands steadying me as I rock back on my heels.

No. No, I am not okay. Because once again, I am assaulted by him and his muscles and his ridiculous cedar-y masculine scent, and it’s unholy the way my body is reacting, thanks. Never in my life have I had an overwhelming need to confess my sins to someone, but right now? Have mercy.

Again.

Basically, I need everything to stop because I cannot with this. I’m not even mad about it anymore. Just begging for it to stop.

“Willa?”

I blink. “I’m fine. Can we go?”

“Of course.” He gestures for me to go ahead of him, and I swear I feel the heat of his hand over my lower back as I weave through the crowd to return to the street.

Goldie joins us, once more positioning Reid between me and her, and we continue our stroll down the street. I feel utterly foolish, and I’m positive the heat on my cheeks is not, in fact, from the sun.

A click sounds a few feet away, and I startle. There, inspecting the screen on his massive camera, is none other than JJ Jennings, looking pleased as punch at the photo he’s snapped.

“Nolan Jennings, Junior,Lucky Herald,” he says, sticking out a hand as he moves toward us. “Everyone calls me JJ.”

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