Page 36 of Catch a Kiwi
And he caught sight of me.
Whoa. White shirt with the sleeves rolled up to show thick forearms. Black trousers tonight covering those muscular thighs. Bronze skin nearly glowing in the late-afternoon sunlight that streamed in through the windows, black hair cropped close, and an expression on his not-quite-handsome face that had me trying to catch my breath. Way too intense.
“Going to give us those drinks?” one of the twentysomething guys at the table asked. “Or d’you need help with the tray?”
“Oh. Sorry.” I was flushing, I could tell, as I went around the table, not looking in Roman’s direction. He looked … mad. Why?
No. Wrong question. If he was annoyed by something in his life, why was that my problem? Why did I need to care? We’d made a deal. I was fulfilling my end of it, and he wasfulfilling his. I didn’t need to rescue him, and he didn’t need rescuing anyway, any more than I did. If I wanted a guy, I should find a nice, normal, easygoing one, not some titan of industry.
The biggest of the guys said, “Hi. I’m Colin.” With a grin and an arm hooked over the back of his chair, and a little manspreading, too, as he tipped his chair back a little on two legs. Nothing threatening about it, really, just an attempt of the “Why not try?” variety, from a man who did look, yes, normal and easygoing and like no titan of industry ever, in his canvas shorts and work boots andCatlins Electricon the back of his T-shirt.
“Hi, Colin,” I said. “Here’s your beer.”
His smile stayed the same. “When are you done here?”
“Closing time’s 7:45,” the guy next to him said.
“I’ll wait for you, then, shall I?” Colin asked.
OK, this was what Ididn’tlove so much about serving. I said, “Nice try, but no, thanks,” in my most Barbie-cheerful voice, and set down another beer with a vague smile. I wasn’t even wearing a skirt! Huge white bandages on your shins and knees could startle people, so I was wearing jeans instead despite the summer warmth. Jeans and the pink T-shirt, not exactly come-on-over-big-boy-and-get-some-of-this fashion.
Colin said, “I’ll hang around anyway. That way, if you change your mind, I’ll be here. What?” he asked the guy next to him, who’d given him a look. “She’s not wearing a ring, and I said ‘in case.’” I could have pointed out that he hadn’t said “in case,” but I didn’t, because I wasn’t having this conversation.
The voice from behind me was so deep and so unexpected, I jumped. And grabbed my tray with two hands just in time. Without thinking, though, because it made my stitched palm give an almighty throb.
“Hi,” Roman said, loud enough that everybody heard it. “Came to wait for you. Good day?”
I still wasn’t looking at him, but was moving around the table instead, focusing on delivering the last two beers. I could see Colin, though. He’d brought the chair back down on four legs and wiped the interest off his face like he was thinking,Hope you didn’t hear that.
“Hi,” I said to Roman, because I couldn’t just leave him standing there. “I won’t be done until eight-fifteen or so. Too long for you to wait, and no need.”
He put an arm around my waist, and I froze. He came close as if to kiss me, the scent of him reminding me of that top-shelf bourbon with its caramel apple and spice, underlain by something clean and cool that must be his natural scent, because I realized I’d smelled it before, on the bed with him in the dark. Rain, maybe. Could a man smell like rain? I’d grown up in Seattle, and that was how he smelled. Like rain and, possibly, evergreens. Whatever it was, all of Roman—the touch, the voice, the scent—swirled in my head so I could hardly think. He murmured in my ear, “Why? And why didn’t you tell me?” And that was worse. In all sorts of ways.
I stepped out of earshot of the table and said over my shoulder to him, “I’m working.” I didn’t get anything back, so I turned to look and found that he hadn’t even followed me. He was up at the bar, placing his order. After that, he slid onto a barstool and didn’t look at me.
I wasn’t going to let this shake me up. That hard expression on his face when he’d walked in, that hand on my waist, that breath in my ear, weren’t going to rock me, because I didn’t need to sway with every shift in a man’s mood anymore, and anyway—no. Just no.
His eyes followed me as I moved between serving hatch, bar, and tables. He wasn’t even looking at his phone, andeverybody looked at their phone. He didn’t fidget at all, in fact. He sat still. And watched. Like he had the right. Like he had something to say about this. Like everything I did not need in my life anymore.
I could tell my color was even higher now, and my hands wanted to tremble. Why was I reacting like this? What had all my alarm bells clanging? He was getting some dinner on the way to the house for the weekend, that was all. I hadn’t been one bit scared of him driving up to Dunedin on Monday. So—why?
He hadn’t looked at me like this on Monday. He hadn’tdonethis.
Katrina, the pretty German girl who was working on the back patio tonight, said in passing, “That man has been staring at you.”
When she came back the other way, I said, keeping on with cleaning off a table, “He’s my boss. At my other job.”
“Oh.” She took another look at Roman. “Is he appropriate?”
I had to admit it. “So far.”
“He looks a bit scary,” she said. “To me. Maybe that is not so bad, though. Would you like me to deliver his meal?” She nodded at the hatch, where the cook was ringing the bell yet again and looking irritated.
“Oh!” I jumped for about the nineteenth time since Roman had come in. “No. I’ll do it.” No choice, because I didn’t run away anymore.
“Pity,” she said.
I grabbed Roman’s dinner—the salmon I’d wanted, which had better not be the last one—and swerved around the bartender to deliver it.
