Page 82 of Twisted Hearts

His eyes were black. Tanned skin. His hair was as dark as his eyes, gelled to the side.

“Excuse me,” I muttered, feeling that tremble return to my legs and fingertips. He stepped sideways, giving me barely enough room to squeeze by him, and even as I did, my breasts brushed across his arm.

A frown tugged my brows down and pulled at my mouth.

Weird.I took a few steps away, felt his gaze on me, and turned back, glancing at him over my shoulder. He wasn’t even pretending he wasn’t watching me. Not in a leering, attracted way, but something more…sinister?

I shook off the strange feeling and headed back to our table.

“Hey.” Shawn stood as I returned. “You better?”

“Yeah.” Seeing him helped, and the weird tension knotting my shoulders unfurled. “Sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

With a hand at my lower back, he guided me toward my side of the booth, where my prime rib and salad had been delivered along with a fresh glass of red wine.

“This looks incredible.” I sighed.

“It just came.” His face scrunched up as he watched me. “Are you sure you’re okay? You seem…flushed.”

“No. I’m good. I just bumped into someone and was embarrassed.”

“That’s it?”

I took a sip of my wine to wash away the lingering weirdness. “Yes.” I smiled, hoping it seemed real, and grabbed my fork and knife. “Now, since talking about my family is clearly off the table”—Shawn’s lips quirked up at the corner—“tell me about yours. What was life in Kansas like?”

He relaxed into the booth. Hopefully, he saw I was okay. And I was okay. Not great, not relaxed, but I was okay, and for tonight, that was enough. “Ah, all the first date stuff, huh?”

A date. It’d been so long since I’d been on one I wanted to be on, and a slow-burning heat crept up my neck. “That’s right. This is a date, isn’t it?”

Shawn lifted his beer and tipped it in my direction. “The first of many.”

25

Shawn

It was foreign to me to describe my family, to talk about them when the person across from me didn’t know a single thing. In Carlton, my parents had been around for forever. Their parents, my grandparents, while now no longer with us, had lived there. I grew up in a home that had been built by hand by my great-grandfather, and the Blakelys had always been incredibly active in the community. There was a park named after my grandparents, who’d donated seventy-five percent of the funds for it.

Everyoneknew my family.

Swiping a chunk of the pumpernickel bread in the center of the table, I told Addi, “My parents are wonderful people. They live on and run a farm that’s been in my family for generations.”

“A farm?”

“Yep. Cattle, goats, chickens. You name it, we’ve raised it.”

“What was that like?”

“Perfect.” I didn’t hesitate, but when the sadness sparked in her eyes, I felt like shit for it. “I’m sorry you didn’t have that, but to be honest, my childhood was perfect. Parents who loved me and my sister. Parents who loved each other and never hesitated to show it. Sure, we got in trouble, got grounded, and there were nights my parents argued after Shelly and I were in bed, but mostly, it was pretty damn perfect. Hard work on the farm, but outside of that, we had a lot of freedom.”

She chewed on a bite of her salad, grinning as she did so. “I’m imagining you as a teenager, all those muscles, throwing hay around, getting sweaty.”

This woman. I chuckled and took a sip of my beer. She wasn’t in a good headspace; any idiot could see that. She was jittery since returning to the table and she hadn’t been in a great mood before, but that was what made her so spectacular.

Addi could switch topics, tease, and move on like everything she was going through was nothing more than a parking lot speed bump.

“I did a lot of hay baling,” I confirmed. “And was definitely sweaty.” I lowered my voice and leaned forward, giving her my most teasing look. “But the muscles didn’t come until later.”

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