Page 8 of Come Home to Me

Frank

I find Sarah leaning against the outside of the restaurant, fiddling with her phone, a pair of aviators hiding most of her face from view.

“Whatcha doing?” I ask as I step up beside her.

She slides her sunglasses onto the top of her head and squints at me. “Looking for a more affordable place to stay while I’m stuck in this city. Looks like this place is going to break the bank.” She gestures toward the restaurant with her chin, a sly grin on her face.

“Don’t be silly. Lunch is my treat.” I place a hand on her lower back and guide her toward the entrance. The scent of her perfume—something sweet and spicy and all too delicious—works its way into my nose and I breathe it in. “You look better than you did yesterday,” I say, after the hostess leads us to our table in the middle of the well-lit restaurant.

“I feel better than I did yesterday.” She angles her head so I can see her temple. “The cut hurts and I’m going to have one hell of a bruise, but I’ll live.” She shrugs and then opens her menu. “Any recommendations?”

“It’s all delicious. I promise. There’s a fair share of eclectic choices, if you’re feeling adventurous. If not, they have the best hamburger in the state of Colorado.” I lean over and point to it on her menu. My hand brushes hers and I want to trail my fingers up her wrist, tracing lines along her creamy skin. I sit back, carefully folding my hands in my lap before I embarrass myself by giving in to the urge.

Sarah studies the menu while I study her. “Wow,” she murmurs. “Eclectic is the right word for it. Bone marrow? That’s a thing?” She looks at me and wrinkles her nose.

“People say it’s delicious, but I haven’t tried it.” I lean closer. “Can’t say as I ever will.”

The waitress arrives and takes our orders—a hamburger and an iced tea for me and a Vietnamese steak salad and a glass of wine for Sarah. I study the delicate planes of her face while she orders, the swoop of her eyelashes, the curve of her cheek. The flash of pale blue eyes, almost startling in their clarity.

“So, this trip of yours,” I ask. “Is it something you’ve wanted to do for a while?”

Sarah fidgets with her napkin. “It was definitely a spur of the moment thing.” Her smile hints at a thousand things left unsaid. “My brother was getting married in South Carolina—we’re from Ohio,” she clarifies and I nod. “I packed up and hit the road, fully intending to go to the wedding, only I turned west instead of south.” She shrugs, dropping her gaze. “Not my nicest move, but it might have been my best move.”

The hurt radiating off her stuns me and I read between the lines of what she said and what she didn’t. “Are things strained between you and your brother?” I study her reaction carefully, looking for any hints as to who this woman really is.

“Not with that brother. Not really. It’s complicated.” She sits back and the look in her eyes tells me to move on.

That silent warning does nothing but make me want to know more, but I’ll drop it. For now. “How many brothers do you have?”

“Just two. David, Colton, and then me—the baby of the family.” Sarah rests her elbow on the table and cups her face with her hand. “What about you? Any brothers or sisters?”

“There are six of us Wilde boys in total.” I wait for the inevitable shocked response. No one learns about my family without it sideswiping the conversation.

Sarah does not disappoint. Her stunning eyes go wide. Her jaw drops. Surprise brightens her face. “Six of you? Wow…”

“Yep. Chet, Gabe, me, Hank, Jack, and Leo.” I hold up a finger for each brother. “And before you say anything about the names, they’re all short for something even worse. For some reason unknown to any of us, my mom thought having an unusual name would give us character.” I grin, thinking of how many times my oldest brother, Chet, had to come to my rescue over my stupid name. “I grew up on a ranch about two hours from here. There’s a running joke that my parents wanted to cut back on ranch hands. Hence, six boys.”

Sarah’s surprise deepens. “Shut. Up.” She places her hands on the table and leans forward. “You grew up on a ranch?”

“Is that gonna be a problem?” I ask through a chuckle.

“It’s just a coincidence, that’s all.” Sarah pauses while the waitress arrives with our drinks, thanking the woman as she places them on the table. “I grew up on a farm. Cows. Goats. Chickens. Orchards. You name it, we grew it.” She eyes my suit and the fancy restaurant, then tilts her head as if she’s come to a conclusion. “Seems like you enjoyed that lifestyle about as much as I did.”

I shrug. “I’m better with my head than my hands, so instead of trying to be a square peg in a round hole, I focused myself on energy efficient design and sustainable architecture.”

Sarah raises her brow. “You’re an architect?”

“Nope. I’m an electrical engineer, but I work for a firm that wants to lead the way in the field of sustainable architecture. You know, go green and all that.”

For as flippant as I’m being, environmental concerns are a big deal to me. Growing up on a ranch taught me the value of knowing what goes into our food and highlighted the struggles real people face trying to make a living off agriculture. To say I’m passionate about discovering more efficient ways to harness energy is an understatement.

“Wow.” Sarah sips at her wine. “Sounds like you’re using your powers for good. I commend you.” She raises her glass in mock salute before setting it back on the table.

Our food arrives and my mouth starts watering at the sight of the massive burger and pile of fries on my plate. Sarah’s salad looks delicious and she moans as she chews her first bite. The sound sends my mind down delightfully wicked trails. I want to be the cause of that sound. I want to draw it out of her again and again and again.

“What about you?” I ask, after popping a fry into my mouth. “What kind of work do you do? Must be impressive if it can fund a random trip across country?”

As far as I can figure, she’s either rocking a killer job with great benefits and loads of vacation time, or the kind of job she could just walk away from. I can’t think of any other way a person could simply decide to take off on a whim without worrying about the ramifications on her future.

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