Page 55 of The Lair

The usual? He comes here often?

I turn to him as the woman gets our food ready and ask him exactly that.

“Barbara is a friend of my uncle’s,” he explains.

I’m assuming Barbara is the woman behind the display full of goodies.

“I didn’t know you had a sweet tooth, boss man,” I tease him.

But it’s not him who answers.

“Crabby as he might be, he can’t resist my chocolate muffins,” the woman says, a loving smile touching the wrinkly corners of her lips. “You must be Allie.”

I give her another smile in return. “It’s great to meet you.”

“Likewise, dear. My name is Barbara.” She passes two brown bags to Travis as well as two steaming plastic cups of coffee and sends me a knowing look. “I hope this one isn’t giving you much trouble at work. We all know how he can get.”

I steal a quick look at Travis, but his face remains as cold as ever, unaffected by Barbara’s amicable jab.

“He’s all right.” I drop my voice on purpose. “Most days.”

She laughs, shaking her head. “Sounds about right. Gotta love all his rough edges.”

“All right,” my boss interrupts, placing the money on the counter. “Thanks, Barbara. I’ll see you soon.”

She gives him an amused look. “I’m dropping by Neil’s on Friday. Don’t be a stranger.”

He nods in response, and I wave at her, following him out the door. “Have a good day, Barbara.”

“You too, Allie.”

I don’t realize it at first, but when I do, I come to a halt right outside his pickup truck, my hand freezing on the door handle.

“Travis?” My mouth feels too dry, but I push through. “How did Barbara know who I am?”

She can’t possibly know about my family. She doesn’t fit the demographic.

He opens the passenger door for me from the inside, then passes me one of the paper bags after I sit down. “She knows everyone I work with.”

Oh.Oh. That makes sense. But that means he talks about me, and I don’t know how that makes me feel.

My shoulders sag with relief, and I stick my nose inside the bag, smelling the deliciousness. “How much do I owe you for this?”

“You fed me dinner last night. We’re even.”

I could fight him on this—and I’m about to—but then I notice the white-and-green beads around his wrist, matching the pink-and-white ones I’m also wearing today.

He’s wearing my bracelet. He doesn’t hate it or think it’s silly.

One would think my slice of carrot cake—that comes with a cute plastic fork and everything—and my coffee would keep me busy during the trip, right? Wrong. So, so wrong.

Because as soon as Travis pulls into traffic, my eyes land on the beaded bracelet around his wrist again. Unable to help myself, my attention shifts from his wrist to his hand, to those thick fingers wrapped around the wheel, and my pulse quickens.

I’ve never been attracted to someone’s hands before, and it’s…definitely something. I wouldn’t call Travis’s hands beautiful, or at least not in the most conventional sense of the word. They aren’t smooth or delicate but calloused and rough.

It doesn’t help that I’ve seen him lift heavy boxes at The Lair with those hands and fix doorknobs and faulty furniture. His are capablehands. Hands with a kind of scorching warmth I’ve felt against my body, even if only for a fleeting moment that probably meant nothing to him.

This is just an infatuation that will lead nowhere. I know this, and I’m okay with it. Really. I’m not so delusional as to think my thirty-seven-year-old boss could ever feel anything for me.

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