She drank him in, and his decision to not start something he couldn’t finish faded into nothing. When she undressed him with her eyes like that, how could he not want to do the same to her?
Tonight, she wore her yoga pants with a teal tank top made of material he could practically see through. He took a second look, but no. It wasn’t transparent. It was, however, gloriously flat over her stomach until her breasts bumped the fabric into beautiful swells. He swallowed—hard.
“It’s better,” she finally said, turning back to her chopping block.
Nerves skittered through Mont as he worked. He and Sophie moved in sync, with him putting up the orders and her taking them down and handing out the food. He wanted to see how she’d react if he missed a step, pressed too close, bumped into her. The space was certainly small enough; he was definitely big enough.
He waited until she’d stepped next to him and called out an order. Then he ripped the next order off the pad, his hand knocking into hers.
She fumbled the tacos, and he cradled his palm under her hand to steady them. “Sorry,” he said, his eyes meeting hers. Her skin felt warm and smooth, and her eyes stormed with emotion.
“You got it?” he asked, slowly drawing his hand away from hers.
“Yeah,” she said, handing the order out the window. She ducked her head as she returned to the line. Mont smiled to himself, and as he put up the next order, he purposely stepped closer than he needed to.
She said nothing, only glanced at him. He counted that as a win, because she hardly ever diverted attention from her work. By the end of the shift, Mont had officially become the clumsiest order-taker ever.
“Whew,” he said when she finally closed the window. “I was off my game tonight.”
“Seemed fine to me.” She flashed him a smile as she began her cleaning. “So, secrets tonight?”
“Sure,” he said, settling against the counter and admiring her as she moved. “I’m an only child, went to college for a little bit, but decided I didn’t like it.” He gave a short, humorless chuckle when he remembered how his father had looked at him when Mont finally told his parents he wasn’t going to finish his degree.
“What were you studying?” Sophie paused and turned to look at him.
“Pre-law,” he said. “My parents weren’t real happy with my decision to quit.” He picked up the container of disinfectant wipes. “Of course, they were even more upset about me moving to LA to become an actor.” He tried to shrug, but didn’t quite pull it off. He felt her watchful eyes on him as he set to wiping down his part of the taco stand.
“Pre-law?” Her face had lost its healthy color.
“Yeah,” Mont said, shrugging. “I guess I could finish. Become a lawyer.” He thought that sounded about as fun as diving into a pool of razor blades. Every career he’d considered besides acting made him feel the same way. He could play a lawyer. Or a mechanic. Or an ad executive. But he couldn’t be the same thing, work the same job, his whole life. “At least my parents would be happy.”
“Well,” she finally said. “You can’t please everyone.”
“You can,” he said. “Did you see the line tonight?” He found her glowing when he turned toward her, and he matched his smile to hers.
“I think they like your seafood jokes more than my food.” She gave him a playful punch on the shoulder. He fought the urge to grab onto her hand, pull her close, and keep her there.
His grin faded as his feelings jumbled. “Are the jokes OK?”
“Sure,” she said, a flirty smirk riding her mouth. “They’re kind of endearing, you know?”
No, Mont did not know. He’d been trying to be conversational, infuse some joy into a mundane task. He hadn’t realized Sophie had been listening, and he hated that he couldn’t even stop being a comedian at a beachside taco stand. He needed to think more like an action star.
“Hey, it’s OK.” She stepped closer to him, peering up with reassurance in her eyes. “They’re growing on me.” She indicated the tip jar. “And the customers love them.”
He tried to hide whatever had shown on his face by grabbing the tip jar—which was stuffed full of bills—and facing the cash drawer to count the money. “Yeah, well, you’ll have to start giving me some secrets,” he said, his tone light and teasing though a cold wind blew through him.
Her stifled yelp made Mont turn toward her and laugh.
Chapter Nine
Friday morning, Sophie found herself awake half an hour before her alarm was set to go off. And she’d already set that two hours earlier than normal, because Mont was getting his pictures taken today—and Yuri had warned her not to be late.
She pulled the comforter to her chin, unable to erase the smile from her face as she reached for the two balloon animals she’d brought home with her on Wednesday night. She held the lion in one hand and the zebra in the other. She galloped them around, wondering if the two different species, from two different worlds, could really frolic and play together.
Like she and Mont had been playing in the taco shack. The quick brush of his hand against hers, the dance they’d perfected as he took orders and she handed food out the window. Dismissing her thoughts before they could go somewhere dangerous, she leapt from bed and stepped into the shower. She was a small-town chef; he was a big-city actor. As she washed her limp, brown hair, she knew she’d never measure up to the women in LA.
Zebras didn’t fraternize with lions.
She thought about the way things had worked out with him helping with the dinner shift. Serendipitous, her mother would say. But Sophie didn’t believe in serendipity, or fate, or any of that nonsense. Her father had preached practicality to her during their time on the ocean, testing out the boats he built.
“Be sensible,” he’d always said. “I know I’m not the best father, or the best carpenter. But I do all right, don’t I?”
She’d always assured her father that he did fine. He didn’t always have steady business, because boats didn’t need to be rebuilt every week, or every month, or even every year. He refused to hire an accountant and an office manager, and his business suffered from it. He’d told Sophie countless times she wouldn’t be able to run her taco stand without a trained chef and an accountant. And since he couldn’t afford to pay people like that, he’d failed.
He’d assumed she would too. It was the logical explanation—it was all he’d known.
But Sophie had been determined to open and run The Sandy Tortilla herself. She’d taken a couple of online courses on restaurant management and a few more on finances for small businesses. When she’d tried to tell her father about what she’d learned, and what he could do to improve his business to include additional money-making ventures, he’d shut her out.
He’d died only a few months later, in debt, with a boat half finished. Tripp had bought the business from Sophie’s mom, and in the five years since, he’d made it into a thriving operation.
By watching both Tripp and her father, Sophie had learned that hard work paid off. Hard work was how she’d achieved what she had. Sure, she’d almost had to beg Mont to work for her, but at the same time, the hours spent with him were easy, carefree, and—dare she admit it—fun.
She’d never thought of The Sandy Tortilla as fun before, but she loved it. She had always wanted to have her own business and be her own boss. The taco stand was security. It never left, wouldn’t file for divorce, didn’t argue about what she made—or didn’t make—for dinner.
Sophie felt safe in her stand, and she was just starting to feel like she could experience that same level of comfort with a man. Clint had never provided that, not even when he kissed her for the first time, bought her expensive gifts, or proposed marriage.
She’d said yes because they’d been dating for two years. She loved him. She liked attending the brunches, a play or two out of town, and the newest movies.
She washed away the troubling thoughts, just like she rinsed the shampoo from her hair. She wasn’t sure wh
y she felt differently about Mont. She’d detected a note of coolness when he spoke of his parents last night, and though she hadn’t asked, she knew there was more to that story.
Just like there was more to his dropping out of law school. Not that she wanted Mont to become a lawyer. In fact, it would be a huge strike against him.
He’s not Clint, she chided herself, but Sophie wasn’t interested in dating another lawyer.
“You’re not dating Mont either,” she murmured to herself.
She hadn’t said as much, but she admired him for leaving law school and following his dreams. Except for Blaine’s constant encouragement and his sharp mechanical skills to get the generator working, Sophie had done everything to open The Sandy Tortilla herself, including securing the small business loan she needed to get the taco stand off the ground.
You’ll have to start giving me some secrets. Mont’s words from last night, tinged with teasing, had made her stomach twist. An inkling of the uneasiness remained as she toweled off and got dressed. She could divulge the easy things. One older brother who moved away more than a decade ago. A deceased father. A few cousins nearby. How she grew up gathering shells and making sand castles on the beach. When she realized she wanted to be a chef. Why she decided to open The Sandy Tortilla instead of going to culinary school.
Surface details. Meaningless facts.
But somehow Sophie knew Mont would dig deeper than that. He’d want to know why her brother moved away and hadn’t come back. He’d ask if she missed her dad. He’d insist she tell him about her favorite seashell and when she began developing her recipes.
Mont didn’t live life on the surface. He dove in deep—and Sophie wasn’t quite sure she could hold her breath long enough to swim with him.
She arrived at the lighthouse three minutes late, mostly because she’d called Polly to make sure she was still alive. She was, she assured Sophie, and her voice sounded breathless and giddy. She’d been getting to some details when a deep voice came through the line. Polly giggled and told Sophie she’d call later.
Sophie stuffed the worry about her cousin into the corner of her mind. She was alive, and seemingly well, and she’d be back on Sunday.
Sophie pulled her jacket tighter as she stepped into the morning wind coming off the ocean. She couldn’t see Mont, though his car was in the parking lot, so she headed down to the water’s edge. Early-morning surfers dotted the waves, but Sophie kept her eyes on the sand. Bits of shells littered the beach, and she bent down and picked up a broken piece.
The last time she’d walked the beach and picked up shells was the day of her father’s funeral. She’d spent so much time on the ocean with him, she thought it only natural to send him off in the waves he’d loved.
Despite the hard times, when he drank too much and said hurtful things, Sophie had loved her dad. He’d always been interested in the bits of shells she found, and when she helped her mother clean out her house, Sophie had found a drawer full of all the shells she’d given him.
“Hey.”
She dropped the jagged shell, glad she couldn’t as easily drop the memories of her father, and turned toward Mont’s voice, unprepared to see him sauntering toward her with his impressive chest already exposed. He had abs up to his eyeballs, and Sophie lost her ability to think, much less vocalize a greeting.
“You seen Yuri yet?” He twisted back toward the parking lot, giving her a view of his broad shoulders that narrowed into the most stunning backside she’d ever seen. Tight, round, perfectly contained in his bright blue Speedo.
She yanked her eyes from his midsection when he turned back to her. She was sure she’d faint if she saw the front of him.
“She said seven on the dot.” He frowned into the sun streaming over the ocean. “Stupid thing’s been up for two hours,” he muttered.
“I know,” Sophie said. “I had a hard time sleeping in this morning.” She wanted to clap her hand over her mouth as soon as she spoke. She certainly didn’t want him to think she was too excited about his photo shoot to sleep, though she totally was. “I mean, I need to get some blackout curtains.”
Mont didn’t seem to notice her blunder. He inhaled, causing his muscles to tighten from waist to neck, and peered inland again. “There she is. About time.” He started toward Yuri, but Sophie just enjoyed the view, her body humming with repressed desire.
They returned soon enough anyway. Sophie joined Yuri behind the camera, admiring Mont’s bulging biceps as he posed in the waves. His defined chest as he balanced on the rocks. She let her gaze wander from his toes to his head—and maybe she let herself stare from behind her oversized sunglasses at his midsection—as he leaned against the lighthouse. Yuri had him smile, look at the camera, and brood.
But in those moments when he wasn’t smiling, when she told him to gaze into the sky, when he allowed himself to relax, Sophie saw the real Mont. At least she thought she did.
She glimpsed vulnerability in his eyes. Once, she saw desperation. He’d said he’d been trying to land a lead role for five years. That was a long time to hope for something and not have it come true.
As the shoot progressed, she found herself hoping he’d get the part. Not just hoping. Wishing, praying. She wanted good things to happen in Mont’s life, because he seemed like he needed them.
Sophie calmed a tremor of fear as it tried to work its way through her. Since when had she started caring about Montgomery Winters? Caring was more than friendship. Caring was more than enjoying his body and wanting to kiss him. Caring meant a real, long-lasting relationship. And she wasn’t good at those.
Needing space to gain clarity, she wandered away when Yuri started discussing how long it would take to edit and deliver the pictures. He’d said his audition wasn’t until the end of the month, but Sophie knew he needed to send in his portfolio very soon.
Differing emotions spiraled through her. She wanted Mont to get the job, but a part of her argued against it. If he did, he wouldn’t stay in Redwood Bay, working the dinner shift at the taco stand until the middle of October.
He’ll leave, she thought. Just like everyone else has.
Sophie turned away from the rippling waves. She needed a greasy breakfast at Lucy’s diner—and maybe a long conversation with Lucy herself—and she needed it fast. She strode up the beach toward the parking lot.
“Want to grab something to eat?” she asked Mont as Yuri went to put her camera equipment in the back of her SUV.
Mont had pulled on a T-shirt and shorts, but she now knew every inch of what lay underneath. His gaze made Sophie’s cheeks warm. “I’ve been starving myself for a week.” He shocked her by pulling her into a hug. “You have no idea how badly I want breakfast.”
She stood stiffly in his arms, trying not to like how he held her close and inhaled her hair, trying not to imagine the planes of his body she’d seen and now felt. She couldn’t help taking a deep breath of his intoxicating scent and relaxing into his embrace. She wondered what else he was starving for, and heat flooded her face.
“Eggs and bacon?” she asked around a nervous laugh.
“And hot chocolate, and crepes, and coffee, and scones.” Mont released her as his booming laugh filled the sky. He started toward his car. “Want to ride with me?”
She eyed his two-door sedan, which looked one step away from falling apart. “Um, will it collapse under the increased weight?”
“Hey.” Mont paused with his hand on the passenger door handle. “She looks bad on the outside, but she’s as solid as a rock.”
Sophie didn’t argue as he opened her door and she slid inside. Once he had sat and started the car, she buckled her seatbelt. “Why do guys always refer to cars as ‘she’?”
He shrugged as he accelerated onto the highway. “It’s a military thing. Ships are always referred to with a feminine pronoun.”
“Have you spent time on a ship?” Sophie asked, a giggle working its way up her throat. She swallowed to contain it. Sophie Newton was not a
giggler.
“Do spaceships count?”
She gawked at him. “You’ve been on a spaceship?”
His laughter bounced around the car, nearly deafening her. She wondered how he could enjoy the simplest things so much.
“You’re almost too easy,” he said as he pulled into Lucy’s. “Of course I’ve never been on a spaceship. Remember I said I’d dropped out of law school? And then scampered away to LA?” He got out of the car, and she followed.
Sophie felt a bit wounded at his remark, but she didn’t let it show. She was not easy, in any sense of the word. She clutched her purse tighter, determined not to let this turn into a date.
“Hey, you’re back so soon.” Lucy appeared at the hostess station, her comment directed to Mont. “And with Sophie herself!”
Sophie stepped into her friend’s warm embrace, noting that Lucy gripped her shoulders a little too hard. “You’re with him?” she whispered in Sophie’s ear.
Sophie gave a slight shake of her head before she stepped back. She needed to talk to Lucy, not only to get her head on straight, but also to make sure she could work for her this winter.
“Hey, Luce. Seems like you’ve met Montgomery Winters.” She gestured toward Mont, who stood there beaming. “He’s working the dinner shift for me while Harley’s out.”
“With her,” Mont interjected. “We work together.”
“We’re not together,” Sophie said quickly, shooting him a dark look.
Mont leaned in toward Lucy. “Not yet, anyway.” He flashed Sophie that stomach-liquefying grin as Lucy’s eyes ping-ponged back and forth between them.
“So you two need a table?” Lucy turned and led them through the diner to the corner, next to a window overlooking the parking lot. Sophie had a hard time keeping up, her mind reeling around Mont’s comment.
Not yet, anyway.
Could he possibly want—? Sophie didn’t dare complete the thought. He was joking. He was a comedy actor, after all. She thanked Lucy, silently grateful that her friend knew her well enough to seat them away from the crowd.
Until Summer Ends Page 7
