There’s a metallic-blue Ford F-150 in the parking lot. Someone must be here.
“Mr. Morgan?”
I wind my way through the kitchen until a U-shaped bar lit with floating lanterns opens up. Just beyond that, upholstered leather booths frame floor-to-ceiling windows, and a giant sign near the hostess stand readsDon’t Feed the Bears. With mini lamps on each table and beams decorating the ceiling, it’s the perfect mix of rustic yet sophisticated.
That must be why the Morgan family chose to buy this building when it went up for sale last fall,I decide.With this view of the lake, it’ll draw one hell of a crowd.
“Teddy?” an unfamiliar voice calls from behind me, and I spin around on the heels of my Saltwater sandals to greet its owner.
A guy with a head of sandy brown curls waits with his hands stuffed in his pockets. He’s wearing the same branded polo as me.Must be another server.
When he sees my face, a dimple sinks into his right cheek, and I panic.
He said my name.
He said my name, and I don’t know who he is.
But… that’s not exactly true. I do know where I’ve seen him before, I just don’t know how I’m facing two pieces of my past in the same day.
I take a deep breath before acknowledging him, doing my best to avoid his eyes.
“I’m so sorry… I think I’m supposed to know you, but…” I wince and feel my cheeks darkening to a deep cherry red.
His eyebrows lift for a moment, then melt back into that dimpled smile.
“Oh, no, it’s fine,” he says, waving his hand at me. “I mean, it’s not like we kissed or anything.”
He lets out a relaxed chuckle, shoving his hands back into the pockets of his khaki shorts.
I blush and drop my gaze to the floor, tracking his body on the way down. He’s not only wearing the same uniform as me but missing one loafer.
“So, you’re the culprit of the shoe-cracked door.”
He looks down at his feet as if he’s forgotten they exist on his body.
“Oh, that. Yeah, my dad can be a real piece of work about these garage doors,” he says, hiking his thumb over his shoulder.
My attention follows to a series of glass-paned frames surrounded in black metal and latched to the floor.
“I told him to just open them, but he’s convinced people are going to stampede in here like a crash of rhinos.”
“Ah.” I laugh softly, nodding in recognition.
Then I freeze.
“Wait, Emmett Morgan is yourfather?”
He chuckles like I just made an unfortunate joke.
“That’s the one.”
“That would make you?—”
“Your neighbor.” He finishes the sentence for me. “Reed Morgan.”
Reed—a guy with midnight blue eyes rich enough to mirror the lake at dark. A veryattractiveguy with a megawatt smile.
“Reed.” I nod as if I remember, but my face contorts. “I’m sorry… I was in an accident last August, and?—”
