Page 42 of Brewbies
“Gotta get that premium roast while I still can,” he said after her, waving a hand she didn’t look back to see.
Possibly because both Townsends froze like they’d been dipped in liquid nitrogen, and Roy melted back into the gloom of his shop without noticing them.
“Now what the hell do you think that was all about?” Ethan wondered aloud.
“Do you think he told her?” His mother sounded legitimately afraid.
“Anyone’s guess.” Ethan’s lips thinned. How had he not noticed the overabundance of secrets in his family?
“I have to go,” Caryn breathed.
He glanced over. “You okay?”
She nodded jerkily, yanking the sagging strap of her designer tote over her shoulder. “I’m just peachy. So much to do. You know how it is.” Fumbling with her sunglasses, she turned away from him before hesitating. Then turning back. “I hope we can speak again soon?” she ventured, her tone as soft as he’d ever heard it…which was to say, not very. “When you’re ready?”
He nodded.
She nodded.
And then they turned their backs to each other like duelists about to walk ten paces.
The last thing he needed to notice was how Darby’s ass swayed in that hip-hugging skirt before it flared and flowed down her smooth thighs.
He’d cupped the back of her knee just last night, tested the thin, delicate skin there and bathed in her subtle but delicious response.
He’d almost given in to the intense desire to kiss her.
Aaaaaaand…that was why he should run—not walk—the other way.
Except his mom was that way.
Right. He needed to get back to the botanical garden and help McGarvey.
An exclamation of surprise drew his attention back to the curb, where Darby had doubled over. Two buskers on the bench close by couldn’t be bothered to put down their accordion and whatever those tiny asshole guitars were to help her.
Hissing, she examined the bottom of her foot and rolled her delicate ankle as if to test to see if it was still working.
Her beige and white shoe lay on the ground a step behind her in two distinct pieces.
She hissed again as she picked an errant pebble from the pad of her foot, giving Ethan time to act.
Before she knew what he was doing.
Hell, before he’d even figured out his own plan of action, he’d swooped over and retrieved the broken shoe from the ground before she could limp back to it.
“Hey,” she called after him. “What the fuck, you just can’t take that!”
Watch me,he thought, striding away without so much as a glance.
TEN
Slurp and Spit
THE TERM FOR SLURPING THE COFFEE FROM THE SPOON, TASTING IT AND SPITTING IT OUT
“What the helldo you think you’re doing?” Darby limped after Ethan, feeling something cold and slimy that she dearly hoped wasn’t tobacco spit squelch between the toes of her bare foot.
Stupid vintage shoes with their promise of superior craftsmanship.
