Helaughed at my joke, his eyes lighter and happier than I had ever seen thembefore. But again, this perspective of him was skewed. I was used to himyelling at me all the time, hating me. Our new… friendship? Or whatever youwanted to call it was seriously messing with my head. And my sex drive.
“Havethey ever been?”
Ittook me longer than it should have to catch up in the conversation. I was lostin that look in his eyes, the one that made them so decadently brown, likerare, smooth whiskey. “To Lilou? No, they haven’t. Their style is more, um, howdo I put this gently… Cracker Barrel.”
Hissmile stretched and warmed all at once. “I’ll get you a table then. ForSaturday night? You can show them what you do. Impress them.”
“Areyou serious?”
“Yeah.I bet they’d love to see where you work. And even though you won’t be cooking,they’ll get the idea.”
“Wyatt,I don’t know what to say. That’s unbelievably nice of you.”
Heleaned forward, his grin turning wicked. “I’m trying to unseat your sister. Nooffense to her, but I can’t have anyone thinking someone else is better thanone of my chefs.”
Itwas my turn to laugh, the sound bubbling out of me from the bottom of my toes,all the way through my chest, filling my lungs and giving me afizzyfeeling low in my belly. “I appreciate that.”
“You’rewelcome.”
“Okay.Bye, Wyatt.”
“Bye,Kaya.”
Icarried my produce back to my Land Cruiser and loaded the flat into the backseat. The doors screamed in protest as I opened and shut them, first for theveggies, and then for me. I ducked behind my steering wheel, feeling like theentire market was staring at me.
Theyweren’t. Nobody cared that my beautiful, vintage beater was noisy as hell. Theywent on with their business none the wiser that I’d shut myself in my car asquickly as possible, so no one would witness my freak out.
God,why did Wyatt have to be so… likeable. I’d gotten used to hating him. It waseasier that way.
Mychest ached, and I was positive I was having a heart attack. I rubbed at thepain with the heel of my hand and tried to sort through the riot of emotionstrying to trample my insides.
Thecar started to get hot. The sun was warm today and without the windows down, Ihad started to bake. Sweat prickled on my forehead, but I still didn’t touch themanual window crank.
Instead,I glared at my phone spilling out of my purse on the passenger’s seat. I neededtherapy. Or aversion therapy at the very least.
Carefullypicking up my phone, I swiped my thumb over the screen until it recognized my faceand opened past the lock screen. I pressed the Facebook icon and clicked on mysearch bar. Nolan and I weren’t friends anymore. Not in real life or on socialmedia accounts. But his name was the first thing to appear in my searchhistory. Pathetic. I was one hundred percent confident in how pathetic I was.
ButI couldn’t help it. My social life had been reduced to coffee dates with one ofmy two friends and working fourteen-hour days.
Hewas back home dating all the girls in Hamilton. All the girls older thaneighteen and younger than sixty-six. He drew the line when they were eligiblefor social security.
Scrollingthrough Nolan’s newsfeed, I cringed at exciting pictures of him hiking, outdrinking with our old circle of friends and selfies the girls he dated taggedhim in. He was having the time of his life coaching and living up his youth.
Iwas working myself to the bone for a dream job I had to convince myself I stillwanted.
Liftingmy eyes, I stared at myself in the rearview mirror and forced my fragileself-esteem to call bullshit. This wasn’t a joke. And I wasn’t doing this toprove a point.
Iwanted this—Sarita, food, all of it—for me. I wantedit because I didn’t know how to not want it. I wanted it so bad I could feel itin my bones, to the depths of my soul. This career was me. Sarita or no, Iwasn’t going to give up on it and call it quits because my ex-boyfriend lookedlike he had a better night life than me.
Youwould think that little pep talk would make Wyatt more appealing. What if wewere only having fun? I deserved a little fun, didn’t I? I deserved Facebookworthy photos and a few wild stories to share with the gossipy bitches backhome.
Shakingthose stupid thoughts out of my head, I started my car and pulled out onFranklin Street. I wouldn’t do that to Wyatt. I wouldn’t use him to make myselffeel better.
Besides,there was more to Wyatt than I wanted to admit to myself. I wasn’t sure I couldhandle something casual with him. I got the distinct impression it would belike playing with fire. I would be smart for a short while, but inevitably getburned. No matter how familiar I was with the flame, he was hotter, moreunpredictable, and dangerous in ways I didn’t even know existed.
No,it was easier to protect my heart from another bad boy with differentaspirations. A relationship with that type of guy never ended well for me. Andeven though I was the one that stayed true to myself, I was the one that keptgetting hurt.
Athome, I planned to have another cup of coffee and relax for a few minutesbefore it was time to head in to work. My fake excuse about being late to workwas unsubstantiated. I had at least a whole hour and a half to kill. I’d gottenmy purchases put away when Dillon texted to ask if I wanted to meet Vera andher at a nearby plant nursery. I texted back that I would love to and wouldmeet them in twenty minutes.
