Page 27 of Surrender
He chuckled. His grin was boyish, teasing, devastating.
“You’re the chef here?”
“I wouldn’t go that far. Just a cook. My sister Sophie and I run the place.” He leaned forward, voice dropping to something rougher, rawer. “But I’m the one who’ll be making your pie.”
His eyes locked with hers. Hungry. Barely restrained.
She felt it in her belly, in the heat crawling up her neck, in the ache low in her spine. He wanted her. The thought sent a dizzy pulse of desire straight through her.
This was mad. They’d only just met. And yet.
He was looking at her like he wanted to taste every inch of her. Like he already knew how she’d sound when he kissed her. Like the whole damn world had tilted to put them right here, across from each other, in this sliver of stolen time.
His voice came out hoarse. “Listen, this is presumptuous, and tell me to fuck off if you want to—but would you like to meet me tonight? After we close?”
“Yes.” The word leapt out of her mouth before her brain could catch it. “What time?”
Keefe’s smile could have melted granite. “We close at eleven.”
“I’ll be here.”
He stood straight. If he didn’t return to the kitchen now, he would never go. “See you then, Ruby.”
She watched him walk away, pulse racing, throat dry, body aching with an anticipation.
“Oh,” he said over his shoulder, “enjoy your game pie.”
She managed a shaky laugh. “I’ll be sure to send my compliments to the cook.”
The bell above the pub door jingled, but Gwen barely registered it. Everything around her blurred—conversations dipped into white noise, the clink of glasses and scrape of chairs dissolving under the roar in her ears.
She was in trouble.
The salad smiled up at her like some leafy, innocent accomplice. It shouldn’t have made her chest ache, but it did. Who the hell made a sheep out of romaine and parmesan? And why did it make her want to cry?
Because it was thoughtful. Charming. It was effort.
And that man—the one with the strong forearms and the soft grin—he’d served it like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like he made girls laugh with salads every day. Like he wasn’t quietly rearranging the axis of her whole damn existence.
She shoved her chair back, slow and careful, like any sudden movement might cause her to combust. Her boots hit the floor and her knees threatened betrayal, wobbly and untrustworthy as she pushed to stand.
She needed the bathroom. Or a walk. Or a one-way ticket back to anywhere that wasn’t here.
But her hand froze on the back of the chair.
Because she could still feel the heat of his gaze, even now. The way it had burned into her like he’d known her all along. Not Ruby. Not the lie. Her.
And that terrified her more than anything else.
Gwen turned toward the hallway leading to the bathroom, her spine ramrod straight. One foot in front of the other. That was all she had to do.
But her heart wasn’t walking.
Her heart was already curled up in the kitchen with a man who made sheep-shaped salads and said hello like it meant something.
God help her, she was going to meet him tonight.
And she was going to lie.
