Page 73 of Taken Away

The bartender ignored him, his eyes moving to Aubrey. “You must be Aubrey.”

She laughed softly, her skin still buzzing where Bennett’s hand had been. “Is everyone in Jackson County expecting me?”

“Pretty much.” He stepped around the end of the bar and offered his hand. “Mike Stevens.”

“Aubrey Langford.”

“Welcome to Sylva.” His handshake was firm. Easy. Comfortable. Then his expression softened. “Sorry about Mabel.”

The sincerity in his voice surprised her. No curiosity. No gossip. Just kindness. Aubrey felt her throat tighten before she could stop it. “Thank you.”

Mike nodded once. “She was good people.” For a second, something quiet passed through the conversation—the kind of moment that only happens in small towns, where grief doesn’t have to be explained because everybody already knows where it lives. Then Mike looked at Bennett, something amused flickering in his eyes. “Booth?”

“Booth,” Bennett said.

Mike grabbed two menus from behind the bar. As Bennett turned toward the corner, Mike leaned across the bar so that Aubrey couldn’t quite hear him. “She’s pretty.”

Bennett didn’t break stride. “Good night, Mike.”

Mike barked out a laugh. “Didn’t ask a question.”

“Didn’t need to.”

Aubrey slid into the booth, her knees accidentally brushing Bennett’s beneath the small table. Heat bled through her trousers from the contact, but neither of them moved away.

She narrowed her eyes. “What did he say?”

“Nothing.”

“Men are terrible liars.”

“Good thing I’m not trying very hard.”

Before she could respond, Mike appeared beside the table with two glasses of water and menus. “Y’all want the usual?”

Bennett looked across the table, his gold-flecked eyes locking onto hers. “You eat burgers?”

“That is a deeply offensive question.”

“She eats burgers,” Bennett told Mike.

“Good.” Mike pointed his pen at Aubrey. “We like women with sense around here.”

“I didn’t say I had sense.”

Mike grinned. “You came in with him. Figured that was already questionable.”

Aubrey laughed before she could stop herself. Bennett leaned back, his broad shoulders filling the leather booth, looking entirely unimpressed.

“You done?”

“Not even close.” Mike looked at Aubrey. “Draft burger is the safest bet. Fries are good. Onion rings are better. Do not let him talk you into the jalapeño slaw unless you enjoy regret.”

“I heard that,” Bennett said.

“You were meant to.”

Aubrey closed the menu. “Draft burger. Onion rings. No regret slaw.”