Page 2 of Critical Mass
That wasn’t a lie.
She and Timothyhadmet three months ago at a local cooking class. She’d signed up to learn to cook Pad Thai and green curry, wanting to do something to get out of the rut she’d found herself in.
Timothy had been at the station next to hers. When her coconut milk had spilled across the counter, he’d smoothly slid his milk over with a grin and a joke about how he’d “always been more of a takeout guy anyway.”
They’d laughed through the entire class, bonding over their mutual inability to properly julienne vegetables and their shared love of obscure indie films. He’d known her favorite director, remembered quotes from movies she’d mentioned in passing, and even shared her opinion that butter pecan ice cream was vastly underrated.
Their meeting had felt like fate, like the universe had conspired to put them at adjacent cooking stations.
“Natalie.” Her father’s voice sharpened. “Stop lying to me. I know you’re on a date. With Timothy Shaw.”
Her blood turned cold, and she glanced around.
Did her dad have spies following her? Sure, he ran one of the largest shipping conglomerates on the East Coast. He was wealthy, smart, and a shrewd businessman.
But spies?
“How did you—?” she started.
“It doesn’t matter how I know. What matters is that you’re seeing someone you haven’t told me about. That concerns me.”
A knot formed in her gut. “Dad, I’m twenty-eight years old. I don’t need your permission to?—”
“You don’t need my permission, but you need my protection. I can’t protect you from someone you keep a secret.”
She sucked in a breath. “You’re going to have to learn to trust my judgment at some point, Dad. You raised me to be competent. Now let me be that person.”
Silence stretched between them, filled with the distant sound of people on the boardwalk and her own thundering heartbeat.
“Just be careful, sweetheart. Men aren’t always who they pretend to be—especially in our line of work. You should always be cautious. I shouldn’t have to tell you that.”
He had, in fact, told her to be cautious before. Many, many times.
But before she could answer, the line went dead.
Natalie stared at her phone, her hands trembling slightly. Her father’s words echoed in her mind as she walked back toward the restaurant.
Men aren’t always who they pretend to be.
But Timothy wasn’t pretending. He was kind, attentive, and genuine in ways that had slowly demolished every wall she’d built around her heart. All the bad relationships she’d beenthrough seemed worth it once she’d met him and realized not all men were jerks.
She glanced at him as he sat at the table, patiently waiting for her to return.
His striking profile sent shivers down her spine. He had a strong jawline and the kind of bone structure that belonged on a movie screen rather than at a table at a beachfront restaurant. His hair was styled casually, darker on the sides with lighter tones through the top that caught the golden sunset streaming through the windows.
When he smiled, the expression transformed his face from handsome to devastating, crinkling the corners of eyes that seemed to shift between blue and gray depending on the light. Natalie would be perfectly happy to stare into those eyes all day, studying their changes.
He had the build of someone who spent serious time in the gym—broad shoulders that filled out his dark shirt and arms that suggested both strength and discipline. But it was the way he carried himself that really caught her attention: confident without arrogance, attentive without being overbearing. He was the kind of man who looked like he could handle anything life threw at him.
Which made the moments of vulnerability—like now when he reached for his water glass and she caught a flicker of something uncertain in his expression—all the more compelling.
He must have sensed her gaze on him because he looked up, flashing her an earnest smile that made her heart melt just a little.
He was real . . . wasn’t he?
She turned as the skin on her neck rose.
What had caused that sudden uneasy feeling?
