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“What are you thinking, Imogen?” I asked.
She shook her head. “I’m not thinking.”
I tipped my head to the side. “Come again?”
“I just mean I’m trying not to overthink anything. You kissed me, we’re on lane one, you have big feet, and we’re waiting for menus so we can order. Nothing for me to think about right now.”
“Babe,” I laughed. “Are you okay?”
“Honestly?” she asked.
I nodded, and she sat down next to me.
“You fried my brain with that kiss, Mace. It took everything I had in me not to melt into a puddle. My last brain cell went poof, so I’m just waiting for my brain to reboot or something.”
She wasn’t lying when she said she was going to be honest. “Uh, well, maybe we need to kiss more so your brain can get used to it.”
“Mace,” she hissed. “You are not funny. All it took was one little kiss from you, and I couldn’t function. We are not doing that again.”
“I’ve waited my whole life to kiss you, Imogen, and now that I got a taste of you, it’s going to happen again.” I leaned in and lowered my voice. “Soon.”
She reared back and shook her head. “No, no, no. You do that, and I won’t be able to order my food.”
“I’ll order for you,” I offered. I got to kiss her, and I ordered her food. Seemed like a good deal to me.
“You don’t know what I want,” she pointed out. “You don’t even know what they have here.”
“It’s bar food, babe. Cheeseburger with everything on it, loaded fries, and a beer. Done.” Isn’t that what everyone ordered when they were at a bar?
She raised her eyebrow and quirked her lip. “I’m not a beer girl.”
I filed that information away. “Malibu and pineapple, then.” The drink didn’t really matter as long as it was wet to wash the burger down.
“Fine,” she grumbled.
“Fine, that is what you want, or fine, I can kiss you again?”
Her eyes scanned the area, and she bit her bottom lip. “Both.” Her voice was barely a whisper, but I heard it.
She wanted me as much as I wanted her, and we had opened a damn that neither of us was going to be able to hold back.
“Hiya! What can I get you two to eat?”
Fucking hell. I hadn’t even noticed the waitress approach us.
Imogen shifted uncomfortably in her seat and crossed her legs. “I think Mace is going to order for us,” she sang.
I rattled off what we both wanted and added a beer for me. Anne headed off toward the kitchen, and this time I was aware when Brad strolled up to our lane.
“Found the shoes,” Brad called. “I’m pretty sure they are still brand new. I don’t think a person in Jackson has feet this big.” He handed Imogen her shoes, and he dropped mine at my feet.
He wasn’t overly nice to me, which might have to do with the fact that I was an outsider.
I remembered growing up in Sutter Creek; we were always weary of new people in town or just passing through.
After fifteen years, that still happened in small towns.
“Thanks, man,” I replied. “I’ll work on breaking them in for you.”
