Page 14 of Slow Burn
So he busied himself with inventory, taking orders, and running dishes until the tension in his shoulders eased.
Then the front door opened.
Cole didn’t even have to look to know who it was—something in him justknew. And when his gaze landed on Jocelyn, every bit of noise in the room drained out like a damn movie scene.
That sundress she wore wasn’t doing him any favors, but it was the way she carried herself—braced and uncomfortable—that struck him harder than the curve of her waist.
Then she walked straight to Frank Leone at the bar. The man went pale as milk, blinking like he’d seen a ghost. Cole tensed, half ready to call an ambulance.
“Cole?” Dave Hume’s voice cut in, snapping Cole’s focus back.
“Yeah—hang on.” He didn’t even look at Dave, who’d been in the middle of ordering dinner, before moving toward Jocelyn and Frank.
The conversation was too quiet to hear, but the strain in their faces was enough to draw the attention of others around them. Even Terra was watching, her sharp gray gaze flicking between Cole and the pair at the bar.
Frank didn’t last long. He shot up from his stool, leaving his half-full beer on the bar, and stormed toward the door. Jocelyn stayed behind, sinking into the empty stool like the air had been punched from her lungs.
Cole approached before he’d thought better of it, and the first words out of his mouth were the wrong damn ones. “First you threaten my pop, and now you’re chasin’ off my customers?”
The way her body tightened, shoulders to neck, had him hating himself instantly. He slid between two stools—one over from her because he needed that space—and leaned an elbow on the cedar bar like he wasn’t rattled.
“I didn’t threaten anybody.” Her voice was sharp but not cruel. More blunt than biting, like she was holding something back. Tears, if he had to guess.
It made him want to apologize immediately, but the rebel in him wouldn’t allow it. “Not in so many words.”
When her eyes met his, dark and unguarded, he had to look away. He directed himself to the liquor shelf behind the bar, ticking through the bottles, cataloging which needed restocking. The routine grounded him, gave him something solid to hold onto while every inch of his body reacted to her presence like she was a live wire.
“I came at y’all from left field,” Jocelyn admitted, her voice softer.
Even the lift and fall of her shoulders was a rush on the air that vibrated against his skin.
“I owe your dad my life,” she went on. “I thought it was the right thing to be upfront about why I’m here.”
Cole inhaled, catching the scent of fried chicken, beer, and something warm and sweet that could only be her. Vanilla, maybe. He shoved the thought away before it dug in.
“Honorable of you.” He tapped his fingers against the bar, keeping his hands busy when all they wanted was to reach out, to undo that ponytail and lose himself in the softness of her hair.
Redirect.Redirect, damn it.
“Hungry? Whatever you want, on the house.” He pushed away from the bar before he lost every ounce of control.
She gave him a long, narrow look, eyes sharp but sparking with something else underneath—something that pulled at him, dangerous and magnetic all at once.
That was all the proof he needed to back off. Folks wanted him to scare her off, but he knew better now. If he kept leaning in, he wasn’t going to drive her away—he was going to get tangled up in her. And he wasn’t sure he had the strength to untangle himself after.
He lifted his hands in surrender. “Consider it an apology.”
Her eyebrow arched, one dark slash above those alluring eyes. “Not sure I deserve an apology.”
“Then call it a welcome gift. A courtesy.” He shifted closer, playing with fire as he bent just enough to murmur near her ear: “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be, Darlin’.”
He thought he saw her shiver, though she tried to hide it.
For a half-second, he felt like he had the upper hand. But the truth hit harder than whiskey—he wasn’t in control at all.
He was already undone.
seven
