She reaches past me and grabs the rolled-up remnants of my sugar packets. “A sugar sifter would be more eco-friendly. Less packaging. Less paper waste.”
Huh?
I wasn’t expecting that. She could have insulted the decor, the food… But I can’t exactly sniff at a sustainability suggestion. To be fair, shit like that—small cost-saving measures that are good for the environment—are on my long list of things to do. They’re just so far down the list, I don’t know if I’ll ever get to them.
“Great idea,” I say, trying not to sound like I’m dismissing her. “Although that would mean there would be all these little plastic condiment caddies going to waste. What’s worse? Paper in the trash or plastic?”
She opens her mouth to say something but then just looks me over, as if she can’t decide whether I’m fucking with her or not.
“I’m kidding,” I say lightly, giving her a smile that I hope will distract her from any more comments about how I run my restaurant.
She swivels her stool so it faces me and crosses one slim leg over the other, the tip of her sleek boot slightly grazing the damp leg of my jeans. “I’m Willow,” she says, thick brown eyebrows narrowing as she studies my face. “Nice to meet you.”
I set down my coffee and rub my hands together to warm them. “I’m Ben,” I say, giving her a shortened form of my nickname. If she associates “Ben” with “Benito,” as in the name painted on the front door, she doesn’t show it.
We shake hands, holding on to each other a little too long at the end.
After our introduction, I realize how quiet the restaurant is. The sound of the rain hitting the roof and splashing against the windows is soothing.
This is my place. My restaurant. The place I’ve built from the ground up, and while it’s a chaotic life, it’s mine. This place and the people who work here are everything I care about. Everything that makes me who I am. Well, after my family, that is.
I’m enjoying the quiet and the stillness after the rumble of the furnace kicks off, when the woman beside me lifts the mug to her lips and takes a deep sip. “Can I be honest with you?” she asks.
The low vibration of her sensual, confident voice curls around my ears like a whisper, but it also hits me like a ton ofbricks. I’m not sure if she is hitting on me, is lonely, or is just looking for a little conversation. But damn, my body takes notice of every inch of her as she leans toward me.
Her eyes sparkle, the gray almost identical to the stormy skies outside. Her face is free of makeup, but the feature I am most transfixed by is just inches from my face. This woman’s top lip has sharply defined peaks, but the lower lip is full and soft. She’s nibbling it between her teeth, a playful smirk on her face.
“You want to be honest?” I repeat, warming inside when I meet her eyes. “Star Falls is a small town. If you plan on staying for any length of time, you’ll find out trash talk travels faster than this storm did. I’m not much for gossip, so go for it. Speak your mind.” I point to the condiment caddy. “Unless you plan on trying to talk me out of putting sugar in my coffee. Then I’d tell you to take your opinions and…”
She’s grinning at me like she’s known me forever, and she reaches over to touch my arm. “And what?” she presses.
I smile, relaxing into the light touch on my arm. “Let’s just promise to keep things honest. Now, lay your truth on me.”
She grins again, the flush on her cheeks brightening her whole face. “Have you had the kale ravioli?” she asks. Her voice is so full of quiet enthusiasm, it’s like she’s asking me if I’ve got the combination to the safe and she’s a bank robber.
I nod, trying my best not to preen. The kale ravioli is my signature dish. It’s colorful and rich, nutty and satisfying.
I know it’s good.
I know I’m good. But I’m more than happy to sit here and listen to her say it.
“Mm-hm,” I mumble. “And?”
She rolls her eyes back and flutters her lids closed. “That,” she says dramatically, “was one of the best damn dishes I’ve ever eaten. I may just have to try to copy the recipe.”
I look her over, a swell of pride lifting my chest.
“You liked it?” I ask casually, acting as if I’m bored, even though I know I’m shamelessly baiting her for more. “You had the kale?”
“I loved it,” she says. “The perfect balance of comfort food and elevated dining. Totally unexpected.”
Her light blond hair is pulled back into a ponytail, the long end resting on the curve of her right shoulder. She’s wearing black jeans that barely reach the tops of ankle-high black boots. Her turtleneck is white, and I find myself scanning the front of it to see if she has any droplets of sauce to prove that she actually enjoyed my signature dish. I’m not sure I could eat a great pasta dish—let alone an exceptional one—without spilling at least a few drops on myself.
But as soon as my eyes travel to the front of her body, I realize I look like I’m checking her out. She catches me, her face studying the movement of my eyes over her figure, but she sure doesn’t look like she minds.
I have a reputation around Star Falls for being a ladies’ man. I’ve had more than my fair share of bartenders and waitresses walk off the job after spending the night with me and finding out that one night together did not make usa couple.
But Willow is hot and seems uninhibited. She hardly knows me and yet is pouring on the charm. I’m either much sexier drenched by the rain, or this woman is hard up for companionship. I’m not sure I care. It’s been a long day and a very long time since I’ve had a night of fun. If I’m reading the signs right, she might leave my restaurant with a lot more than a memory of the best damn meal she’s eaten.
