Page 15 of The Disputed Legacy
Once more, I was flogged with the reluctant wishes that I could have someone to help me through the hard times. I’d never lighten up and sacrifice my independence to ask anyonefor help. But I had been musing about how much easier life would be if I had someone in my life.
Not only for the assistance in a little repair project that would simply go smoother with two pairs of hands instead of one, but also for everything else.
After my neighbors bickered and argued like the typical old married couple they were, they’d make up and soon be laughing and kissing again.
I couldn’t recall the last time I’d laughed with a man.
Jayden was the last man I’d spoken to, and that hadn’t gone well. He seemed more like the full-of-himself kind of guy to laughatsomeone instead ofwiththem.
Oh, stop it. It’s probably all an illusion, anyway. A trick of the mind.
Maybe my neighbors could fight and make up, but that didn’t mean they would last or work out forever. Being this jaded couldn’t be healthy. But it was what it was. My parents were prime examples of two mismatched people in a sorely toxic relationship. And when I’d “met” Oscar’s father, that wasn’t really?—
“Well,hellothere,” Irene sing-songed softly, drawling at whoever had entered the diner.
Ignoring the ding of the bell over the front door, I sighed at my morose and bitter thoughts about love, men, and romance at large. Just from Irene’s tone, I could guess the customer was a man, was attractive, and would end up in her section. It was Rosie’s turn for someone to be seated at her tables, but Irene was so assertive that she bordered on being catty and bossy at times.
Whatever. Help yourselves.
I sighed, not turning as Irene and Rosie practically fought for him to sit in their sections. They each had half of the tables in the diner while I was delegated with the front counter and a couple of smaller two-top tables no one ever wanted.
The seat-yourself policy was supposed to avoid issues when it was slow like today, but with how much Rosie and Irene suggested tables to the man, it seemed like a hostess would help.
Oh, for God’s sake.
They’d both turn away this customer if they kept one-upping each other and offering alternative spots for this guy to sit. Once again, I would have to be the adult here and step in to put out this little fire.
As I spun, facing forward, I gave Irene a look to stop being such a brat. She barely flinched, her gaze glued on the man. Then facing Rosie, I dipped my chin and gave her a knowing smirk that suggested she knock it off. She, too, was staring at the man who merely wanted to eat.
“This looks good,” the man said.
Lifting my face, I met his dark-brown gaze head-on. Instantly stuck in the warmth and mischief that swirled in his easygoing expression, I blinked once. Without a second thought, moving confidently across the black-and-white-checkered floor, he strode for one of the empty stools at the front counter.
In my section.
Settling his tall, muscular frame onto the stool, he failed to hide his physique. The wet fabric of his suit pulled over his biceps and stretched at the push of his wide shoulders. Meeting my gaze and smiling slightly, he couldn’t hide how fit he was. Even his neck and face were lean.
Whoa.
He wasn’t the first handsome man I’d ever seen, but on this dull, boring day, he was the bright spark of something good and even I could appreciate the eye candy.
“Yeah.” He nodded slowly as he lifted his head, sending his slightly longish brown hair back from his brow. “This spot looks good.”
Under the magnetic pull of his sexy and confident smile, I felt rooted in place. He was no more than a foot away from me as we faced each other. By choosing this specific stool and without my stepping aside, we were directly in each other’s space, this smooth, shiny countertop all that remained between us as a buffer.
“Looks really good,” he said again, giving me another chance to get hooked on the deep, gritty rasp of his rich voice.
Nothing more needed to be said for me to comprehend what he was and wasn’t saying. His comments indicated that he was doing nothing more than choosing a place to sit in the diner, but with that smoldering stare of pure interest and the light smile still teasing on his lips, he was talking aboutme.
He meant that I looked good.
That he’d help himself to sitting where I could give him my attention.
Not Rosie with her girlish looks.
Not Irene with her mature “touch-ups” of Botox.
Me. The exhausted single mom with too many freckles and red hair that had to be ridiculously frizzy from the humidity this storm brought to us.
