A smattering of silver aluminum tables and matching chairs surrounded the exterior walls of the tiny shop, and a long, glass half-dome covered the stainless-steel prep counter. Stepping forward, Travis ordered a double Tuna Avocado sandwich on wheat bread, then added sprouts, tomatoes, and cucumbers. The tall, gangly thin guy behind the counter started preppingit on a fresh sheet of wax paper, his gloved hands moving over each ingredient. Once his sandwich was assembled and wrapped snugly in the paper, the kid handed it over the domed glass top.
“Thank you,” Travis said, his voice rumbling next to her. “What would make you feel better?”
She spied a tall, three-tiered stand with fresh fruit on the opposite end of the counter and stepped over to it, plucking the biggest orange she could find and held it up. “Honestly, just this. Maybe some peanut butter if you have any?” she said, addressing the teen behind the counter.
“No peanut butter, sorry. We have a packet of cashews?” he suggested, pointing to a square plastic container.
“That will work,” she said, nodding, and Travis picked up the container, carrying it and his sandwich to the cashier register, after choosing a banana from the same stand she had found the orange. “Travis, I can pay—”
But he was already handing over cash for the sandwich, the banana, her orange, and the packet of cashews before she could finish the sentence. Then he was stuffing cash into the little tip jar next to the register with a deep, “Thank you.”
He motioned for her to choose a table, still toting their gym bags and their food. She chose a small two-seater table, sinking down into the hard metal seat opposite him. He tucked their bags under the tiny table between them, then proceeded to tear off the tamper evident seal on her cashews before handing them over to her. His bare arms, tattoos visible from shoulder all the way down to the back of each finger, bunched and rippled with each move he made. Roxy was transfixed by the muscles that shifted in his forearms.
“Thank you,” she said softly, taking them from him, digging in and popping several in her mouth. She set a napkin down on the table and started working on peeling the orange.
When her trembling fingers were proving to be ineffective against the tough peel, he reached out and plucked it out of her hands. He dug into the front pocket of his bag and produced a switch blade, which he used to slice the orange clean in half. Slicing it into quarters, he handed each one back to her. He cleaned the blade with a napkin, then shoved it back into his bag.
Taking a massive bite of his sandwich, he nodded toward the orange. After swallowing, he said gruffly, “Eat, please. It will make you feel better, and then I won’t feel guilty for letting you talk me out of taking you home.”
Biting into the orange, she couldn’t help rolling her eyes when he nodded in approval. The air conditioning was on full blast inside the tiny shop, making her shiver. Reaching into her bag beneath the table, she pulled her sweatshirt out and pulled it on over her head, adjusting her hair in the messy bun that was on top of her head. Taking another handful of cashews, she chewed, then swallowed, before pointing to his bare arms and the large swaths of skin on his sides. “Aren’t you cold?”
He shook his head. “No. I run like a furnace and I’m always too warm. I hate Texas and the heat. Been throwing around the idea of moving to a cooler state.”
“You’d love Michigan, then,” she laughed, then shuddered. “My best friend and his wife live up there. Too cold for my blood.”
“Have you always lived in Texas?” he asked, then took another bite, and she was transfixed again by how straight and white andbeautifulhis teeth were as they sunk into the soft bread. His hands were large, rough looking, but he moved agilely, like a big predatory cat.
“Uhh,” she stammered, moving her gaze away from his mouth up to his eyes, which were just as hypnotizing. Golden brown like rich honey, with darker rings around the irises and lighter flecks of gold near the center. Shaking her head,she asked dumbly, her face flaming, “I’m sorry, what was the question?”
His brown brows pulled low over his eyes as he frowned slightly. Setting his sandwich down, he leaned his elbows on the table. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”
Blushing furiously, she rolled her eyes and called herself every name she could think of.He must think I’m a moron!“I’m fine, I swear. My brain is just a little cloudy still.” Biting into another quarter of the orange, she remembered his question and answered, “Yes, I’ve always lived in Texas. I was born and raised in Fort Worth but moved to Melody Hills about ten years ago. What about you?”
He nodded around another bite. “I was born and raised in Oklahoma. Moved around a lot after high school, then never stuck around any one place for long during my MMA career. Merv—the owner of the rec center—was one of my mentors. He retired years ago and came back here, and when I decided on an early retirement, he asked me to join him and help out at the center, teaching classes. It’s been a nice change.”
“You don’t miss it?” she asked.
He lifted one impossibly wide, tattooed shoulder. His eyes dropped from hers to his hands, which flexed before relaxing. “Sometimes. Most of the time, no.” Raising his eyes to hers, he raised one eyebrow. “Look, Red, I’m going to need you to eat, otherwise I will insist on driving you home.”
“If you didn’t know me, how did you know my nickname is Red?” she asked then, leaning her elbows on the table to fix him with a dubious stare.
His eyes shot up to the bun on top of her head, and she grinned sheepishly. Closing her eyes in a grimace, she laughed to herself, “Wow. My brain must be fried. It’s the red hair, huh?”
He laughed quietly and nodded. “Who gave you that nickname?”
Roxy smiled, thinking about Free and the first night they’d met, nearly a decade ago. “My best friend. First night we met, he dubbed me Red, and it just stuck.”
Travis crumpled the paper his sandwich had been wrapped in into a ball, setting it aside. He leaned back in his seat, stretching his legs out as far as possible beneath the small table. “This the best friend that lives in Michigan?”
“Mmhmm,” she said, taking another handful of cashews and tossing them into her mouth. “He and his wife live there.”
“I’ve been to Detroit a handful of times, and then to Grand Rapids once. Never made it any further north than that.”
“The area they live in is beautiful,” Roxy said. “They’re way up north, right on Lake Michigan. They live way up here—” she said and held up one hand, thumb out, like the shape of Michigan, and pointed with her other hand to the tiny indent where the tip of her ring finger met her middle finger. Travis’s eyebrows raised as he smiled. Dropping her hands back to the orange, she continued, “He said they got three feet of snow just before Christmas. Just the thought of all that snow makes me break out in hives. They got married in Colorado two weeks ago, and I hightailed it out of that snowy hell so fast.”
“So you’re strictly a warm weather state kinda gal,” he chuckled, and her heart did a little flutter in her chest when one side of his mouth curved up in a smile. “Got it.”
“Oh no, I love Michigan in the summer. Absolutely stunning,” she said with a laugh. “But once the temps drop below sixty… get me a pile of winter coats and the thickest, fuzziest blanket you can find. It would take an act of God to get me to leave Texas for somewhere colder.”
