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“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I don’t know anything about him. Like I said, I didn’t even look him up. I’m not going to either, because I’m never going to marry him. I’m sure he’s terrible. Most rich people are. Soulless. And he’s a stranger.”
“If you met him, he wouldn’t be.”
“Never going to happen.”
“Alright then. Since that’s settled and you seem to be entirely available, why don’t you give me your number and I’ll text you my address? I’ll have those waffles on the table, ready and steaming at seven sharp.”
“Waffles for dinner?”
“What other dinner is there?”
She was debating the wisdom of giving her new number to a guy she didn’t even know. A stranger who was entirely too charming, handsome, and disarming for his own good. Or for hers. He really could be a creeper or a deviant and she’d never know the difference. On the other hand, he could just be a nice guy who was lonely living in a small resort town and wanted the opportunity to get to know a woman he, surprisingly enough, found attractive.
Maybe he was the one sincere, good looking guy on the planet. Maybe he didn’t even know he was good looking. Maybe he had a similar story of heartbreak and pain that left him guarded and he was branching out for the first time in ages, taking a chance. Or maybe he was going to chop her to bits and cement her into his basement.
“Alright.” She rambled out the series of digits that were still new to her and watched as Cason took them in, unblinking. “Don’t make me regret it.”
Just as she was reaching for her purse, getting ready to slide out of the booth, a shrill scream from the back yelled out something about fire, and another anxious voice answered something about throwing water on it.
Cason’s brows shot up. “I think that’s our cue to get the hell out. I guess that’s why we didn’t get any service. And also, why this place is probably going to be burned to the ground in a few minutes. Ten to one that’s a grease fire and you should never throw water on it.”
Noemi slipped from the booth and looped her bag around her shoulder. “You don’t need to tell me twice. Seven? You’ll text me the address?”
Cason unfolded his massive, six and a half foot frame out of the booth. She was just guessing on his height, but he was impressive. Broad. Tall. A Viking from a few of those romance novels she’d so guiltily devoured a few years back when her sex life with Rob was flagging. She imagined this guy pillaging and marauding, and yeah, that shouldn’t be hot, especially when she thought about him pillaging and guarding her, but it was.
“Aren’t you coming?”
He nodded. “I will. Going to go back to that kitchen first and avert disaster. Maybe they’ll give me a meal on the house, and you’ll let me take you out again.”
That disarming grin worked. She felt it in her toes, and all the way up to her lady bits.
“Good luck with that.”
“See you at seven.”
“Try not to get burned to crisp.”
He flashed her a thumbs up and disappeared behind the counter. Noemi fled out the door, half telling herself she was running from whatever fire was going on in there, but she knew the truth. It wasn’t the diner’s flames she was trying to escape. It was a whole different set of flames entirely and she was pretty sure that water or towels or even a whole fire department, wouldn’t be able to put them out.
CHAPTER 5
Byron
He was so officially fucked.
It was great that he’d managed to snare his potential wife into the world’s biggest lie, charm her easily enough, gain her trust because she was vulnerable and really did need a friend, and technically get a second date out of her. It wasn’t so great that he was going to have to figure out a way out of the lies he was already drowning in, and he had to figure out how the hell he was going to secure a house by seven. The big cherry on that shitshake was that he had no fucking clue how to make waffles.
It was a good thing he was rich.
He fixed the most pressing problem by pulling out his asshole card, because Noemi was right- most rich people were complete douches- and found a small house being offered for private rent. It had a great view of the mountains in the distance and was set back not far from the bustling, quaint, touristy shops and a great big Victorian style bed and breakfast.
The house was modest, only a two bedroom, but it could be a fucking zero bedroom for all he cared. As long as it wasn’t a death trap, he was willing to take it. The surprised landlord, who’d had the place for rent for three months because it was overpriced, let him move in since he was willing to pay double the asking price for the first month just for the privilege.
