Page 8 of When the Woods Go Silent

I’m feeling myself as I strut down the sidewalk, red curls flowing over one shoulder and the sensual echo of the rose petaled tart still on my tongue. I half wonder if there was an aphrodisiac ingredient in the dessert, and I wouldn’t even be mad about it.

When I pass the art shop, Charles pauses in trimming the shrubs and lifts his hand. “Hello there, Miss Rose. How’s the shop looking?” he calls, sounding every bit like the grandfather I never had.

“Almost ready,” I say, waving back. “Stop in sometime, if you like. We’re happy to have you.”

“Well, I would, but part of me hates to see it change. Of course, I don’t worry about what you ladies do, mind you. I just can’t help but love my memories best.”

I smile at him in sympathy. He’s told us before how much he misses William, the shop’s previous owner. They had coffee together most mornings before their shops opened, until William grew too sick to manage the bookstore and moved home with his son. I feel a little guilty that Ruby and I haven’t gottento know him better, but maybe once we’re more settled we can work on that.

“Well now, I won’t keep you. Let me know if you need anything, and stay safe out there,” Charles warns, already turning back to his garden. I’m glad he doesn’t seem to be in the mood for small talk tonight, because I’m ready to have some fun.

But when I make it to the corner and locate the restaurant windows, they’re dark and empty. No crowds queued outside.

Damn it. Arlo did say they were only open a few nights here and there. I probably missed my chance last night. But I’m here and looking hot, so I knock on the door anyway. Footsteps echo inside, and a minute later, I’m pleased to hear the click of a lock turning. A tall man who isn’t Arlo opens the door and cocks his head at me. He’s unreasonably attractive too, in a dark and mysterious sort of way, and I wonder if hot servers aren’t also part of their business plan.

“Um, I’m looking for Arlo,” I say, forcing my voice down at the end so it doesn’t sound like a question.

“Huh,” the guy says, like he’s surprised. He stares at me just long enough for me to take a step backward, second-guessing if this was a good idea. “Yeah, he’s in the back.”

And the solid metal door closes in my face.

I blink at it, wondering if this is actually my cue to leave. The door opens again before I make any rash decisions, and I’m relieved to see Arlo standing there, just as I remember him from last night. His hair is lighter now that he’s backlit by the interior of the restaurant, and his eyes are an icy crystal blue, so pale they’re almost leached of color.

“Rose,” he says, giving me a sexy half smile as he leans an arm against the door frame above my head, his body blocking my view inside. “I was hoping to see you again.”

“Thanks for the tart,” I answer, and his lips hook up farther in a smile designed to melt panties and good intentions. “It was delicious.”

“Like its namesake, I’m sure,” he murmurs, and his eyes drop to my lips as though he can still see traces of the rose-flavored filling. If I’d thought he might be interested in me last night, I clearly hadn’t guessed the half of it. His eyes meet mine again, then flick back to my mouth before sliding appreciatively down my neck and lower.

I stand still and let him look, reveling in the heat that creeps from my core up to the tops of my breasts, then onto the apples of my cheeks. I may not have much luck with relationships, but flings?

Hell yes. Flings are my favorite.

I offer him a flirty smile. “So, are you busy? I didn’t think it through when you said you don’t open often.”

Arlo shakes his head and opens the door a little wider. “Come on back to the kitchen. We’re always testing new recipes. I’d love for you to taste one.”

I know what he said, but his words swirl as they enter my head, and somehow all I can hear is, “I’d love to taste you.”

The door closes behind me, and Arlo’s hand drops to my lower back as he guides me quickly inside, skipping the darkened dining area in favor of a black swinging door leading to the back.

His body is close to mine in the narrow hall, and he smells like sea salt and wood smoke. He’s a little short for a taller girl like me, but he has nice broad shoulders, perfect for holding on to while I’m straddling his lap. I smile to myself as we enter the kitchen, his fingers splayed even lower on my back now.

He’s clearly playing the game, and I’m no blushing virgin.

I’m relieved to find the kitchen empty, with no sign of the rude dark-haired guy who answered the door. Somethingsimmers on the stove in a deep pot, and spices and fresh herbs are strewn across the stainless steel counters.

“Is this one of those farm-to-table places? Menu changes with the seasons?” I ask, taking a few steps down the line and scanning the neatly labeled glass jars of different types of flours and sugars.

“Something like that. My brothers each have a specialty. Mine is...”

“Dessert,” I fill in, as he gestures toward the thick wooden block where a silky ball of dough is resting in a covered glass bowl. “So the other guy I saw is your brother?”

“In a way. We don’t worry much about blood relations when we define our family.”

I nod, thinking of Ruby and how much we might have in common with Arlo. Maybe... maybe I could be brave and let this become more than a fling, if we get along. Opening the bookstore in Clearwater could be a fresh start in more than one way, as long as I can manage to let go of my past disappointments in men.

“Want a taste?” Arlo asks, dipping a clean spoon into the simmering pot on the stove. It comes out steaming, coated in a deep blue glaze.

---