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“I guess you do know how to cook,” she conceded.
“Glad I passed the test.” He smirked. “You seem pretty young to own an inn by yourself.”
“Is that your subtle way of asking me how old I am?”
He shrugged. “Maybe.”
“Twenty-four. I’ve been saving up for this inn since I was fifteen.”
His eyebrows rose. “You knew what you wanted out of life so early?”
She focused on her plate. It was the only thing she’d done right until Zoey. “Mm-hmm. What is it that you do?”
He lifted the beer to his lips and took a drink before answering. “I’m in real estate.”
“Did you always want to do that?”
His eyes bore into hers and he gave a slight shake of his head. “It’s kind of a family tradition.”
“What is your family like?” Would they accept Zoey?
He shoved another bite of pasta into his mouth, chewing and swallowing. “They’re great. Do you like running an inn?”
He was too vague about his job and his family. Was he hiding something? Or was she reading too much into this? “I love it. How old are you?”
He chuckled. “Quid pro quo, huh?”
“It’s only fair.” She took another bite.
“Thirty-five.”
Eleven years difference. That wasn’t too bad. The man looked like sex on a stick. Whoever said you peaked in your twenties had clearly never met a man like Atlas. The flecks of grey in his dark hair only added to his masculine charm. She shifted in her seat, arousal pooling between her thighs. It had been way too long since she’d had anything more than a self-induced orgasm. But anything more wasn’t worth the guilt that always drowned her afterwards. And she certainly couldn’t have sex with the man who was the father of her child. That would add too many complications to an already chaotic mess.
She wanted to ask him more. Did he have other kids? But then he’d probably ask her, and she wasn’t ready for that conversation yet, despite what he might have already assumed thanks to those Band-Aids. “You’re from New York City?”
His gaze narrowed on her. “How do you know?”
“Your reservation paperwork.”
He blinked, his shoulders dropping slightly. “Oh, right. Yes, I am. What about you? Is Shattered Cove where you grew up?”
“Born and raised. I haven’t traveled farther than New England, honestly.”
“Never wanted to see the world?” he asked.
She bit her lip. Of course she’d love to see it, but being able to afford such a pipe dream was another story, and it started with “Once upon a time.” This was just another reminder of how different Atlas’s life was. What little she knew of him couldn’t be further from her reality. The only thing they had in common was a little girl named Zoey. “Someday,” she answered.
“If you could do anything in the world and money was no object, would you still want to be an innkeeper?” Atlas asked before taking another swig from the glass bottle. He saw right through her. Between the patched ceilings and chipped paint, he must have known a woman like her was barely holding it together.
“I can’t afford what-ifs and to live in a fantasy world. This is the home and life I’ve chosen. This place is a part of me. I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.”
He nodded. “Well, it sure is beautiful.” His gaze never left her as he spoke. She got the feeling that he was talking about more than the inn.
“It’s also a lot of work.”
“Looks like it’s worth it.”
A million butterflies fluttered in her belly. Was it too much to hope he’d think that when all was said and done? When he found out the secret she was keeping? She’d heard pretty words in the past, and not a single one had ever been more than bullshit. However, something about the way Atlas looked at her as he said it was like a flash of light in her dark existence. But then again, hope could be dangerous.
