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No one said a word. It seemed that every person in the diner was now watching with rapt attention, forks stopped midway to mouths. Even Ernie the cook had poked his head out from the kitchen.
Marge slid a hand to her hip and slowly turned to face him.
“Gray Anderson, you wanna try that again? Or am I bout to get your mama on the phone and tell her that her eldest son is askin' for a whoopin'?”
Someone behind us laughed. Someone else hooted. The blue shirt cowboy looked to be fighting a smile. All I could do was think about how ‘Gray’ was an interesting name.
Gray stood up and walked over, his boots clacking against the old linoleum. Entranced by him, and not a little bit scared, I watched his face as he got closer. The dark, scruffy beard, the glaring scowl, the bluest eyes I had ever seen . . . It was as if he’d just stepped off one of the movie sets in Burbank. A perfectly cast surly cowboy. Except this man was all too real. And as he approached, his eyes flicked over and down to meet mine. I was too slow to look away, too frozen in place to pretend I hadn’t been blatantly checking him out.
His eyebrows knitted together and his lip curled up just the smallest bit. It was a look of anger. Or disgust, maybe? Either way, he did not look happy to see me. Except before he looked away, I caught his eyes do a full sweep of me, head to toe. Or, what little toe he could see that hadn’t been blocked by the read booth and table. That part didn’t matter. He’d definitely checked me out too, his eyes lingering on me just a moment too long. And then he licked his freaking lips.
I could have fainted. My stomach did a somersault and my armpits started sweating like I was in Gwyneth Paltrow’s sauna. And all of this happened in a span of three seconds.
But Gray moved on quickly, now standing toe to toe with Marge, towering over her by a whole foot. I might have felt an urge to call the police if the grumpy cowboy hadn’t rendered me a certified puddle of confused arousal.
The two of them stood there, staring each other down. Marge’s hands settled on her hips and Gray’s arms crossed over his broad chest. The seconds ticked by with the whole building waiting on tenterhooks.
But before any escalation could occur, Gray let out a deep chuckle that seemed to reverberate through the entire diner. He reached up and tousled Marge's hair, much to our surprise and the amusement of everyone watching.
“Now, now, Marge. You know my mama would only defer to you,” he said, his voice filled with genuine affection. He wrapped his other arm around her shoulders and pulled her into his side. She barely reached his armpit.
Marge swatted at his hand playfully, her eyes softening. “Oh, get out of here, Gray. You always know how to push my buttons.”
He grinned mischievously. “Well, it wouldn't be any fun otherwise.”
The tension in the diner was replaced with laughter as Gray returned to his seat, giving a nod of acknowledgement to the other patrons who had been watching the exchange intently. The atmosphere quickly resumed its cozy and animated vibe.
With a relieved sigh, I turned back to our booth, where Zaya, Enzo, and Skylar were all sporting wide grins.
“Not to keep you any longer,” I said, worried about monopolizing Marge's time, despite the apparent joking between them, “but would you happen to know anyone who could show us some of the trails? Maybe a tour guide or something? We'd love to see some of the lesser-known falls.”
Marge tapped an unmanicured finger to her cheek. “Oh, darlin, I know just the person.” She smiled, but I didn't miss the hint of mischief in her eyes. “Oh, Gray!” she called. “I have a favor to ask you.”
4
Gray
“Well that was a fun surprise.” Mason smirked as he drove us back up to Red Downs after lunch.
I grumbled. “I'm not doin' it.”
He damn near cackled. “Marge thinks you are, so you are.”
Despite my best intentions, my mind flashed on the woman I'd made eye contact with. She was fucking gorgeous. I hated that she was gorgeous. I didn't want to think about her at all, and now here I was, thinking about how her long chestnut hair flowed in waves around her tanned shoulders and how her eyes were like silky pools of honey. Goddammit.
“Have you ever known me to take a group of tourists on some nature walk? Not fucking happening.”
“Not just any tourists. Eryn Blake.”
My eyebrows furrowed as I looked over at him. “Who?”
I thought about the group from the diner. Young city folk. From LA, I heard them say. Dressed to the nines to go to the Whistle Stop Diner. You couldn't pay me enough to spend even an hour with that type. I had no interest in them. Except maybe the brown haired girl. She had a sparkle to her eyes when she smiled. And dammit, I hated that I noticed.
Mason looked over at me, his eyes judging.
“What?” I asked, fidgeting in the passenger seat.
“Just trying to figure out if you're serious.”
