Page 3 of Wilde Sanctuary

Her eyes were a golden brown, almost amber, with darker flecks. They reminded him of the fall leaves that he loved so much.

“No.” He managed say.

“No?” Her brows drew together.

He cleared his throat. “I mean, no need to apologize.” He waved his hand towards the seat next to her. “Do you mind if I?”

She nodded. Then frowned and shook her head. “No, I don’t mind. Um, here.” She dragged her bag off the seat, dumping it unceremoniously on the floor.

Rhett’s lips twitched, but he sat, watching her as she sat carefully.

“Hey Rhett.”

He turned to see his cousin, Mason, limping towards him, the perpetual scowl he wore deepening as he took in the woman sitting next to him.

“Mason,” he replied, straightening in his seat.

“Who’s your date?”

“She’s not?—”

“Oh, we’re not?—”

Rhett’s lips twitched. Mason just grunted and shook his head, moving to the far end of the bar and hoisting himself onto an empty barstool.

“Not very friendly, is he?” she asked.

He whipped his head towards her, ready with an angry retort to defend Mason, but there was no animosity in her expression.

“Yeah, well, being in pain all the time will probably do that,” he said, but smiled to soften the words.

She chewed on her bottom lip and looked at her lap.

“What can I get you, ma’am? Rhett?”

He didn’t bother telling old Errol the bartender they weren’t on a date. In a town as small as Cape Wilde, everyone would know by this time tomorrow that he’d been seen with a beautiful stranger. If he protested, it would be even more damning.

Rhett waited while she ordered, then gave his own order, paying for both their drinks.

“I can pay for my drink.”

“Never said you couldn’t.” Rhett took a long pull from his beer, closing his eyes as the refreshing cold brew slid down his throat. The tension in his shoulders eased a little, and he sighed, rolling his head on his neck to stretch out some kinks that had developed carrying a pack for the last few days.

He glanced over at her to see her swirling her wineglass absentmindedly, the way he’d seen the folk who fancied themselves as wine connoisseurs do at the fine dining restaurant over at Calamity Cove. But with her, it didn’t look contrived. It looked practiced, like she’d spent a lot of time in fancy restaurants of the like not found outside of a big city.

“Where are you from?” He surprised himself by asking.

“New York,” she said simply, taking a sip of her wine as she glanced at him from under lowered lashes.

“Ahh,” he replied, setting one booted foot on the ground, the other on the rung of the barstool.

She lifted an eyebrow in question. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Rhett shrugged. “You don’t look like you’re from around here.”

She looked down at her clothes. “I don’t?”

He couldn’t help but laugh. “Nope.”

---