Page 12 of Hooked on Marshall

“Lana, I was kidding.”

But was he? Does he know about what happened between me and Jonas? And if he does, why would he even joke about something like that?

“I need to go home,” I tell him.

“I’ll take you home,” he says firmly. “Afteryou’ve had breakfast andafterwe clear things up between us.”

“It’s okay,” I tell him. “I’ll be fine.”

“Maybe I won’t.”

This stills me. And I wonder what he means. Several minutes pass before he speaks again.

“Lana, please,” he says softly. “Open the door.”

I don’t want to face him again. But when my stomach growls, I figure I might as well get this over with. He’s obviously hell bent on figuring out why I’m so hot and cold with him. I’m just not sure if I can tell him the truth yet. So, I take a deep breath and pull open the door. Once again, the look of concern on his handsome face gives me pause.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him.

“And I’m sorry I upset you,” he says.

I nod. Then he offers me his hand. I slowly slide my palm over his and delight at how my body instantly warms because of it. He gives me a small smile and leads me back into the kitchen. When he pulls a chair out at the small table, I let him help me sit. In a matter of seconds, he hands me the glass of water and one of the pain pills. By the time I’ve downed it, he’s setting a mug of coffee in front of me. I thank him and holdit between my palms so I can enjoy the aroma and continue to warm myself.

Before he can sit down, his doorbell rings. He leaves me to answer it. It’s a man. Judging from the extended conversation, I’m assuming they know each other. After I’ve had a few sips of coffee, her returns with a large bag. I lean back as he sets it on the table and pulls out two covered plastic platters. He sets one in front of me and the other in front of the chair opposite. Then he hands me the plastic cutlery and does what he can to make this a little less awkward for me.

“Sorry about the plasticware,” he grins. “But I just moved all my things in on Friday. I haven’t had much time to get settled.”

“It’s fine,” I say. “Thank you for breakfast. I can pay you back.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” he says. “I want you to be comfortable, okay? Here…and with me in general.”

“Why?” I ask without thinking.

He smiles at this. And asks a question I’m not prepared for.

“Do you want my professional response to that? Or my personal one?”

“Professional, of course,” I say quickly.

He barely masks his flinch at this. But he doesn’t hesitate to continue.

“A business like mine thrives on personal interactions,” he shrugs. “When people come in to have a drink or a meal, they expect to interact with the staff. You’ll ask them how they’ve been and listen and then you’ll return the favor. A place like Brick Oven Alehouse is much more than a place to eat and drink. It’s a place to let go and unwind. Onbothsides.

“But if you’re uncomfortable with me, the owner, the patrons will pick up on that. Which means it could make themuncomfortable and less likely to come in. And if that happens, then word will spread and less and less people will come in. Do you see where I’m going with this?”

I bite my lip and nod my head. Because I totally get it. And I want to kick myself in the ass for thinking that Marshall felt more than just friendship for me. Something that dims my spirit for a moment. Until he keeps talking.

“However, I’m going to answer your question personally as well,” he says in a low voice that makes my toes curl. “Because I refuse to hide my feelings from you. So, let me just put it out there that the moment I met you, I felt something I hadn’t felt in a very long time. Meaning that the entire time I was building my business in the city, I didn’t want to be distracted by anything. Including a relationship with a good woman.

“But what I didn’t realize until I met you is I had been missing out. Everything I had gained through my business would have felt so much better if I had been able to share it with someone. And I want that someone to be you.”

“You’ve known me for a few weeks,” I snap.

“That doesn’t matter,” he says. “What I do know of you is enough.”

I shake my head. Then I lift the cover off my platter and focus on eating. Because I’m hungry. And also because I want to nix any further conversation with Marshall.

Do I want a meaningful relationship with a man?

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