Page 37 of Any Cowboy of Mine
He passed the few window tables decorated with a red or green tablecloth, a sprig of fake holly and a mismatched red or green candle. Candy canes hung from an enormous plastic tree next to the host stand, and Brad watched a little girl who couldn’t have been more than four sneak away from her family and nab one, putting it in her jacket pocket. She saw Brad watching her, and her eyes got wide. He laughed, mimed zipping and locking his lips and tossing the key, and she giggled, running back to her table, mischief managed. The staff buzzed around him like they’d spiked their coffees, or at least not taken part in the night he had. Everything was so lively, considering it was one of the biggest holidays of the year and only eight a.m. to boot.
Okay. Time to concentrate.Brad shook the holiday spirit from his mind. He needed food to satisfy the actual hunger pains, then a shower with Sophie to address the more carnal ones. Then, maybe he would ask her out on a date later that week, a real one with him picking her up at home, bringing her flowers and a night of her choosing.
If he could wait that long to see her again.
Brad suddenly understood Steve’s impulse to lock down a good thing when he found it. He didn’t give a damn that it made him as out of his mind as he’d thought Steve was the night before. It was more than just being with Sophie, though.
Brad wanted to protect her, too. Not that she couldn’t look out for herself—that much she’d made clear. It was more that she sounded like she’d come out of a pretty shitty situation not unlike the one he’d left, albeit unwillingly. He wanted to make sure she never felt like that again. She was a prize, and he felt lucky to have had the chance to reconnect with her. He’d be damned before he let her slip from his grasp or feel for even a fraction of a second that she wasn’t the most important thing in his world.
Because she was now, dammit, she was.
The day was young, and Brad couldn’t wait to get it started. As he absently flipped through the menu, thoughts of Julia, Steve and his engagement, and even the book synopsis he had to have to his publisher by the first of the year all fell from his shoulders to the hard, cold ground, leaving Brad feeling lighter than he had in years. It was going to be a good day. Once he scarfed breakfast, of course.
He settled on the Make Your Own Omelet for him and Sophie, realizing how little he knew about her. Instead of it being a deterrent as it would have been a few weeks ago even, Brad found himself excited to talk to her about every last detail of what made this intriguing woman who she was.
What veggies did she want in her eggs?
Did she want to skip the vegetables altogether and throw sausage, cheddar, and bacon in?
Or did she prefer sweet to savory, pancakes or French toast with syrup?
The possibilities were endless, and Brad salivated, not so much because of the thick aroma of the combined bakery and breakfast foods, but in anticipation of grilling Sophie about all the particulars of her tastes so he could satisfy each and every one of them. This conversation could go on for days—Brad thought about dinners, foods, desserts, snacks, road trip treats, ways she wanted to make love, the list went on.
He chuckled to himself.
“Someone’s in a good mood today,” the perky blonde at the counter said, greeting him with a smile and little wink that would have knocked any man to his knees. She was stunning, a fit physique on display in a tight red V-neck with a fake elf costume screen printed on the front of it that left little to the imagination. And yet, Brad didn’t feel a thing looking at her. Not one. He wondered briefly if she would be enough of a temptation to sway Steve from his new paramour, but if his friend was any bit as smitten as he was, he guessed not.
“It’s a good morning. Merry Christmas.” He checked his watch. It was 8:20. He didn’t want to be rude, but he was desperate to get back to Sophie.
“Merry Christmas to you, too!”
The woman leaned in across the bar, a little too close to him, her V-neck exposing the smooth tops of perky twenty-something breasts. She waved a finger at him, wordlessly asking him to follow suit and get closer. Brad saw right through her flirty smile, her perfectly posed stature, but he leaned in anyway, curious.
“Um, Mr. Connors?” she asked him, her voice dripping with more fake sweetness than the syrup she stocked at the breakfast bar.
“Yes?” Brad shifted on his feet, his headache clamping down on him all of a sudden.
“We’re all so very proud of you and the success you’ve had,” she began. He thought to himself that of course she was—she looked just the type who would be interested in his “success.” “I was wondering if I could, you know, like maybe get your autograph?”
As long as that was all she wanted, he happily obliged, reaching for a napkin and pen on the counter. He signed, and the blonde cashier blushed, grinning ear-to-ear. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to this level of fame. At least, he hoped not.
Brad smiled back at her, but before he could even put in his order, he heard a distinct, shrill voice behind him that gave him chills—the only voice that could have put a dent in his bright morning.
Well, one of two.
“Bradley?” Also one of only two women who would have dared call him by his full first name and expect to get away with it. Brad indicated that he would need a moment before ordering, and inhaled deeply, stalling his much-anticipated response. He exhaled just as slowly and turned, a manufactured smile plastered to his face.
“Mom, Dad, Merry Christmas,” he said. At least both of them were there. He wasn’t at risk for too much of an interrogation if his dad could swoop in and save him when it got to be too much like Guantanamo. “Give me a sec,” Brad added. “Let me order and then we can catch up.”
Brad’s mom didn’t look pleased, but then, she never did anymore, so he took her silence as tacit approval.Well, this is going to be interesting.
“Two MYOmelets,” Brad said.
He gave her the ingredients for each, finally deciding on a Denver omelet and one with only veggies, just in case. She winked, completely misreading his smile. Brad chuckled at how little he knew about women.
He paid, got his number, and walked back to where his parents were standing.
The gleam in his father’s eyes was back, but just mire in his mother’s.
