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by Tessa Bailey
They were laughing when the waitress approached to take their orders and refill Rita’s wine. Jasper declined another beer because he was driving, ordering a glass of milk instead. Apparently the catchphrase was true. Milk did do a body good. Fucking great, actually, she amended, remembering the way his abdomen had flexed against her back on the hotel bed.
“What are you smiling about over there?” Jasper asked when the waitress retreated. “Looking real secretive-like.”
God, it was like he already knew. Too bad she wasn’t going to confirm any possible theories. “Nothing, really. It’s just…usually, when I tell people about my mother, they ask a million questions. Did she cook amazing dinners every night of the week? Did she ever just drive us through McDonald’s?” She waited. “You’re not going to ask me any of that, I guess.”
“Not unless it’s going to tell me something about you.”
Ohhh. And the crowd goes wild. Well, technically it was her loins going wild. Not because she was a sucker for sweet one-liners. But because his words felt genuine. He seemed genuine. “It won’t,” she murmured.
“Then let me ask you something different.” She could almost see the wheels cranking in his head, letting off big puffs of steam. So much effort, just for her. “You say I should open the eatery for me, not the town who think I’ll fail, or my grandfather.” He paused awhile. “Who were you cooking for?”
“I’d rather talk about McDonald’s,” Rita said quickly, reaching for her full glass of wine, thankful for the path it burned on the way down. She wasn’t completely blind to the textbook case she appeared to be on the surface. Mother sets high standard. Daughter can’t reach said standard. All very tidy when spelled out, but it didn’t leave room for the gray, patchy areas. So many gray areas. And she certainly wasn’t used to having her issues presented on a silver platter, which accounted for the touch of bite in her voice when she said, “I didn’t realize this date would be so therapeutic.”
Jasper’s head fell forward, briefly, then lifted. “Shit, Rita. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. It’s like I’m trying to cram fifteen dates into one because you could leave any minute.” He shoved a frustrated hand into his already haphazard hair. “That’s not even really it, though. I just want to know something about you no one else knows. And if that isn’t creepy for a first date, I don’t know what is. We haven’t even eaten chicken milanese yet.”
The crowd had gone wild earlier, but it was roaring loud enough now to crumble the whole damn stadium. When was the last time anyone had been so honest with her? He looked so disgusted with himself, when it should have been the opposite. “When I was eight, I wanted to be a detective.” She threw a small laugh up at the ceiling, unable to believe the nonsense she was sharing with him. “I wore sunglasses inside for a month and called myself Gumshoe.”
“What’s the part you never told anyone?”
“Gumshoe is still my e-mail password.” She wet her lips, positive her face was on fire. “I guess I have to change it now.”
“Nah, I won’t snoop.” A slow smile spread across his face. “Thank you.”
When had she started fidgeting? She flattened her palms on the table to stop herself. God, the way he was looking at her. Like he’d just won some fabulous prize and it was sitting on top of her head. Crazily enough, Rita thought she might be looking at him the same way. And meaning it. “Also. When I’m nervous, I like to listen to people list the daily specials. Sometimes I just do it myself with old menus.”
Jasper’s head immediately turned, obviously seeking out something to read from, but Rita stopped him with a hand on his forearm. When he stared down at her hesitant touch, Rita resisted the urge to snatch her hand back. “If you know the new eatery menu by heart already…maybe you could tell me that?”
His gaze searched hers. “I do. I came up with it myself.”
Rita felt like she was standing on the edge of a diving board, getting ready to jump. “Good. I guess, I…want to know something about you, too.”
He bent down and placed his lips on her knuckles, dampening them with a slow, open-mouthed kiss she felt right in the pit of her stomach. “Will you let me show you?”
“Oh, yeah,” she breathed.
Warm air puffed out on her hand when he laughed. “I meant the restaurant, beautiful. I want to show you my restaurant. Tonight.”
“Those were some mixed signals you were sending.”
Without warning, her chair was yanked closer by Jasper’s hand, unseen under the table, bringing her right up against him. With her whelp still hanging in the air, Jasper stamped his mouth down on hers, stirring murmurs around them from the other patrons. “Does that unmix them for you?” he asked, his voice having dropped around ten octaves.
Rita nodded, bumping their noses together. Something spun in her chest like silk, sticky but smooth. It took her a moment to decipher the sensation. Relief. They still had more. Every time she saw Jasper, it was potentially the last. But they had the whole night now. She should be excited. So why did tonight suddenly seem like way less than she needed?
Chapter Eighteen
Apart from the kitchen crew and waitstaff he’d spent the last few weeks hiring, Jasper hadn’t shown the new eatery to anyone. After the months he’d spent framing the addition, insulating the walls, carefully installing Sheetrock, sanding and lacquering the floors, with only sporadic help from local contractors, the eatery had become something of a private relic. He’d kept it sealed off from the bar, behind the plastic sheet, distracting everyone from its existence with half-price beer. Now even a man with no food-service experience knew that was no way to create excitement. It was almost as though he were trying to lower everyone’s expectations so if they were even remotely impressed he could call it a win.
By showing it to Rita, he was throwing in all his poker chips. Even before finding out she’d been raised by Miriam Clarkson—hell, trained by the woman—he’d been on the fence about giving Rita a tour of the modest fifteen-table addition. But she’d exposed parts of herself for him at dinner, and he wouldn’t take without giving. In fact, there was gnawing impatience in his stomach that grew stronger as they pulled in behind the Liquor Hole. Probably due in part to him sticking his goddamn foot into his mouth several times over the course of the evening. Going into tonight, Jasper hadn’t known the rules of dating, but he could now recite rule number one with conviction.
Don’t attempt to figure out a woman’s every insecurity, fear, and fault before the meal arrives. It was just plain bad manners.
As if that rule applied to anyone but Rita.
Jasper didn’t have an explanation for the way he’d pried without much encouragement, only that she’d sat down across from him looking shell-shocked and puffy-lipped from kissing and being her closest confidant had become his life goal. That hadn’t changed on the drive home. And it was starting to become pretty damn obvious that goal wouldn’t evaporate with the morning sunrise.
Careful to shut the driver’s-side door without alerting anyone inside the Liquor Hole to their presence, Jasper then crossed to Rita’s side, grateful when she waited for his assistance in climbing out. He caught a peek of her panties beneath the stretched red skirt as she turned, and barely checked the instinct to slam the passenger door and shove her up against it. God. He’d known his blue balls tonight would be a motherfucker, but they were shaping up to feel like ten homicidal maniac motherfuckers out for vengeance. It certainly didn’t help that Rita was definitely feeling the wine she’d drunk at dinner, making her loose-limbed and relaxed.
Lord save me.
Instead of attacking Rita’s mouth the way his brain urged, Jasper took her hand, leading her through the back entrance. He caught the screen door before it slapped the splintered wood and removed his keys, smiling when Rita rubbed her hands together vigorously.
“You’re excited.”
“Yeah. Yeah.” She tried to peer in through the glass door. “No one has eaten here yet. No bad, good, or
mediocre meals. No reviews. It’s a clean slate.”
Jasper turned the key and pushed open the door, but when Rita attempted to precede him, he grabbed her wrist. “Hold on, now. If we’re doing a big reveal, we’re going to do it right. Close your eyes.”
She did as he asked, humming in her throat as Jasper led her through the small hostess section, into the dining room. It felt more natural than breathing to hook an arm around her middle, drawing her back against him, exhaling into the fragrant skin of her neck. “Okay, here goes.”
Jasper flipped on the lights.
He hadn’t put his lips against her pulse purposefully, but hell. Having them there, feeling her pulse kick up into overdrive as she scanned the dining room? Might have been the best moment of his life. Because someone paying homage to the four walls he’d built, what he’d done inside them, would have been nice. But having undeniable proof that he’d managed to accomplish something worth a damn—now that was priceless. The fact that it came from Rita made it all the sweeter.
When he’d decided to build the addition, he’d only been able to see shapes, colors. No real vision for what the place should look like. So he’d thought of Hurley. How its people were unique—sometimes uniquely crazy—but somehow meshed into a pattern. He’d tried to portray that with mismatched antique furniture, eclectic lighting, different-shaped tables tucked back into quiet corners. To describe it out loud, the dining room would sound like a straight-up disaster, but it somehow flowed together in person. He hadn’t quite planned for every table to have a different theme, but that was the way it had worked out. And knowing he wasn’t the only one who thought so was one hell of a relief.
“Jasper.” She pulled out of his arms and took a few steps into the dining room, running her fingers over one of the chair backs. “Why did you let me think…you said you were just going to open the door and see what happened.”
“That wasn’t a lie. We open two days from now.” He leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms. “After that, it’s up to the town.”
“That’s always the case. In every restaurant.” She looked up at the chandelier fashioned from faux deer antlers. “How much time have you spent putting this together?”
Time had never been a factor since he owned the building free and clear, so he hadn’t kept count, but he wanted Rita to keep looking around, keep talking to him—would he ever get used to that?—so he thought back. “Including the time it took to build, I’d reckon it’s been around eighteen months. I’ve been driving up to Santa Fe on the weekdays, bringing back pieces I liked, going to auctions.” He nodded toward the back. “Kitchen is that way if you’re interested.”
Jasper could only see Rita in profile, but he caught the flare of curiosity in her eyes, even as her shoulders tensed up. “Yes. I am interested…in a minute.” A loud round of laughter drifted through the wall, invading the eatery’s intimacy, but Rita’s lips only twitched. “Smart idea, putting separate entrances. Are you going to serve food at the Liquor Hole, too?”
“No. Just here.”
Rita nodded and continued her slow turn around the room. “I can’t believe this has just been sitting here, like…buried treasure.”
An ache speared Jasper through the chest. “That’s it. That’s the name.”
“What?”
“Buried Treasure.” Trying the name out a few more times under his breath, he pushed off the wall. “All the knickknacks and antiques, you know? One man’s trash…”
“…is another man’s treasure. Wow. It fits.” When they stared at each other too long, Rita ducked her head. “But you should name it. It’s your place.”
Or maybe it had been waiting for Rita to walk through the door, say a few words, and make it real. Make it a possibility instead of just a project. Maybe it wasn’t just his place and that—that—was why he’d dragged his heels opening it. Something had been missing. It seemed obvious that Rita wasn’t ready to hear any of that out loud, however. Apparently they were at the point where she would share intimate details about her life, but not the point where he could attempt to include himself among those details.
Rita broke his stare and headed for the kitchen, Jasper following a moment later. He found her testing the knobs on his oversized stainless-steel range. Nodding in approval over the utensils hanging above the workstation.
“Who’s going to cook here?”
“The only local man with decent experience.” He went to join Rita near the stove, but she’d already moved on to the storage area, the pantry, beyond. “He used to work at a hotel in Gallup and retired a few years back. He’s going to get me up and running, training one of the other local guys to eventually take over.”
Rita nodded, then she was on the move again.
Since flipping on the lights in the restaurant, he could swear they were performing some kind of dance. A dance that kept Rita just out of reach—and he didn’t like it. Something about the restaurant seemed to have done it, though, rather than him. Needing to witness her reaction to every small thing, Jasper found Rita just as she exited the walk-in freezer and could only describe her expression as subdued excitement, with a hint of anxiety.
“You didn’t cut any corners,” Rita murmured. “Everything is where it should be, functionality wise. There’s room to move, to breathe. Lots of ventilation. Anyone would be lucky to work in this kitchen.”
“Glad to hear it.”
Rita shook her head, laughing a little beneath her breath. “Jasper, why don’t you see this place is extraordinary?”
He moved into her space, relieved when she didn’t try to lunge away. “Why do you seem so sad about it?”
“Why would I be sad?” She wouldn’t look at him. “I don’t know. Maybe this is how I always am in a kitchen.”
Ah, beautiful. “Talk to me about it.”
“I’d rather not.” The serene expression she slapped on was fake and they both knew it. “I’m fine.”
Jasper reached up a hand, slipped it into Rita’s hair, and used his grip to tug her body the remaining distance. “How about I kiss the fine right out of you?”
She exhaled in a big rush. “Okay. I could go for that.”
It was a gamble, to be sure. Kissing Rita in a dark, enclosed space where they were guaranteed to have zero interruptions. His lips were only a breath away from hers and already he tasted wine. Woman. Rita. There was an audible catch in her throat when he leaned in, grazing their mouths together. Those hands of hers twisted in the waistband of his jeans, as if that slight touch alone could do her in. Which made it painfully hard to restrain himself, to kiss her slowly. He pressed his lips to hers, widening them enough to rest his tongue on her full lower lip. Just resting it, and yet, a shudder passed through Rita like a roll of thunder, quaking her against him.
Without warning, she sucked his tongue between her lips, one pull, two, before she began to kiss him in earnest. Jasper’s answering moan was so loud he wondered if anyone could hear it above the music next door. His cock. His goddamn cock sagged under the rush of hot need, then hoisted like a rising anchor inside his pants. Rita had to feel it, because she whimpered into his mouth, her hands growing more insistent on the waistband of his pants. There was none of her usual hesitancy in the kiss. He could all but feel Rita trying to distract herself from whatever ghosts the kitchen had stirred back to life. “Rita, beautiful…let’s stop and catch our breath here—”
“Please,” she breathed, golden-brown eyes focused on his mouth as if it were her last meal. “Don’t you need me back?”
“Yes,” he gritted. “That’s why I’m trying to take it slow.”
“Oh…Jesus. I can’t take the riddles anymore. I’m not as experienced at playing…whatever game this is.” When Rita slid out from under him, walking in a stilted manner toward the exit while smoothing her haywire hair, Jasper pounded his fists on the metal rack. Fuck, he wanted to give in. Wanted to drag her back out into the dining room and create his first lasting memory there. One nei
ther of them would forget for the rest of their lives. If she hadn’t shut down on him right before they’d kissed—if he hadn’t felt right on the verge of knowing her, really knowing her tonight—maybe it would have been their time. Their right time.
But he would be selling them short. I can push for more. I will create time for more, somehow, some way. Whatever it takes.
“Wait up. I’ll walk you back.”
She disappeared around the kitchen wall, boots sounding on the dining room floor toward the restaurant’s front. “That’s really not necessary,” she called.
Hell. That was definitely hurt in her tone. “Rita,” he grated, jogging after her. Thankfully, he caught her just before she swung the entrance door open, yanking her back against him. “Don’t leave like this. You might as well drive a stake through my chest, walking out of here with that wobble in your voice.”
Her sharp laugh was devoid of humor. “What is this about for you? What do you want from me?”
Everything. This acquaintance with Rita was no longer some test of his worth. It was something bigger. He could feel it. “Time. I need more time with you, Rita.”
“There is no time. There was never going to be any time.” She tried to jerk away, but Jasper held tight until she settled with a heaved-out breath. “God, I know it’s a double standard, but…it’s kind of shitty, as a woman, to be turned down for sex like that. Are you playing a game with me?”
“No,” he groaned into her shoulder, feeling as though his insides were being blowtorched. “God, no, beautiful. I wouldn’t do that. You can feel how much I want to be inside you, right?”
“Thus confusing me more.”
“Okay.” Maybe in order for more time to be a possibility—for her to even want more time with him—Jasper needed to leap first. Could he do that without pushing Rita away? Making himself a laughingstock in her eyes, too? “Would you listen for a few minutes?”
There must have been gravity behind his question, because Rita’s tension ebbed as she turned in his arms. She sidestepped him and nodded once, falling into one of the dining room chairs. He immediately memorized which one.