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“I already know what I want.” Finley’s voice sounded husky and low, probably giving Kieran the wrong idea. “I have the menu memorized, but I already worked out what I was going to order the moment I planned the trip into town.” Finley hoped that set the record straight.
Merri returned with Kieran’s silverware before he could respond. “Do you guys need more time, or do you know what you want?”
Kieran returned the menu to its spot and said, “I’ll have what he’s having.”
Merri smiled at Finley. “Which is?”
“Open face roast beef sandwich with mushroom gravy, mashed potatoes, honey glazed carrots, and rolls instead of biscuits. Sweet tea to drink, please. Oh, I’ll also want cherry crisp and vanilla ice cream for dessert. And I’ll take a piece of coconut cream to go.”
Merri finished writing the order, then looked at Kieran. “Still want what he’s having?”
“Yes, except for the coconut cream pie,” he replied without looking away from Finley.
“I’ll have your orders out in a jiffy,” she told them.
Once alone, Kieran shifted his gaze out the big window. Was he people-watching or avoiding him? Finley couldn’t be sure, but he was content to observe Kieran watching everyone else. Merri returned with their drinks a few moments later, but Kieran continued gazing out the window. Just when Finley was prepared to be on the receiving end of the silent treatment, Kieran met his gaze.
“Tell me about Last Chance Creek.”
“It was a thriving mining town in the mid-eighteen hundreds but abandoned after the Gold Rush ended. In the early nineteen hundreds, Ezekiel Chance and his extended family stumbled onto the empty town on their way to California and planted their roots here instead of moving on.”
“Why Last Chance Creek and not just Chance Creek?”
Finley shrugged. “Some historians said he was an odd man, looking to create a utopia and thought this town would be his last chance to realize his dream.” Kieran scowled like he didn’t buy it. The jury was out for Finley too, but it was a good story. “The businesses you see today aren’t the original buildings, but historians preserved the Chance homestead and turned it into a museum if you ever want to kill some time. Everything on Main Street was built to look like structures from that era, though. Gives it a quaint vibe.”
“Except for that tacky-ass casino,” Kieran said, tipping his head toward the monstrosity with the neon lights.
Finley agreed, but he couldn’t resist leaning across the table. “Keep your voice down or people from Salvation Anew will try to recruit you.”
Kieran snorted. “When I first saw them last week, I thought they were period actors running through a scene for the tourists. I thought the guy at the podium was portraying a snake-oil salesman until he started shouting through a bullhorn. And tonight…” Kieran’s voice trailed off as he turned his attention back out the window.
“Nothing you say leaves this booth,” Finley said. “Or anywhere else you confide in me…if you confide in me.”
Kieran met his gaze again, and his battered soul was right there in his beautiful brown eyes. The need to soothe Kieran’s hurt caught Finley by surprise. Need, not want. Of course he wanted to help Kieran, but this feeling went much deeper, and Finley didn’t understand why. Kieran looked on the verge of saying something but shook his head instead. The intimacy of the moment shattered when Merri arrived with their food.
Kieran looked from his plate to Finley’s. “You’re actually going to eat all this plus dessert?”
Finley nodded enthusiastically as he unrolled his silverware from the napkin. He draped the cloth over his lap and tucked into his meal. He scooped up a big bite of beef, potatoes, and gravy, then paused with the fork near his mouth. “Hell yeah. I’ll eat mine and whatever you don’t finish. My mama calls me a human garbage disposal.”
Kieran’s lips ticked up slightly on the right. It wasn’t a smile, not even a smirk, but it was progress. “Where do you put it?”
“Goes straight to my ass,” Finley replied before shoving a forkful of food into his mouth.
“Explains the jeans,” Kieran mumbled.
Finley pretended not to hear him and said, “What was that?”
Kieran shoved a bite into his mouth and pointed to it with his empty fork. Finley snickered and let it go. He was just grateful he hadn’t scared Kieran off, though he was desperate to learn something about the man. He’d offered to talk about his crime the day before, but Finley had waved him off. Had that been a mistake? He broached the subject midway through their meal.
Kieran’s posture tensed briefly, but he took a drink of tea and said, “A jury convicted me of stealing a luxury car.”
Finley studied him closely as he chewed, wondering about Kieran’s phrasing. “But you didn’t do it?”
Kieran cocked his head to the side. “That isn’t what I said.”
“I heard what you didn’t say,” Finley replied. “You didn’t say you stole it. You said they convicted you of stealing it.”
“Same difference.”
