Page 21 of Slow Burn
“They stopped after the fire that killed Mama. Look it up. How many fires since that night?”
“Hell if I know.” His gravelly mutter sent a shiver down her spine that she ignored. “But judgin’ by your face, not many.”
Her grin broke before she could stop it. Their gazes locked for a beat or two before he allowed his own crooked smile.
“Next thing I know, you’ll be stringin’ up maps and red yarn on my restaurant wall.”
She lifted her hands. “I just did research.” And had a meticulously pieced-together journal dedicated to the whole thing, but he didn’t need to know that.
“Just a regular Sherlock over here,” he said, the corners of his mouth curving.
She raised a brow. “Don’t tell me you want to be my Watson. I don’t think you’d take orders very well.”
He huffed a laugh. “Pegged me there.” Shaking his head, he reached for his coffee again.
It felt to her like a distraction, a way to keep his smile from breaking wider. Whatever it was about this that amused or intrigued him didn’t matter. She just appreciated the fact he’d let her lay it all out. It felt good to walk through it with someone.
“So, what’s next?”
“Frank Leone.”
He squinted one eye at her. “Explain.”
So she did.
Even with Cole as backup this time, Jocelyn’s palms grew clammy with anticipation as she waited. Two hours earlier, she’d explained Frank’s connection to her family until Cole had to leave to open the restaurant. Afterward, she’d wandered over to the general store to get something for lunch and went back to her hotel room, forcing herself to concentrate on design work for a client in North Carolina. Normally, she would have finished the project quickly, but distraction dragged her under again and again.
Her thoughts kept circling back to her impending meeting with her mama’s old boyfriend, making everything take twice as long.
That anxiety had spiked the moment she walked into the Nail—Cole’s affectionate shorthand for the restaurant. The name had stuck, adopted by locals who treated it as their regular hangout. Rustic-industrial, classy and masculine without being overpowering, the place drew a clientele that ran the gamut of income and background.
On this side of the restaurant, the bar ran twice as long she was tall, the top a solid plank of cedar. Its epoxied surface gleamed under the copper pendant lights hanging above, drawing focus to its rich caramel color. Jocelyn twisted sideways on her stool so she could watch the door, the smooth coating beneath her palms the only thing keeping her steady.
Frank Leone worked as a mechanic in the next town over and often stopped at the Nail after work for a beer and burger a couple of times a week. As far as Cole knew, Frank had never settled down with anyone after her mama, though he admitted he made a habit of not sticking his nose where it didn’t belong.
Jocelyn had been too young to fully understand her mother’s relationship back then, but she’d known enough—Bonnie didn’t make a habit of introducing boyfriends to her daughter. Frank had been different. Serious. A regular fixture in their home, talking about marriage more than once. Her mama had never outright said no, but looking back, Jocelyn wondered if she’d ever wanted to say yes.
Despite her mama’s reluctance, Frank had seemed over the moon for her, which explained the way he’d reacted to Jocelyn the other day.
After Bonnie’s death and before Nan decided to move them, Frank had come to see her a lot. But in those weeks after the fire, Jocelyn often felt she was consoling him more than the other way around. The day she and Nan had left, he’d given her a tight hug, told her he’d be in touch, and then she’d never heard from him again.
As a girl, the sting had been sharp, too many layers deep to heal quick. He’d been the closest thing to a father she’d known, and her world had been upended. But there were more important things now than chasing an apology from a man who’d clearly never moved on himself.
When she spotted Frank as he walked into the Nail, it seemed like he knew she was waiting for him. His gaze swept the room, posture hunched as if bracing for hurricane-force winds. The tension radiating off him mixed with her own, winding her tighter.
“Buy him a drink.”
She stiffened, glancing backward.
Cole was busy pouring a beer behind the bar, his face tipped down to make it less obvious that the words had come from him.
Frank caught sight of her just as she turned forward again. He stood frozen for a moment, his expression making Jocelyn wonder if he'd turn and walk out. He surprised her by clenchinghis fists and squaring his shoulders, pushing through his reluctance.
With his compact build, black hair and wide-set dark eyes, his Italian heritage was apparent in both his features and his surname. In her memory, he’d moved with more of a swagger, but just then, he seemed a little brow-beaten.
“Hey, Jossie,” he said stiffly, sliding onto the stool beside her.
“Hey, Frank.” She faced the bar. “Can I buy you a drink?”
