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My cell phone dings in my clutch. I collect it from the black sequin interior. It’s wedged between my lipstick and a make-up compact.
Layla: Friday at 9 a.m. at Cole’s house.
Holy shit. I squeeze my thighs together and fight the urge to hyperventilate. I can’t do this. Well, I can. But what happens when I dry hump him and drool as badly as Thatcher did? He’ll get embarrassed and blab to everyone that I acted like a silly 16-year-old girl.
Layla: Well?
Me: Fine. I’ll be there.
Layla: Perfect. You’re going to adore your outfit.
Jesus. I pull stray strands of hair that are now stuck to my neck away from my skin and pray no one notices my nipples are pointing out through the silk fabric of my dress.
“Ma’am.” A dark-haired man rubs his arm against mine. Yeah, no such luck. Damn it, why didn’t I wear a padded bra. “Would you like a drink?”
He’s probably in his mid-twenties, wearing a suit and tie, and his frame fills the suit to perfection. But all I see is Cole’s face as his hands grip my ass and Layla takes pictures. I shudder and forcefully block the flames threatening to destroy my composure. “I appreciate it, but no thank you.” I shove my cell phone back into my purse and prepare to dodge unwanted advances.
Chapter Twelve
Cole
Kameron and I step into Blanche’s Café, and the scent of cinnamon rolls and coffee hits me smack in the face. I try not to eat a lot of food that’s bad for me, but the lure of the place proves to be too much at times. It’s like home cooking without the 20 questions about your love life. And who wouldn’t sign up for that?
Layla smiles at us and waves. “Hey, guys.”
The café is empty except for a couple of older gentlemen drinking coffee at a table near the front. Their faces are etched with lines that serve as a reminder of the years they put into their careers before retiring. Jedd worked for 50 years at the factory, and Lester for 52 running the family farm.
Lester’s wife died three years ago, and they never had children, but he’s a regular at Blanche’s, having taken on the role of surrogate grandfather. It’s that way with small towns. I know their business, and they know mine. And I wouldn’t trade it for a life of not even knowing your neighbor’s name or the names of their immediate family members.
“Hey.” Kameron’s voice is rough as he eyes Layla up and down. Well, that leaves the little doubt I had that they weren’t sneaking around together behind the Chief’s back into the dust. Let’s hope he knows what he’s doing.
“Kameron.” Her cheeks flush pink as she forces her attention from him to me. “Cole.”
“Well, isn’t this grand.”
“What?” Her hands clutch the counter as her eyes go wide.
“It looks like I have a secret that a certain someone we all know would love to find out.”
“Stop.” Kameron elbows me in the side. “I’m not getting into your personal business when I could.” He tilts his head sideways and smiles. “Isn’t a certain someone preparing to do a photo shoot with their best friend’s sister? The one he’s been forbidden from hooking up with?”
“Point taken,” I growl, yank out a plastic-covered menu from the side of the register and flip through it. Even though I know I’m getting the bacon, egg, and cheese biscuit. At least, this gives me something to do with my hands and a way to block the heat building on my cheeks. “I’ll shut up if you shut up.”
“Mouth closed.” Kameron leans his hip against the counter. “What’s the special today, babe?”
“Biscuits and gravy or your choice of breakfast sandwich.” Her eyes light up over his term of endearment, and a momentary pang of jealousy smacks me in the gut. Maybe Emilia is right. Maybe it is time to start dating again. But who?
As much as I’ve helped my sister and told myself that helping her was my priority, it was a lie. It was a convenient excuse to give for why I wasn’t dating anyone. The real reason is because Harbor has invaded my head and won’t let go.
And how exactly is this nearly naked photo shoot going to help things? The ethereal angel on my right shoulder glares.
The devil on my left shoulder cackles and drags out a Columbian cigar. By getting her out of his system. Why else do you think he asked to do the photo shoot at his house? So it would be easy to transition from nearly naked to writhing in ecstasy under him.
You’re disgusting. The angel in sheer white flips off the red devil who’s puffing out large billows of smoke above his head from what can only be a Cuban cigar.
“What do you want?”
To convince Harbor to give me a shot. To beg her to move back to Meadow Bay, get married, and have three kids and a dog in the fenced backyard. “I’ll take a bacon, egg, and cheese biscuit.”
