Page 305 of Warlords, Witches & Wolves

Luckily, Joan’s place was only a few minutes from the bar and grill.

Noah pulled up beside my car in the parking lot and I fished out my keys.

“Thanks for the lift,” I said, hopping out of the truck and closing the door.

He rounded the hood and met me on the passenger side, leaning one arm on the truck all casual and sexy as hell. “The bar doesn’t open until midday. I can make you breakfast if you like.”

“Oh, ah…you don’t have to, it’s fine.”

The guy was clearly being hospitable, but there was no need. I’d made it in the world alone long enough to manage on my own. Besides, I didn’t want to give him the wrong idea. As soon as the summer was over, I’d head back to Seattle.

“I’d like to.” He pushed off the truck and started walking to the bar, ending any further protests on my behalf.

“Okay.”

But only because caffeine wouldn’t keep me going for long.

I followed Noah inside and waited by the door while he switched on the various lights. “Do you open the bar early for all the new girls in town?”

“Only you.”

My stupid heart flipped at his words. This wouldn’t end well.

“Besides, I own the place, so I can open whenever I want.”

Of course, he owned a bar. I should’ve figured that out by the name. He wasn’t just some ordinary guy, from an ordinary family, living an ordinary life. He probably swooned all the newcomers.

“How long are you here for?” he asked, walking behind the bar to switch on the last set of lights.

“The summer.” I dumped my purse on the top. “I inherited Joan’s estate when she died.” I sighed. “That was a bit too much information for first thing in the morning.”

Noah stilled, facing the liquor bottles, his head angled to the floor. “No. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. I…hardly knew her.”

I kept saying that, and each time it tugged more at my heart.

He turned to face me. “The death of someone important to you is never easy.”

I sensed he spoke from experience, but I refrained from asking. Death wasn’t exactly the happiest breakfast subject.

After a moment of silence, Noah left the main bar area and walked into what I presumed was a kitchen.

“What’s your plan for the Whitcome place?” he asked through the open door.

I stood by the bar, tracing my fingernail along a grove in the timber. “I’m going to sell it once the summer is over.” When he didn’t respond, I filled the silence. “Joan included a condition in her will that states I need to live in the house for a summer before I sell it. It needs a little work and a big declutter, but I think it should sell. It’s a beautiful home.” The smell of salty bacon lured me through the door into the kitchen. “Anything I can do?”

He pointed to an egg carton. “Could you pass me those?”

I did, and Noah cracked a few into a bowl and whisked them with a dash of cream.

“A man that can cook and bartend, where have you been all my life?”

He gave me that dimpled smirk over his shoulder. “Waiting.”

My heart stilled. Those words, the intensity in his eyes. How could someone I’d only just met have that effect on me?

Focusing back on the hotplate, he poured the egg mixture into the pan. “What repairs does the house need?”

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