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When Daniel arrived at Rusty’s, the place was still hopping with the lunch rush. He’d expected to wait, but when he gave the hostess his name, she’d said his table was ready. Maybe Wiladean was already there. She’d told him a quarter to two. He glanced at his watch to make sure he wasn’t late. He still had three minutes to spare.
As Daniel followed the hostess, he locked gazes with a guy who was waiting for a table. The guy scowled and shook his head. Maybe the man thought he’d cut in line. He looked vaguely familiar and Daniel tried to place him.
“That guy over there—” Daniel tilted his head in the guy’s direction “—maybe you should seat him first.”
“Mr. Carlyle? Oh, no worries. I’ll seat him and his party next.”
Carlyle? George Carlyle. He’d owned the gas station where Daniel and his friends had driven off a couple of times without paying. That dirty look probably wasn’t about the table.
Daniel had earned his bad reputation as a teenager. Even though the better part of a decade had gone by and he had a thriving business that focused on bettering the community, occasionally he ran into someone who still thought of him as the shady kid who caused trouble and whose only interests were stealing gas, procuring illegal fireworks and burning down houses.
As he passed, he nodded to Carlyle, who deepened his scowl.
No regrets and only new mistakes: that was the code he lived by now.
Despite encountering the occasional old-timer with a good long-term memory, he knew most people had forgiven the past and accepted who he was today. After his grandmother’s house had burned down, he’d been in a hurry to get the hell out of Savannah—He figured his grandma and Aidan would be better off without him. He’d moved to Orlando and worked two, sometimes three jobs at a time doing construction and whatever work he could find to support himself and send money to his grandmother. It was the least he could do after the trouble he’d caused.
A flash of long blond hair caught his eye.
He saw Elle before she saw him. She was seated at a table for two next to the window facing him, but gazing out at the water. A bowl of soup was in front of her, a spoon poised in her hand. She wore a skirt and blouse, a sweater and heels. Her legs were crossed at the ankles and angled to the side so that his gaze trailed down and lit on strong, long, tanned legs and worked its way up to full breasts showcased nicely by the sweater.
He forced his gaze to her face before she caught him looking. But hell, he’d have to be a dead man to not appreciate what he saw.
As the hostess led him to her table, her gaze found his.
She looked a little startled but managed to return a polite, if somewhat stiff, smile as she set down her spoon.
“Here you go, this is your table,” the hostess said.
“What are you doing here, Daniel?”
“I was supposed to meet Wiladean here to discuss the renovation.”
“Really? Gigi is meeting me here, too. She’s finishing up with a hair appointment. But she’ll be here any minute...um...okay...huh... She didn’t mention you were coming to lunch, too.”
“Hey there, honey.” The server, Billie Jean, smiled at him and set a bowl of soup in front of him. “What can I get ya to drink?”
“I didn’t order soup. We’re waiting for someone. I’ll just have some tea for now.”
“Well, if you’re waiting for Wiladean, she called again and she can’t make it. Looks like it will just be you two.”
Elle’s mouth fell open and her expression suggested she smelled something fishy, and it wasn’t the fresh catch of the day.
“She said she’s real sorry, but y’all should go ahead and have lunch without her. It’s her treat.” Billie Jean sighed. “Y’all make a real cute couple.”
Elizabeth’s cheeks flushed, and Daniel couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen a woman blush like that.
“A couple? Us?” Elle laughed. “No. No way. We are not a couple.”
Daniel wondered if she realized this was the second time in as many days that someone had mentioned how good they looked together. He could see it.
“I’m not dating anyone right now,” Elle said. “You see, I was engaged a few years ago. But I got stood up at the altar.”
