He’s still dressed in faded jeans and work boots. But he’s upped his game for the occasion and paired them with a somber black button-down shirt. His sleeves are rolled over his forearms, revealing the muscles there, the thick, snaking veins.
I have no idea why, but I’ve always had a thing for that part of a man’s anatomy. And Cash’s forearms are particularly good specimens. They match the rest of his big, lean physique. Strip him naked and extend his arms and legs until he resembles a human X, and he could grace the pages of an anatomy book.
Not that he’s movie star material or anything. I don’t want to givethatimpression.
With his scars and his nose that lists a little to the left, his face is more compelling than classically handsome. And his green eyes crinkle at the corners, proof that he’s already seen too much sun in his young life.
Still, there’s no denying he has a quality about him. A…lure. He draws people in against their will.
He’s sucking on a toothpick. When he sees me coming, it makes a slow, deliberate journey from one side of his mouth to the other. His eyebrows climb up his forehead before he pulls out the toothpick and whistles. “Damn, woman. Look at you.”
My cheeks heat as I glance down at my black knee-length dress. The waist is fitted, the skirt flairs prettily, but it’s the sweetheart neckline that really does the trick. Not that I’m huge on top or anything, but the cut of the dress shows off the remarkably averageamount I do have.
I’ve paired the dress with red stacked heels. The shoes make my legs look longer than they are and raise me a good four inches into the air.
So, okay. I might have gone overboard with the outfit. But I wanted to see Cash’s reaction. I wanted toforcea reaction.
I need to know how he feels about me. I need to know what he wants from me. I need… Dang it! I need him to look me in the eye and tell mewhyhe ran away! I need to know what happened to make him break my heart!
Taking a seat next to him on the stoop, I demurely cross my ankles on the step below so I don’t give the group of tourists walking down the opposite sidewalk a free peep show of my panties. After adjusting the bobby pin holding my hat in place, I prove I’m a lily-livered cur when I don’t ask him any of the questions screaming through my head and instead go with, “So how’d you spend the rest of your afternoon?”
“Steamed off old wallpaper in one of the bedrooms,” he says. “How about you?”
“Took Yard for a walk along the river and played fetch until I thought my arm would fall off. Then Jean-Pierre came over and helped himself to two slices of the doberge cake one of my bar patrons brought me last night. I swear that man’s half cow and has four stomachs. Beats me how he stays so skinny.”
Cash eyes me for a long moment. “You two are close, aren’t you?”
“He’s one of my best friends.”
“Just friends?”
“I’d marry him tomorrow if he had any inclination toward women,” I admit with a chuckle.
“Gay?” Cash cants his head. “Too bad for you, then, huh?”
“You think so?”
A line forms in the middle of his forehead. “Don’t you?”
I wish I could see inside his brain. I wish I knew what he was thinking. “Maybe.” I shrug. “Or maybe not. Honestly, I don’t have time for much of anything besides the bar.”
“Does that make you happy?”
“What? Not having time for anything besides the bar?” When he nods, I admit, “I guess so.” Then I realize, “Yeah. I mean, I like celebrating people’s ups and providing comfort when they’re down. It’s as good a life as any and probably a far sight better than most.”
He seems to chew on that for a while. Then he asks, “What about the future?”
My throat feels full and tight. I glance down at the infinity symbol tattooed on the inside of my wrist. The future. My destiny. Which way my stars will align.
Cash used to draw that sideways eight on my skin and promise to love me to infinity and back again. The day after he asked me to prom, I got the ink from a tattoo artist who didn’t much care that I was underage as long as I paid him double for the artwork. I remember feeling daring and reckless. I mistakenly thought Cash meant what he said.
He sees what’s caught my attention. “I’m surprised Miss Bea didn’t make you get this thing lasered off.” He gently takes my wrist into his lap so he can rub a callused thumb over the tattoo.
Chills follow the path of his finger. Parts of me I’d forgotten existed are suddenly jolted awake, and I’m reminded of our first kiss.
We were sitting on Aunt Bea’s front porch swing when he turned to me and took my face in his hands. His lips were warm and soft, but unhesitating. I didn’t have a clue what I was doing. I’d never been kissed before. But he showed me the way.
After he pulled back, he kept his hands on my face, one thumb skimming over my chin. “Hey, Maggie,” he said with an impish grin, his warm breath feathering across my tingling lips and making me aware of unknown parts of myself.
