Page 12 of Catch and Release Groom

“Yeah, planning to do as many expeditions as I can, so ideally, I’d hire a part-time employee to run the shop whenever I’m out on the water. Having the storefront will only make it easier for us to cross promote.”

Agreement rounded the table, and Easton let out a slow exhale. It’d taken him a year and a half to fight his way back, and he refused to blow it on another woman, regardless of whether she was hitched or not.

During the time it took for the food to arrive, enough other couples arrived at the restaurant—and they all came two-by-two, as if they were about to board Noah’s ark—that he could no longer hear Imogen’s monologues. But occasional glimpses revealed she was still talking to herself, having a grand old time or pretending to, or perhaps tipsy enough she no longer cared.

A solid conclusion, judging by the way she brandished a pair of forks at the waiter’s approach, one clenched in each fist, pointy tines up. He placed the giant slice of “I’ll Molt With You” lava cake for two in front of Imogen, and she gaped at the dessert with unfettered glee. She didn’t waste any time diving in, spearing a piece of chocolate crust with the fork in her right hand and shoveling it into her mouth, and then immediately taking a sloppier, gooier bite with her left.

The waiter refilled both wineglasses, which Easton didn’t think was the best idea, but it was none of his business, and he’d already pissed her off enough for one day. Plus, now she had pitchforks, miniature as they may be.

Chair legs scraped the floor, alerting Easton that his dining companions had begun scooting away, andshit, he’d let his concentration drift again.

They tossed business cards and wadded-up bills on the table, signaling the meal had officially come to a close.

Easton stood as well, and yet he couldn’t budge from his spot. The same obstinate pride that’d caused him to try to remove a hook from his ear himself insisted he was merely enjoying an evening of free entertainment; in reality, his inner gentleman refused to leave Imogen alone in case the bottle of wine caught up with her.

There were plenty of people around, so she should be fine. Butshouldwasn’t good enough—not for the cop in him.

Or thehimin him.

After giving everyone his regards, Easton strode in the direction of the table he’d been unable to keep his gaze from all night.

Imogen’s cheeks were flushed, her eyes slightly hooded, and the drizzle of chocolate sauce on her lower lip gave him all sorts of bad ideas. Like offering to suck it off for her. Or asking for a taste only to clarify he didn’t mean dessert.

It took her a moment to register his presence, and every look, blink, and motion of hers seemed to be on a two or three second delay. “Hey, it’s you.”

“It’s me.”

“Wait. Does that mean…?” She glanced from one side of him to the other before lifting a couple of inches off her chair and casting a wider circle. “Are you here on a date?” Her lipstick accentuated her grimace. “If so, oopsie-doopsie on my earlier thoughts about you. I’ll have to edit those.”

Easton propped an elbow on the table, ignoring the wobble and resting his cheek on his fist so he’d be eye-level with the woman who’d snagged his interestandhis ear. Heat coursed through his veins, and he couldn’t help himself. “Are you saying you had dirty thoughts about me?”

“Only if you meanactualdirt,” she shot back, her sass coming through loud and clear, despite the slight slur to her words. “You’re al-mosstt as muddy as yer truck.” She chuckled at her own…joke?

But then her eyes flew wide, and she lunged in his direction, glasses and silverware rattling in her wake. “And blood—God, I made you bleed.” Gently, she swiped the pad of her index finger over the resulting scab, and speaking of blood, every ounce rushed toward her touch, begging for more. “How’sssthe ear? Does it hurt?”

Easton wrapped his hand around her wrist, one finger at a time, repressing a full-body shiver at the unexpected whoosh of air that fell from her mouth. “It’s fine.” If he spent any longer holding on to her, their noses close enough to touch, he’d forget why he’d come over in the first place. “How about you? Was the end of your day as adventurous as the start?”

If he had a lick of sense, he’d shift into reverse and go.

“Not really, and that’s a pos-tive thing, but…” She shrugged, grimaced, and dropped a hand to her stomach. “Ugh, I’m so full. Not to mention”—her left breast landed in her side of mashed potatoes as she moved even closer and whispered—“pretty drunk, hon-stell-y. Hon-stet-ly. Hon-nest-telly…”

Whoops and hollers cut through the din, drawing focus to the bar area and the lip-locked couple decked out in wedding attire.

An antsy sensation crawled up his limbs at the enamored smile that curved Imogen’s lips…

Only to overtake his chest at the sorrow that immediately followed.

His gut tensed, his instincts petitioning him once again to run for the hills.

But then she dazedly shook her head. “Wait.” She blink, blink, blinked at him liked he’d shown up out of nowhere and rubbed a couple of fingers over her forehead. “Where was I again?”

The instant he opened his mouth, though, she slapped a palm over it and kept on talking. “Oh yeah, I ’member now. I tried to eat both entrees for pettiness reasons. We’re talking Tom Petty, won’t-back-down levels.”

Easton did his best not to react to the hilarity, or to wonder if she appreciated classic rock as much as he did. Diving deeper only resulted in a further, harder swim back, and from here on out, he was doing himself a favor and choosing smooth sailing.

“I put up a good fight, but I’m afraid I’m gonna have to throw in the towel. ’Specially since I also had…” She ticked off on her fingers and then shook her head again. “However many glasses of wine. They call it Love Potion Pinot—how cute is that? It should’ve made me happy, but it only made me sad.” She sighed, her lips sticking out in a pout that quickly gave way to a sloppy, self-satisfied grin. “Well, until I drank enough to make me happy again. Point is, dinner for two isn’t very enjoyable when you force it to be for one.”

He didn’t necessarily agree, but he knew to keep his trap shut.

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