Page 4 of A Lonely Road
This place was actually perfect. I was already impressed with how much work I was getting done, even with the distraction of Cute Neighbor lurking at the edge of my awareness.
Just as I was finishing my stuffed mushrooms—which were heavenly enough for me to excuse the golden statues out front—the server reappeared with a plate of strawberry shortcake that I definitely hadn’t ordered. When I opened my mouth to protest, he shook his head to silence me.
“Compliments of the owner,” he said with a sly smirk, glancing toward the bar.
When I followed his gaze, Jake raised a hand in salute, smiling just enough for that dimple to pop.
“Jake Lincoln owns this place?” I asked numbly, tearing my eyes from his stupid, adorable face to blink down at the exquisitely crafted confection laid before me. Glistening berries were piled high atop the crumbly shortcake and crowned with whipped cream that inspired a few too many rapidfire fantasies in my head.
Had I walked under a ladder? Desecrated a field of four-leaf clovers? How else could I explain this sudden run of unfortunate luck?
“Oh, yeah,” the server replied, grinning at me before he disappeared.
Reluctantly, I dragged my gaze back to Jake, whose crooked smile suddenly did strange things to my pulse. I raised a hand in thanks, shot him a lightning quick smile, then stared blindly down at my notebook until my heart rate calmed.
It was just dessert, nothing to get worked up over. Damn him, I’d never turned down a free dessert in my life. I wasn’t about to start now. Especially when it looked so verydelicious.
Of course. Of course Cute Neighbor owns the perfect writing location in this tiny town, for fuck’s sake.
Without glancing back in Jake’s direction, I tucked the notebook into my bag and picked up my fork. Even if I had wanted to, I knew that leaving without sampling at least a bite of Jake’s sweet offering would be unspeakably rude, and hadn’t my goal been to avoid drawing attention to myself?
It was just dessert. A nice, neighborly gesture to the new girl in town. Surely that was all he intended it to be.
Oh. My. God.
I closed my eyes as I took a tiny bite. I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d tasted something so decadent. At the very least, I was grateful Jake was the owner of the place and not the chef. Being able to actually concoct treats like this might sway me dangerously close to warming up toward him.
Hell, I was already thawing as the delicate shortcake melted on my tongue.
I smiled weakly at the server when he returned with the check, then tucked cash into the vinyl folder and slung my bag over my shoulder. Before I could slip out of the booth, I spotted Jake heading straight toward me. He wore fitted khaki pants and they were just as flattering on his long limbs as the ripped jeans.
A memory of the lean muscles of his arms popped unexpectedly into my head, reminding me of what was now hidden beneath his pristine dress shirt. I swore under my breath and stood quickly, preferring to meet him on closer-to-equal terms.Considering he was nearly a foot taller than me, it was probably moot, but it made me feel slightly more in control.
“Good evening, Ms. Cassidy,” Jake said smoothly. “How was your dinner?” The corners of his eyes, which shone crystal blue in the dim light, crinkled slightly as he smiled.
I lifted my chin, feigning a confidence I didn’t feel. “It was excellent, thank you. I had no idea you owned a . . . gastropub.” It came out more like an admonition than a statement of fact.
Jake’s grin widened. “Family business. My dad made the mistake of letting my sister choose the name, so she’s responsible for the mermaids. She was obsessed with them as a kid. Before my family bought the place, it was called Smugglers Den, in honor of the town’s history during Prohibition. Legend has it there was a fair amount of rum-running and smuggling going on in Spruce Hill at the time.”
“Oh.” I was surprised by how freely he shared information. And by how interested I was in everything he had to say.
That was entirely new for me, and I wasn’t quite sure how to feel about it.
“I hope my presence didn’t detract from your visit,” he said conspiratorially, like he was trying to win me over. “I promise I’m not stalking you. I didn’t want to sound pushy by suggesting you come in right after you got here.”
With a resigned sigh, I adjusted my bag and allowed myself a tiny smile. “I guess my night was not entirely ruined,” I replied. “And the shortcake was delicious.”
“Chef Bea is an absolute godsend.”
It was difficult to keep my eyes from the unbuttoned collar of his white shirt. He was extremely attractive and I was overcome with the desire to observe him, to study every facet of the man—physical and otherwise.
As a woman in a new town still trying to get the lay of the land, I desperately wanted to avoid the distraction this handsome neighbor posed.
Jake Lincoln owned a restaurant that seemed to be a pillar of the community. He was friendly, helpful, respected by his staff. Involvement with the town’s golden boy would plant a spotlight over my head, and that was the last thing I needed while I settled in.
“I’m glad you came by,” Jake said, his voice low, soft in a way that threatened to summon goosebumps along my skin.
“I like it here.” I didn’t mean to blurt the words, but they escaped nonetheless.
