Page 26 of Surrender
All she could do was look at him. Not because he was handsome—though he certainly was—but because there was something else.
Something in the way he looked back.
Like he saw her. Really saw her. And didn’t flinch.
And somehow, that was more intimate than anything had ever been.
“Hello,” he said.
Just one word, low and rough and full of heat.
Gwen blinked. “Hello.” She meant to sound cool. Controlled. But it came out more like a confession.
For one long beat, neither of them moved.
She should say something else. Anything. But she couldn’t look away. Then she glanced down.
A Caesar salad, heaped high and—was that a sheep?
The lettuce had been fluffed into wool, the croutons carefully arranged like legs, and the grated cheese blanketed over the top in thick curls.
It was ridiculous. And perfect.
Her lips parted in disbelief. “Is this...?”
He leaned slightly on the table, arms crossed, a slow smile spreading. “An artistic interpretation of the local wildlife.”
Gwen had come prepared—lied to herself that she was ready. She’d rehearsed the story a hundred times on the drive. But now, sitting under the weight of his ocean-blue gaze, every word of that carefully crafted script fled her mind like smoke in the wind. She couldn’t tell it. Not to him. Not when the air between them buzzed with something that felt dangerously close to fate.
“I, uh… The truth is, I’m here dealing with my dead father’s estate.” Her voice came out softer than intended. Blunt. Bare. Buzzkill of the year.
Her accent was Irish but not quite Kerry, soft-edged and lilting with something he couldn’t place. Intriguing. His expression shifted, brows drawing together with quiet empathy. “I’m sorry to hear that. Are you here alone? Is someone helping you?”
She swallowed. He sounded concerned. Genuine. It made her chest ache.
“No. No one. Just me. But it’s all right. I don’t mind. It’s easier by myself. You know?”
Keefe’s first instinct—an irrational, protective surge—was to pull her into his lap and promise she’d never be alone again. That she wouldn’t have to face anything, not now, not ever, without someone in her corner. Without him.
Instead, he leaned a little closer and let the tension crackle between them. “Well, I suppose then you’ll be wanting me to leave you in peace so you can eat your meal alone…”
He left the words hanging, an invitation tied up in low, velvety suggestion.
“I wouldn’t mind a little company,” she blurted. Then flushed. “Never mind, that was stupid. You must be very busy.”
“I’ve got a little time.” He leaned against the bar with a casual ease that didn’t match the fire rolling through his veins.
She smiled, shyly, and smoothed the napkin across her lap with nervous precision.
“I’m Keefe,” he said, holding out his hand.
“I’m—Ruby.” It was the first lie she told him and it killed her. She couldn’t meet his eyes. Guilt pinched her throat. If he looked at her too closely, he’d see it. All of it. She extended her hand. Their fingers met with a spark so sharp she nearly jerked back.
“That’s a pretty name,” he said, his voice dipping low.
She smiled silently praying he’d change the subject before her stomach twisted itself into a full-blown knot.
“This salad’s almost too cute to eat,” she said, grateful for the pivot.
