‘It’s up there.’ He pointed to a list propped up on the bar. ‘We love our fried food in the South, and there’s everything from hamburgers to catfish and chicken.’
‘What’re you having?’
‘Tonight’s special. Fried baloney sandwiches.’ His face lit up. ‘My mom used to make them when I was a kid. They’re a cardiologist’s nightmare.’
‘Despite how appealing you make it sound, I believe I’ll give that a miss and try the chicken.’
‘Chicken it is. How about to drink? Beer? Iced Tea? Lemonade? Or a soda?’ Griff nodded. ‘I’m havin’ a beer. Just the one.’
‘Beer it is, then.’
As the evening wore on, Lyndsey wished she could capture time in a bottle. First dates could be a nightmare, but she’d be happy for this one to go on forever. The singers varied, but only one young man made her long for ear plugs. The last one up was a young woman whose rich voice silenced the room; when she finished, the rapturous applause almost lifted the roof. In between performances, she and Griff talked nonstop, heads close so they could hear themselves speak over the rising noise level in the room. Her fried chicken was incredible; crisp and well-seasoned, bearing no resemblance to its pale English imitations. Griff persuaded her to try a bite of his thick, greasy fried baloney sandwich which was more than enough to convince her to decline a second. They must have been an acquired taste, because Griff wolfed it down, and she suspected he’d have ordered another if she hadn’t been there.
‘You ready to go home? I make a pretty decent cup of coffee.’
‘I am ready, but I’ll have to give your other offer a miss.’ His face fell. ‘Not because I wouldn’t love to, but I need to get set up for my work call. Another time?’
‘Definitely.’
Outside in the truck, Griff rolled the windows down. ‘In a few more weeks, we’d be offering ourselves as a night-time feast for the bugs, risking this.’
‘We’d better make the most of it, then.’
‘Yeah, I reckon we had.’
The hint of sadness in his raspy voice made Lyndsey swallow down a wave of emotion. Did she wish for psychic abilities, so she could see further down the line and know if they stood a chance of making this attraction between them work? She swiftly came down on the side of living in ignorance and seizing the moment. Lyndsey leaned over and brushed a kiss on his cheek. The faint hint of soft stubble and the intoxicating aroma of Griff’s fresh, clean scent set her senses on fire.
‘Let’s pretend we’re teenagers. Make out like crazy until our lips are sore. Barely make it home in time for curfew.’ The husky edge to his drawl made her skin tighten. Lyndsey arched into his searching touch as his right hand slid around to cup the back of her head. Griff’s tongue slid along her lips, nipping and teasing until she opened to him. She’d always enjoyed kissing, but considered it slightly overrated. Now the tantalizing, incredibly sexy point of it became abundantly clear. ‘If we weren’t parked under a streetlight, with all these people coming and going around us . . .’
Half-grateful and half-sorry when he left the sentence unfinished, Lyndsey sighed as he pulled away. Her tingling breasts said they knew exactly where he’d been headed, and were grossly disappointed too.
‘Sorry, Cinderella, but the ball is over.’ He touched his finger against the throbbing pulse in her neck, stroking her skin and staring as if to imprint her on his mind. ‘We’ll continue this another day.’
The hint of promise in his words lifted her spirits. ‘Oh yes.’
Chapter Nine
Griff turned off the hose and eyed his vegetable garden with satisfaction. Almost everything was flourishing. Harold had given him a rough timeline for how long it should take the different varieties he’d planted to grow, and now it was mid-June, so he was starting to harvest his squash, jalapenos and green beans. They’d be followed closely by the bell peppers and tomatoes. But the poor cucumbers were stunted and misshapen — a sad reflection of his stalled attempt to romance Lyndsey.
By now, she must wonder if he’d dropped off the face of the planet. He’d fully intended to ask her out again after their date two weeks ago, but his client brought forward the deadline for the restaurant panels, so he’d directed all his energies into his work. He genuinely couldn’t afford to lose or mess up this commission, but if he was being a hundred percent honest, it also let him off the hook. Gave him breathing space to consider his next move.
He’d spotted Lyndsey a couple of times from a distance as she pushed Nora along in the stroller or walked down to the mailbox, but squashed the urge to rush out to say hello. Thehellowasn’t the tricky part; it was what to say next. She must assume he’d had second thoughts, but perhaps she’d had them, too? After all, there’d been nothing stopping her contactinghim.
Absentmindedly he sipped his coffee and spat out the cold dregs on the grass. If Lyndsey wanted nothing more to do with him, Griff wouldn’t blame her, but he’d had enough of being indecisive. The ragged denim shorts and scruffy T-shirt he’d worn to work in the garden had seen better days about a decade ago, but they’d have to do, because the longer he put off going next door, the more likely it was he’d lose his nerve. Stopping to give his hands a thorough wash first, though, wasn’t optional. Any visit to the Warners’ house came with the risk of holding Nora.
Risk?He’d never admitted it out loud, but he’d become incredibly attached to the little girl. It was endlessly fascinating to see how swiftly she changed, almost from one day to the next, and to watch her character start to form. The last time he held Nora, she’d burst into a heart-stopping smile, her eyes dancing with glee. It felt like she was telling him that, despite any protestations he might make to the contrary, she knew she had him well and truly hooked.
Griff wriggled off his earth-caked boots outside the front door and hurried in to wash his hands at the kitchen sink, making sure to scrub under his dirty fingernails. This room always made him smile and wince in equal measure. It was next on his upgrade list, but for now it was stuck in a 1970s time warp. He found it hard to believe the almost orangey wood cabinets, bright yellow laminate countertops, garishly patterned tile backsplash and avocado appliances were once considered the height of modern design.
He shoved his large bare feet in a pair of sandals and headed back outside. Walking around and up his neighbor’s drive, his palms started to sweat and he hastily wiped them on his shorts.
‘Oh, so you’re still alive. We did wonder.’ Lyndsey’s clipped tones made him cringe. She stood on the front porch, holding a watering can, immaculate as ever in another crisp white shirt and black shorts.
Where were the bright colors that would look so incredible against her Caribbean skin? He wondered if there was some deep-seated reason why she stuck to white, black and gray.
‘Yeah, I’m really sorry. I meant to get in touch, but then I got caught up in work and . . .’ The feeble excuse dried in his throat as her stare bored into him.
‘I was scared too, you know,’ Lyndsey whispered. ‘Did that ever occur to you?’ She jerked her head back towards the house. ‘Our determined matchmaker has been hounding me ever since our date. Becca’s convinced I put you off by being my usual bossy self — her words, not mine.’ One corner of her mouth twitched. ‘I prefer “assertive.” Not such a negative connotation.’
