Page 20 of Debt of My Soul

“No,” Adam says, a sharp bite to his words. “I mean, no, Fleur … shit, I’m sorry.”

He drags a hand through his dark slick hair, tousling it into a mess before resting his chin in his palm and propping his elbow on the table.

“This one isn’t working either.” The server pops back up. She’s obviously uncomfortable telling him. Her lips are pressed together in a thin line, downturned into a timid frown.

Adam’s eyes narrow on her, and his brow furrows into deep lines harboring annoyance. “I don’t have another card.”

“I’ve got it tonight, Adam. Please let me.” I pull out my purse, wanting to put this young girl out of her misery. She looks between Adam and me before I hand her cash. “Keep the change. Thank you so much.”

Adam doesn’t say much, walking me to my car. I haven’t been on a first date in, well, forever, but I’m trying not to let one experience ruin what I know about him. He’s always been kind and hardworking, even if it’s in an eager way.

Reaching my car, I turn to say goodnight, but salty lips suddenly meet mine. Soft and tender, he pushes me into my jeep door, deepening the kiss.

My mind whirls as his hands fly to my cheeks, holding me against him. His tongue darts out, seeking entry, but I … I can’t.

I pull back, panting at his sudden fervor, and search his eyes. Dark with desire, he allows his hand to linger on my cheek, thumb caressing over my heated skin.

“I had an amazing time with you. I hope we can continue this.”

Stunned into silence, I can only offer him a closed-lip smile. Flashes of Chris and the ache of a broken heart cling to me. Claws embedded so deep I fear yanking them out. Or perhaps ripping them out for Adam would leave gaping holes he wasn’t qualified to heal. Would anyone be?

“Safe trip home,” he says before planting a chaste kiss on my cheek and walking around to his truck to climb in. His tires squeal off, leaving me standing there.

Hands shaking, I manage to pull out my keys and unlock my door. I sit in deafening silence, fingers tracing the rubber bands at my wrist and the spot on my lips where his mouth suddenly met mine.

I glance over at the empty parking space next to me. His truckdefinitelyused to be red.

Chapter 10

Fleur

The rumbling of a motorcycle pulls me out of my thoughts mid-scrub down of the jacuzzi tub. Purple foam slides down my pant leg, and I drape the microfiber cloth over the spout, quickly fleeing the tub. Cold tile meets my feet. I learned quickly that cleaning the large tub took me getting in the thing as short ole me could only lean across half of it.

I slip, barely making it to the window overlooking the narrow employee parking lot to see a man getting off his motorcycle. His head is covered with a glossy black helmet reflecting the nearby trees. He stomps around his bike toward my car, and I angle myself, pushing up on my already tender toes to peek farther out.

Tilting his head to the side, he looks at my license plate, then bends down to get a better look.

Umm. What is he doing?

Turning, I bolt out of the bathroom and spring to the stairs. This man wouldn’t vandalize my car, would he? Most of the town’s people have been welcoming, but I wouldn’t put it past some to hate outsiders enough to want to drive them off.

Mrs. Northgate ascends the steps, smiling at me as I dart past.

“I’ll be right back!”

Each tread comes quicker than the last. I jog past the entryway, passing the blueberry muffins Mrs. Northgate has already set out. Through the kitchen, I shove the back door open and fly through the river-rock driveway. Only now I realize I still don’t have my shoes on from when I was cleaning the tub.

Skidding to a halt in front of the man’s motorcycle, I throw my hands up, my annoyance getting the better of me. “Can I help you with something? You’re taking too keen an interest in my car.”

He stiffens, rising to his full height and turning around slowly. I cross my arms, glaring at the man while both of his hands meet his helmet and lift it.

Dirty-blond hair falls around his neck, leather jacket zipped to cover it. With each inch he pulls up, the more my heart pounds. Scruff is revealed as the helmet moves past his chin, and when his hazel eyes come into view, my heart nearly stops.

The rest of his hair, wavier than I’ve seen it before and damp with sweat, falls around his face.

Cold eyes meet mine.

It’s him. The man from the bank. From the coffee shop.

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