He points his fork at me. “I’ll have you know as the firstborn and only boy, I had my own room to hole up in. Anyway, it paid off. Sold my first tech startup at nineteen and two more since.” He digs into his dinner with gusto.
I take a few more bites, considering what he does with his time. “I heard you were retired, but you must dabble with tech in your spare time just for the hell of it, right? What’re you working on now?”
“No way. I don’t want to be chained to a computer anymore. I’ve seen the light.” He squints and looks to the ceiling. “And it’s the sun.”
I laugh. “Okay, so you discovered you can go outdoors, so now what?”
“I’m renovating this house.”
“And?”
“And then I chill.”
I take a drink of water. “That’s boring.”
He gazes into my eyes, his voice husky. “Not so far.”
I look away, my cheeks flushing. That was…hot. And it was barely a flirt. I just felt the intention low in my belly, where I now ache. Nope. I’m not lusting for the man I planned to ask for a loan. Now that we’re on civil terms, I should bring that up and then lay out how I would pay him back with interest. I don’t want him to think I’m after his money. Well, I am, but it would be for a mutually beneficial transaction. If I could only figure out what I have to offer in return besides a piece of my restaurant. That’s a hard line I won’t cross.
And it goes without saying we’d keep everything strictly professional. Sex and business don’t mix. Not that Wyatt and I are about to have sex. God, it’s been so long I’m becoming obsessed. I need to sign up for one of those dating apps to meet someone.
Fact is, if I cross the line with him, he won’t respect me as a businesswoman. And that respect is everything. I want to be taken seriously. I know my stuff. I just stepped into a difficult situation.
I sense his stare. He’s not eating, just studying me. We’re close enough I catch his clean scent and the faint smell of woodsmoke. My gaze drops to his lips, those sensual lips. I lick my own lips. I suddenly notice the shimmering silence, ripe with possibility, and meet his smoldering eyes just like in my dreams. My breath hitches, a shiver of excitement racing down my spine. Say something! “So what happens after you finish the renovation?” My voice sounds high. I clear my throat. “Are you going to buy another old place to renovate?”
He goes back to his dinner, scooping up some chicken. “I don’t know. Haven’t thought that far ahead.”
I finish my meal, my thoughts bouncing all over the place. What’s next? Intimate conversation by the fire? Watching a movie together on his laptop? Throwing my arms around him again? It felt so good to be held in his arms. Like nothing could touch me in that safe haven. And this from the man I thought was put on earth to harass me!
Chill, Syd. Ask him for the loan. Keep it professional.
He clears our dishes and turns back to me. “C’mon, back to the only seat in the house.”
I follow him back to the sofa and look to the crackling fire, Snowball curled up in her little bed in front of the fireplace. “She must love it by the fire because she didn’t even look for scraps in the kitchen when we ate.”
“She always sleeps after her night routine. Her dinner was at three, and she doesn’t expect more until morning.”
I eye the sofa. There’s three cushions. I take the end cushion to keep a professional distance. He takes the other end cushion and gives me a tight-lipped smile, looking uncomfortable. It makes me feel like even more of an inconvenience. Crap. How can I ask him for a loan when he looks so uncomfortable?
I fall back on small talk. “Have you been up in the lighthouse?”
He chuckles and wiggles his fingers at me. “You mean my secret lair?”
I shift toward him eagerly. “What’s it like?”
His lips twitch. “Swear you won’t tell anyone?”
“Ooh, there’s something good hiding in there.” I hold up a palm. “I swear!”
He leans in, saying in a conspiratorial voice, “It’s not a lighthouse.”
“It’s not? Damn, that’s so disappointing. Of course, it never made sense to have one up here on dry land.”
“It’s a water tower, and the last owner made it up to look like a lighthouse because he liked lighthouses.”
A water tower makes a lot more sense on a former farm. “Mystery solved.” I crinkle my nose. “I think I’ll let it be a mystery for the rest of town. It’s more fun that way.”
“Course you will. You swore a blood oath.”
I lift my brows. “Not quite but your secret’s safe with me. I wonder why nobody knows about it.”
He leans back, stretching his arms across the back of the sofa. “You’d have to come up on the property and investigate it up close. I don’t think the former owner had many visitors. He was a widower, and his son died young. I looked into the history.”
“That’s sad. He must’ve been lonely.”
“Most likely. Hopefully he had a dog.”
I smile. “I never pictured you as the kind of guy with a little white dog named Snowball.”
“Are you saying her name doesn’t fit? She looks like a snowball.” Snowball lifts her head, gazes tiredly at Wyatt, and goes back to sleep.
“No, you don’t fit.”
“Yeah? What kind of dog should I have?”
I immediately picture a smug-looking dog I saw on a meme once with no regrets for licking his owner’s sandwich. “A Great Dane.”
“Because?”
“Uh, no reason.”
He leans close, smiling, looking more charmer than smug. My pulse speeds like crazy. “Come on, I can take it.”
“Because you, uh, sometimes look smug like this Great Dane meme who licked peanut butter off his owner’s sandwich when he wasn’t looking. Before, I mean, when I saw you at my restaurant. Now you’re okay.” Good save. Ask him about the loan.
He presses his lips together, his eyes dancing with amusement. “I’m not smug. I’m just right.”
My temper flares. “Criticizing doesn’t make you right.” It makes you smug in your so-called superior knowledge.
“Sydney, Sydney, Sydney, I’m not criticizing. I’m giving helpful suggestions for your restaurant. It could be improved in many ways. I know it, and I’m letting you know it. You’re welcome.”
I narrow my eyes.
He points at me. “I’ve been waiting for the squinty-eyed glare. The natural state of your face around me.”
My shoulders tense. I tell myself to calm down. He took me in and fed me. He’s giving me his bed. Not that I’m going to take it. The point is, I don’t want to fight with him. I want to work out a business deal. How can one man be both generous and aggravating at the same time?
He smirks, and I swear he knows how much that smirk irritates me. He wants to fight. I refuse. I’m here as a guest in his home, and I will be gracious and kind. I unclench my fists.
“So,” I say brightly, “what should we do now?” It’s my subtle way of saying we should stop talking because it’s only going to lead to a blowout, and then where would I go? I’m stuck here with the man who seems to be one part devil, one part angel.
“I’d offer you a drink, but I’m out of wine thanks to the lush upstairs, and I doubt you like whiskey.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Women tend to go for the sweet fruity drinks. Not that you’re sweet, though your eyes do remind me of honey.”
I fight back a smile, warmth stealing through me. That was kind of a compliment right there. His eyes remind me of whiskey, but I keep that to myself. “Most guys think I’m edgy enough to handle a hard drink.” What can I say? I make no apologies for being a strong woman who speaks her mind.
He gestures around my head. “Edgy would be spiked hair and piercings. You must go to the salon regularly like my sister Paige. Masses of auburn hair with a slight wave.”
I guess having sisters he knows hair shades. I’m beyond
flattered by his description. “I go to the salon once a year for a trim. This is natural.”
He reaches out like he wants to touch it and then drops his hand. “Wow. Paige would kill for your hair. Hers takes a team for highlights and styling, and I don’t even know what else.”
I blush, my lashes fluttering down. “Thank you.”
“Plus your clothes always cling to your curves like you’re letting the world know you’re a sexy woman. Edgy has something to prove. You’re just confident.”
My jaw gapes at the outrageous compliment even as heat flashes through me. He thinks I’m sexy.
He continues as if he hasn’t just said the most flirty, flattering thing. “Just an incontrovertible fact. Ask anyone.”
It’s as if he’s constructed a logical argument for why I’m not edgy. He sees me as a confident, beautiful sexy woman. I have never been so complimented in my life. And even though whiskey is great on a cold winter night, I don’t ask for a drop. My defenses are crashing down around me as it is. I don’t need my inhibitions to fly out the window too.
“Thank you, Wyatt.”
He tilts his head, his eyes softening. “Fact.”
I desperately want to close the distance, to feel his arms around me again. The cushion between us feels like a huge space to cross. I can’t seem to move. If he wanted me close, he’s the kind who’d just say it. Look at how plainly he laid out the “fact” that I’m a sexy woman with great hair.
Wait, what am I thinking? I’m not crossing the line with my future business associate. I’m suddenly afraid he can see all the different impulses racing through me—wanting to get closer, needing to keep some boundaries.
I focus on the fire, anything but my intense attraction to him. Those compliments just made me feel all gooey. “I understand why Kayla drank all the wine. It’s an integral part of the breakup process, along with ice cream or chocolate. For me, I’ll eat a pint of chocolate ice cream—”
“Chocolate, the natural antidepressant for women.”
“Uh-huh, and then I burn any pictures or souvenirs of the relationship in effigy.”
He leans forward. “You do that a lot?”
“Not a lot.”
“Truth time. How many serious boyfriends have you burned in effigy?”
“Three serious exes. One for catharsis more than anything. He was my high school boyfriend. We went to separate colleges and that was that.”
“Why did you break up with the other guys?”
“One because we just kept fighting and it obviously wasn’t working, and one because…”
He looks at me expectantly.
I swallow hard. “Just because.”
He looks over to the fire. “Don’t tell me.”
“He said he wasn’t in love with me anymore.” I cross my arms at my middle, hugging myself. That one was rough.
He turns back to me, his voice surprisingly gentle. “Were you still in love with him?”
“Well, yeah. It was a shock to hear.”
He shakes his head. “He was probably cheating on you.”
“What?”
“I’m just saying how could anyone be in love and then suddenly not be in love? There was probably someone else.”
I frown. “That’s even worse. I never asked questions. I just moved on.”
“My ex slept with my former best friend. They’re married now.”
My eyes widen. He said it so matter-of-factly, but I know that must’ve hurt. “Oh shit. How did you find out?”
“I came home one day, and they were both there, sitting at the dining room table, looking serious. They said they had something to tell me.”
“No! They ambushed you on your own turf! What did they say?”
“She said she wasn’t in love with me anymore. See, not just you that bullshit happens to. And then they shared that they’re in love with each other, it’s serious, and they plan on getting married.”
“What did you do when they dropped that bomb on you? I’d be seeing red.”
“I go cold when I’m furious, so I said, thanks for telling me, now get out, and I don’t ever want to see either of you again. Then I got the hell out. Sold my house—this was in California—and moved to Manhattan. I didn’t want any reminders of either of them.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Three years.”
He probably hasn’t had a real relationship since. It would be hard to trust again with a double betrayal. “Wow, that’s way worse than my breakup story.”
He grins crookedly. “I win.”
It’s a sad grin, and I just want to hug him. A well of emotion rises in my chest for all he’s shared. He’s surprisingly open and honest. It makes me want to talk even more, to find out everything there is to know about him. I actually really like him. And not in that professional way I’m trying to hang onto. This is not good. I know it, but I can’t help but be sucked in. How many guys would let themselves be vulnerable like that?
He changes the subject. “Have you lived in Summerdale your whole life?”
“Most of it. I moved away for college and lived in Hoboken for a while for work before I came home to take over the restaurant. How about you? Did you grow up in California?”
“New Jersey. My mom is a history professor at Princeton University. My dad was a math professor there before he died.”
“How old were you when you lost him?”
“Thirteen.” He pounds his chest with both hands. “Man of the family right here.”
My heart squeezes painfully. I know that feeling. I took over a lot of the cooking and cleaning my mom used to do, and fussed over my youngest brother. I was the woman of the family. “My mom died when I was twelve, so I get it. I was the only girl, and her responsibilities fell to me. I mean, I wanted to help, to try to make it feel like she was still with us. She was a nurse and my dad…” My voice chokes. “God, it’s been a year now, and it still feels fresh.” I blink back tears. I hate crying. “The Horseman Inn was his business. I’m fourth generation. It went to Drew, the oldest brother. He said it was a money pit, and then I stepped in to save it.”
He’s quiet, his eyes soft.
I take a calming breath.
“It’s tough to lose a parent,” he finally says. “My dad died from a heart attack—bam, out of the blue, gone—just as teen hormones hit me.” He looks to the ceiling. “Great timing, Dad.” He turns back to me. “But I rose to the occasion, took care of my sisters, and helped out my mom when she needed it.”
Now I understand why Kayla ran to him during her crisis, and why she thought it was normal for him to take care of her feminine hygiene needs. He’s always taken care of her. She looks young. She must’ve been little when their dad died.
“I was lucky I had two older brothers, and my dad stepped up, becoming more hands-on as a parent. They took care of me while I took care of the house and my younger brothers.”
“Three guys raised you through your teen years?” He tugs a lock of my hair. “No wonder you’re such a tough cookie.”
I smile widely. “Not tough, strong.”
“All right, Sydney, you’ve earned it. I’ll share my whiskey with you.” He stands and offers his hand. “It’s the good stuff meant to savor.”
I stare at that offered hand, the invitation to get closer, and hesitate. My brain screams to keep my distance. But the rest of me? It’s an impossible pull to resist.
I place my hand in his, warmth enveloping my smaller hand as he helps me up. “I’ll be sure to report back on the full-bodied palate and finish.”
“Mmm, I like when you talk whiskey to me.”
Our gazes lock for a charged moment before he gives my hand a tug, guiding me to the kitchen.
11
Over a small glass of expensive whiskey, we laugh our asses off about our younger siblings’ shenanigans. I had to share when six-year-old Caleb mooned the audience at his school play because he thought it was funnier than the boring play, and I hav
e sworn on my life not to repeat some of what his sisters have done. Hee-hee, but I know what I know, Kayla, Paige, and Brooke!
Now we’re both pretty mellow and smiling a lot.
Wyatt leans across the kitchen island toward me. “You want me to wrench the laptop out of Kayla’s grip so we can watch a movie or something?”
I laugh. “She can join us.”
He straightens. “Which I told her. She’s probably wrapped up in one of her shows. She’s been binge-watching a lot, ever since she was left at the altar, so to speak. Technically, she was left at a table.”
I smother a giggle. He wags his finger at me, smiling.
He gestures magnanimously. “Or we could talk some more.”
“About what?”
“I don’t know. Isn’t that what women like to do, talk?”
I pretend slap him, waving a hand in front of his face. “For someone with three sisters, you’re kinda sexist.”
“I’m not sexist. I understand women because I have three sisters. They love to talk.”
“Not all woman are like your sisters.”
He presses his hands together like he’s praying and looks to the ceiling. “Thank God for that.”
I laugh. “You’re lucky Kayla didn’t hear you say that.”
He grins. “I know. So…looks like it’s back to the sofa for more talk, talk, talk.” He lets out a big sigh, even as his eyes sparkle with good humor. He joins me at my side and then gestures for me to go ahead.
I take a seat on the end cushion, where I sat before, and he takes the center cushion right next to me. I’m glad. He smells good, woodsy, and I feel close to him after talking so much. The whiskey makes me feel nice and mellow. Or maybe that’s just having him near.
“So what’s new with Sydney Robinson?”
I love hearing him say my whole name in his deep baritone. Correctly too. No Cindy business. “Nothing new. I’ve spent the last six months trying to bring The Horseman Inn to a thriving place of business that would make my father proud.”
A hint of a smirk crosses his face. “Yet you won’t take any of my helpful suggestions.”
Even whiskey mellow, that smirk irritates me. “Our beer is fine.”
Fetching: A Frenemies to Lovers Romantic Comedy (Unleashed Romance, Book 1) Page 9
