“I won’t let him become a problem for anyone.”
“You don’t have to do it alone.”
Curiously, she eyes me. “What would you do? Fight him? Run him out of town? You don’t want to be that guy again.”
The old Cruz never needed a reason. This Cruz will do it for Elodie. “Some people need to be run out of town.”
“And what of your reputation? It’ll spill over to the distillery if you’re driving off tourists.”
It might, and I don’t want to do anything to risk the distillery’s reputation or bottom line. We’ve worked too damn hard to establish a niche company in the middle of nowhere, and it’s not only the Foster House Gold site. I can’t tarnish any part of Foster House. I won’t do that to Myles. I won’t disappoint Lane either. “All I’m saying is that you don’t have to deal with asshole customers alone.”
“Thank you. I also don’t want creepy customers to ruin what I know is going to be a lovely picnic. I’ll be right back.”
She disappears and I’m left with the last few minutes on repeat in my head. Who the hell is Dean, and why did he target Elodie at closing time? That’s shady-as-fuck behavior. Has he done it before?
Would she tell me?
Regardless, she’s brushing it off when she was clearly disturbed. What if it happens again? What if I’m not here?
Maybe I need to talk to the deputy.
Maybe I need to track Dean down and teach him a goddamn lesson about cornering women.
I push a hand through my hair. Shit. I’m supposed to be picking her up for a date, not planning my next fight. Whoever he is, he’s not ruining today. I stop at the window and fiddle withmy hair until I look less rumpled and more like a country Prince Charming.
When she emerges from the back, her long hair is in a ponytail that gives me lots of inappropriate-in-all-the-best-ways ideas, and that’s only the beginning. She’s wearing athletic shoes, so no hummingbird tattoo today, but her shorts let me see more of her bouquet tattoo than ever. The shirt is going to be my undoing. I want to be a gentleman and give her a romantic picnic experience, but the hem of her shirt brushes the top of her waistband, and the way it hugs her breasts is going to hold my attention far more than the fried chicken I packed.
“You look hot as hell, sugar.”
She’s put her contacts in, and those big hazel eyes turn shy. “Thank you.”
I lead her out, and she locks up.
I nod to the bag. “Were you afraid I wouldn’t pack enough?”
“I was also taught not to show up without a gift for the host. I grabbed a couple of cupcakes.”
“I have dessert, but we can eat yours.”
“We can have both,” she whispers, grinning. “I packed a small piping bag of frosting.”
“I might have plans for that.”
She tosses me a coy look. “I might be interested in what they are.”
I’m still smiling when I take off. She’s a shit ton more relaxed than when I first arrived. The picnic is already a success. “I hope you like cold fried chicken.”
She groans. “I love it. Where did you get it from? The grocery store’s bakery makes some of the best. I have it a few times a month since I don’t have time to cook it myself.”
I clutch at my chest with one hand. “You assume I didn’t cook it? Ouch.”
“Oh my god, you’re right.” She covers her mouth, horror in her eyes. “I did assume. I’m so sorry.”
I laugh and turn onto the highway to get to my place. “I’m a man of many talents. Mae was so pleased when I started watching and helping her in the kitchen. I even asked to knock off early to catch her prepping some of my favorite meals.”
“Did you ask because you enjoyed it? You’d rather fry some chicken than rope some cattle?”
A smile prods at my lips, but the heaviness of the answer keeps me serious. “Uh, it was selfish. If I learned to cook and stayed broke, at least my stomach wouldn’t suffer.”
