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“Eh, it’s the end of the day, and I need to move the product. It either goes to you or the shelter,” Memphis says, reminding me why I love this town so much. Milo and I stayed in that shelter when we first got here, and his tacos became my comfort food. “You know him?”
Nerves tickle the inside of my belly as I grab the bag and look over to where Memphis points. I already know what he’s going to say and whom he’s pointing at.
“He’s staring at her, isn’t he?” Milo says, not giving me a chance to answer.
“Yeah, he is.” Memphis turns to me. “Need me to take care of him?”
“He’s just a diner customer.” I clear my throat and grip my bag, unsure if I want to wait in another line for dessert, but I already promised. “No one special,” I mutter under my breath.
“He’s sure looking at you like you’re someone special,” Memphis says, not at all impressed. His voice drops even lower. “Let me know if you want me to say something to him.”
“I don’t think that’s necessary.” I grab a twenty and drop it on the counter for him.
“On the house today, sweets.” He pushes it back to me and shuts the window in my face, preventing me from handing it to him.
Huffing, I pocket the twenty, intending to use it for a giant brownie a few trucks down.
“He’s coming over here,” Milo says around a mouthful of corn dog.
“Don’t talk with your mouth full.” I lead him away, not looking at Desmond. I try to avoid his presence, even though every inch of me is hyperaware of him now. As though his eyes trail over me, my body breaks out in a slight shiver. I’m still unsure if his attention is a good thing or not. “What do you want?” I ask Milo as we get in the long line to the bakery truck. The line is always long, but it’s absolutely worth it.
“I need to think about it,” Milo says around another mouthful of food. He needs to think, but I guarantee he will get the sugar cookie.
I’m trying to focus on the menu, but I can feel Desmond as he nears. The hair on the back of my neck stands up, and it takes all my willpower not to scratch the slightly exposed patch of skin.
I hear him behind us, his fancy shoes scuffing on the pavement.
“Why are you staring at my sister?” Milo asks, though I should feel thankful he didn’t have a mouthful of food.
Eyes wide, I shush Milo. I can feel my cheeks burning, and my heart flutters with nerves as I slowly turn around to face Mr. Tall, Dark, and Dangerous. He’s looking down at Milo with a strange expression. Those dark eyes hold compassion that I haven’t noticed before.
Electricity simmers in the air around Desmond, and when he smiles at Milo, it’s almost breathtaking, but then he does something that almost negates his eerie aura—he sinks down to Milo’s level so he can speak with him eye to eye.
Damn it to hell. Do not let him weasel his way into your heart, Charlotte.
“Your sister forgot her tip from me this morning,” Desmond tells Milo, surprising me. He focuses entirely on my little brother, and I know exactly what that means to him. “I saw her out here and wasn’t sure how to approach her.”
Milo tips his head back and pushes his glasses up his nose. I can see the cogs working in his brain, I just have no idea what he’s going to say. “You can buy us dessert for our movie night. Lottie will say she wants the cake pop because it has fewer calories and she’s trying to watch her girlish figure,” he blurts out, and mortification makes my cheeks even hotter, “but she wants the brownie. She always wants the brownie with the big chocolate chips.”
I swear I can feel amusement drip off of Desmond. “And what about you…” He trails off, waiting for my brother’s name.
“Milo.” He holds out his hand for Desmond to shake, and heaven help me, but he shakes his hand, treating him like a little adult. Milo doesn’t even blink at the fact that Desmond’s hand dwarfs his. “I want the sugar cookie.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Milo.” Dropping his hand, Desmond rests his elbow on his thigh. “What would you suggest? I don’t have much of a sweet tooth though. If I find something I like, I have been known to obsess over it.” He briefly glances up at me before he focuses on Milo again.
What an odd thing to say.
Milo doesn’t hesitate. “Start with the cake pops, then work your way up to the brownie. Those portions aren’t for the faint of heart.”
This kid.
“That sounds like a great idea,” Desmond says, slowly rising.
“Lottie.” Milo hands me his corn dog plate with one stick and one rapidly cooling dog. “I see Mr. Benson. Would you mind if I go talk to him about the kitten?”
I turn around, scanning the crowd for our landlord. I’d eventually have to talk to him about the kitten situation, and maybe I’m wrong for thinking about letting Milo convince him, because who can say no to a kid? I find the older gentleman sitting alone on a bench, eating an ice cream cone. The walk isn’t far, but there are a lot of people, and I’m hesitating like the overprotective sibling I am.
Desmond leans in close, his presence sending a flutter through the air. Before I can react to his scent, his breath, or even the fact that he’s so close to me, he murmurs, “I promise I won’t allow anything to happen to him.”
