Never breaking my gaze on the woman, I reach out to get Jeff’s attention, which only draws the crowd’s attention to me.
“Oh, sorry there, son. Let me get you settled with a plate of food while I take care of a few things.” Before I get a chance to decline his offer, Jeff calls out, “Larsen, let me introduce you to my friend here.”
CHAPTER FOUR – LARSEN
It’s been a hell of a morning already and my back is aching from standing so long.
As Tucker and Tacker switch their shifts at the grill, I take a moment to grill Joanne. “Have any of your customers seen Uncle Jeff?”
I’ve been worried since he wandered off last night. No one in the town had seen him. Nor in the town over where he’s been seen when he’s having an off day. Pretty much, if he’s missing Susan he loses himself in a bottle of booze.
I bite my thumbnail in nervousness that something terrible has happened, especially with the fifth anniversary of Susan’s death today there is no telling where he may be.
“Well, let me know if you hear of anything. It’s days like today I wish I had a cell phone. Not that it would help when he isn’t answering a call from the diner’s line.”
The door to the restaurant opens and Joanne looks at me with a lopsided grin, the evidence of her worry festering between her brows. We’re all worried about Uncle Jeff. When does the hurt stop? Does it ever?
Joanne sits the mother and her young daughter in my section just as Cole walks in and takes a seat at the counter. My eyes immediately track his every movement. The way his slim build sways with every step, but his hair barely moves. He has it neatly trimmed and slicked back, and I imagine with all the products he must use to keep it that way, it’s as hard as a rock. When he finally takes his seat, he swipes his fingers through the strands effortlessly.
Cole must sense my stare because he turns to me and makes eye contact before a wide smile grows on his lips. “Hey, Larsen. How are you doing today?”
“Um. . .I’m. . .good,” I lie. I’m anything but good. I’m worried, scared, devastated. All of those things rolled into one.
“That’s good. What are you cooking today, Tucker?” he calls out to the back where Tucker stands with a spatula raised in his hand.
Effectively dismissed I gather my strength and step behind the counter to get his drink. Coke is Cole’s drink of choice whenever he’s here for lunch, which is daily, even during the school year. I try not to make eye contact or linger too long on his face, now turned in my direction again.
As I place his drink on the counter, he smiles and I subconsciously pull my long hair over my shoulder, masking the scars on my right side. His grin doesn’t waver but I can see his attention is focused on my facial scar, not my eyes or any other part. It’s not his fault, really. I know that by moving my hair in its direction, I brought attention to the part of me I wish to mask.
“Larsen. . .” Cole begins, but I quickly apologize and move from around the counter to take the order of the mother and daughter waiting patiently for me.
I can tell that the mother takes pity on me as I arrive at their table. She gives me that look that I’ve seen so often. The corner of her lip tilts upward as the corner of her eyes dip, and she cocks her head to the side slightly. It’s a familiar face that I’ve grown accustomed to, especially in the summer with people traveling through on their way to the festival at Sand Dunes Park.
I take their order, water and two burgers, and give it to Tucker. Filling up two glasses of water, I hurriedly make my way back to their table to avoid an awkward moment again with Cole. A little bit of water splashes onto my hand as I place the little girl’s glass on the table.
“You’re really pretty,” the soft voice claims from the bench seat. I turn to look at the young girl who can’t be any older than four or five. Her soft brown curls caress the tops of her shoulders and her delicate features mimic that of her mother’s, only softer and on a smaller scale.
Bending down to be at her level, I thank her with a bright smile, which she imitates. And I swear a beam of sunlight shines through the window and brightens the spot where the child sits.
“What’s your name, sweetheart?”
“Billie. What’s yours?”
“My name is Larsen. It’s very nice to meet you, Billie,” I answer as I hold out my hand to shake, forgetting about my scarred arm and hand as I extend the limb.
I realize it’s not intentional, but I immediately begin to pull my arm back as her mother gasps at the disfiguration. I don’t turn to look at her, it’s not her fault that I surprised them since I cover myself up as much as possible. But the little sprite in front of me is having none of that.
“What are these?” the innocent child asks as she weaves her fingers around the scarring on my forearm. My story is too horrific and gruesome to share with children, and at this point, I’ve worked up a few fairytales to explain my scars.
“Well, a long time ago a princess became a warrior and defeated an evil dragon so that she could save her prince charming. The dragon blew a raging fire that burned the princess, but that didn’t stop her. She won the battle and saved the prince, who loved her even though she was no longer the beautiful woman he once knew. But he loved the woman beneath the surface.
“They were married and had lots of children and grandchildren. Every few years one of their great-great-great-great granddaughters earns her scars when she fights a dragon’s fire and wins.”
The girl stares at me in rapture, her eyes bright and wild in delight, sparkling in wonder.
“Are you one of the girls?” she whispers as if asking a question in secret, trying to hide her question from her mother.
“What do you think?” I ask her just as I hear my name beckoned from across the room.
“Larsen, let me introduce you to my new friend here.”
Uncle Jeff’s voice breaks through the bustle of the diner and I’m immediately confronted with a jumble of emotions. But anger and ease push through as I run to where Jeff stands surrounded by his group of friends, and wrap my arms around him.
“Don’t do that to me again,” I tell him harshly as I pull back, but only in a tone he can hear, ignoring the empty bottle of booze still dangling from his hand. That’s going to be an entirely new conversation. “Where have you been? I’ve been worried about you.”
“I’ll explain later. Right now, I want you to meet my friend here. He needs me to look at his car and get Sam to tow it.”
The diner has grown quiet, more so than normal on a slow day, and I take a chance to meet the stranger my Uncle is referring to. I have a mental pep talk with myself; strangers and I don’t go well together.
Taking a deep breath, I look at the man blocking the entrance to the diner. Except when I turn my eyes, I’m met with a T-shirt covering a well-muscled chest. I have to continue looking up and up before I settle on his face. And what a face it is, with a familiarity about it. I would know if I’ve met him before, no one would be able to forget a man that looks like this. He is easily six foot one or two, tanned skin, muscles perfectly proportioned to his body. It’s clear he works out at the gym regularly. His skin is clean, not a single imperfection across the legs and arms visible to my eye. I wouldn’t be surprised if he has any hidden tattoos. His appearance screams bad boy. He has just a smattering of facial hair across his chiseled jawline leading up to a mane of dark, almost black hair. It’s shorter along the sides and the front is long, almost brushing against his long lashes. And his eyes, his eyes are what are holding me captive. I can’t look away even as Uncle Jeff calls my name again. Because it’s not just that his eyes remind me of dark chocolate, swirling with hints of gold, it’s that they’re not looking anywhere else but into my own brown eyes. This man is not focused on my scar, or my chest, or the crowd of onlookers growing behind me – he’s focused on me, just me.
“Larsen,” my uncle repeats with a tug on my arm, the bottle now removed from his grasp. “This is Devyn. Can you help me situa
te his car? I’ll look at it this weekend and order the parts.” Turning to look at the stranger he adds, “It may be a few days, we don’t usually carry classic car parts in our area.”
I turn back to the man introduced as Devyn, watching as he acknowledges my uncle without moving his gaze away from me.
“Nice. . .nice to meet you.” I tuck my hands into my back pockets to resist the urge to reach out and touch him. I can feel my ivory skin heat under this gorgeous man’s scrutiny.
“You too.” His gravelly voice churns around me; my skin prickles at the huskiness of it. I’ve never felt this reaction to someone’s voice before. Sure, I get butterflies when Cole is around, I’m almost certain every female in her twenties, maybe even older, feels the same way when he is in the room. But this man? This man has captured everyone’s attention.
“Hey, Larsen!” Joanne shouts, completely unaffected by the presence of the new arrivals. “If you can fill Cole’s drink, I’ll handle your tables.”
“Okay. Yeah.” I feel lost, disoriented as I take a step away from the group then turn my back to them as I walk toward the counter.
I grab Cole’s glass without even asking if he’d like a refill and fill the cup to the brim with the caramel-colored liquid.
“Here you go,” I mumble as I tug my hair back over my shoulder to cover my facial scar, hating that this gorgeous newcomer has knocked me out of sorts.
“Hey, Larsen. Are you okay? You look uncomfortable. I can take this guy somewhere else; to another town over if you want him to leave.”
Thinking about the two of them in a car together has my heart racing. The All-American good guy and the bad boy heartthrob sitting together would have ovaries bursting at every mile.
“No, no, that’s okay, Cole. Thanks for the offer, though. I’ll be back in a bit.”
I’m not sure what possesses me, but I walk over to Devyn and ask him to follow me outside and down the sidewalk. We don’t speak as he trails behind me, and I nervously keep my arms wrapped against my chest, out of his line of sight. But I can feel his eyes boring into my back.
I’m used to seeing the disgust or the questions on other people’s faces, I’m not sure I can handle the same from him.
I unlock and open the door to the automotive shop and head behind the desk to boot up the computer, not flipping the closed sign to open.
“Closed on a Friday?” His voice sends an involuntary shiver down my spine that I’m unable to hide from his penetrating stare.
“It’s. . .uh. . .most of the town is closed today,” I whisper as I send a message to Sam that we need a tow on US-50.
“Why?”
Ignoring his question, I look up from the computer to find his arms resting on the countertop as he leans over the chipped laminate. I can’t pull my gaze away from the muscles and veins protruding beneath the skin of his forearms as they bear his weight.
“Larsen,” he calls out, bringing my attention to him. “Why is the town shut down today?”
Replying in a tone that even surprises myself I explain, “We don’t really discuss business with outsiders. Now, what kind of car is it so that I can log it in the system?”
“’74 Porsche 911 Targa in steel blue. And I’m no longer an outsider since I’m staying a few days. So tell me, why?”
“You’re awfully nosey, you know that?”
Instead of spewing a comeback, he glares at me. His eyes narrow as his intimidating stance and stare seep under my skin, leaving me squirming in place.
“Fine! It’s the fifth anniversary of Susan’s death. She was Jeff’s wife and loved by the town. We’re having a memorial get-together this afternoon in her honor.”
His eyes widen with each punctuated word as if he never expected this to be the reason the entire town would call it quits on a Friday during the summer. I’m almost pleased that I was able to put the shocked look on his face.
“Can I come? Since it seems I’ll be here for a while.”
“I’m sure the ladies would love that,” I tell him with my eyes trained back onto the computer.
“I have a question. Do you honestly have no idea who I am?”
Confused I look at him again, examine him more closely, but try as I might I can’t pull my gaze away from his eyes. There is something about them that is so familiar, so intimate. “Not that I can recall. Sorry.”
“Damn,” he mutters as he looks down at his hands briefly, flexing his fingers against the counter before looking back at up me. “Do you watch any movies or television?” he asks with a pinched expression on his face, his brows and lips drawn tight.
“Not since I was fifteen,” I explain, not delving into the details. “Haven’t really had the time since I started helping Uncle Jeff.”
“Did you ever watch a show growing up called Double the Family?”
I can feel myself light up from the inside. My father and I loved watching that show together. I had the biggest crush on the middle son. “Oh my gosh. He’s you! I mean, you’re him. You’re Taylor Walker.”
Sheepishly he grins and shakes his head, the tips of his hair brushing against his eyelashes. “Devyn Dane, actually.”
Trying to school my expression, I quickly remember all of the turmoil that filtered through the entertainment channels about Devyn when I was younger, but at fifteen, I had more important things to worry about. “Wow, I thought you had died.” I slap my hand across my mouth as the words rush out before I can stop them. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“It’s okay. Most of the world thought I died too.”
“What are you doing here? I mean, specifically here in Shady Pines?”
His body grows rigid at my inquisition as he shuts down and it’s as if invisible shades pull down across his eyes sheltering me from exploring further. No longer are they as expressive as before.
“Where can I stay? Is there a hotel or something?”
His voice is clipped, strained. It’s a deep contrast to the welcoming tone from earlier.
“I’m not sure. We can head back to the diner and ask Stacy if she has any rooms left at the Bed and Breakfast. No hotels in town. Sorry.”
“Well, I’d like to get settled and maybe take a shower before this memorial today.”
I feel expertly dismissed the way he casually changes the subject, something I’m all too familiar with.
“Sure,” I sigh as I finish adding his car to the schedule for tomorrow. I hope that Uncle Jeff won’t be too off the rails in the morning in mourning. I’m going to have to have a talk with him after the memorial service tonight to fix this drinking habit he seems to have picked up.
I close up the shop and follow Devyn back to the diner; he leads as if he’s walked these sidewalks for years, not minutes. I try not to fixate on the way his shoulder blades move beneath his shirt with each sway of his arms, or the way his broad shoulders taper down into a narrow waist. It is difficult not to feel an attraction to Devyn. No woman with a pulse can deny that. But something about him makes me uneasy in my own skin, not that I had ever felt comfortable in it since my accident.
My body collides with something hard, stiff, and well-muscled. Devyn. I am so lost in my own head that I didn’t realize that we had walked back into the diner, a welcome party of local women all ranging in age and all wanting a piece of him. Obviously, word has spread quickly of our celebrity visitor.
“Is there a room at the bed and breakfast?” Devyn asks openly into the room, his face twisting until Stacy stands from her table to acknowledge his question.
“I'm sorry, we’re booked full with the Sand Dune Festival happening this week.”
Before Devyn even has a chance to respond, the diner fills with random voices all inviting him to stay with them for the night, the week, forever. I’m fairly certain that I hear a marriage proposal among the requests. My ears begin burning and my fingertips itch. I feel as if I’m going to crawl out of my skin.
“He’s going to stay with me!” I shout, and the
room immediately quiets in stunned silence. I’ve never raised my voice before or spoken to anyone outside of this diner unless I’ve been spoken to first. For some reason, my eyes drift to where Cole sits at the counter, his glass of Coke halfway to his mouth as his lips hang parted in shock.
I wait patiently for someone to speak, anyone to speak and break the silence, well, anyone that’s not Devyn. Unfortunately, he’s the one that breaks the stillness in the room.
“What?”
I lack the courage to look up at him, fearing the disgust in his eyes, a snarl in his lip, or an ashen shade to his tanned cheeks.
“I. . .um. . .have a second apartment that I rent out online. The couple that had booked it for this week cancelled at the last minute.”
I don’t look up from my hands but I’m certain the room collectively blinks in unison. They all know me. They know my history, my fears, my lack of confidence.
The silence stretches and I finally glance up, and sure enough, everyone is staring at me as if I’ve grown two heads, but it’s the look on three of the faces that catch me off guard. Cole looks confused. Devyn looks relieved. And Uncle Jeff looks so damn proud with a grin stretched across his face that I can’t help but copy it.
“Thanks,” I hear whispered in my ear and I startle to find Devyn leaning close to me. Way too close. His cologne fills my nostrils with its scent that reminds me of the ocean. Or what I imagine the Pacific Ocean to smell like.
“Um. . .let me just finish up here and I can show you the apartment.” I lean away from him slightly despite my desire to tilt toward him. This man has a potency that draws me in.
“Yeah. I could go for something to eat.”
I’m afraid so could every other female in this room too, and I’m not talking about the food kind.
As I move behind the counter, I try to ignore the gazes. I’ve spent years trying to avoid being the center of attention and now it’s all on me again at my own doing. Devyn takes a seat with Uncle Jeff and Joanne promptly takes his order. It seems as if Uncle Jeff makes a selection for him.
Slipping into the kitchen area, I lean against one of the prep counters and try to figure out what has come over me. I don’t know what possessed me to offer up the only other apartment next to mine. But when an unfamiliar emotion surged through me, I couldn’t help myself. I’m scared to start digging deeper into that feeling.
The Scene Stealer: A Hollywood Romance Page 4
