“Then I walked into Creekside Diner,” I say, meeting her gaze. “And I saw you. And I knew.”
I see her eyes widen a fraction.
“You knew?” she whispers.
“Instantly.” I trace a shape on her hip, fingers moving absent-mindedly. “I knew you were it, sugar. The woman I’d been waiting for. Knew it the second you walked up to my booth and asked for my order.” I let out a ragged sigh, shaking my head. “Then I almost fucked everything up. Spent a month convincing myself you would never want me. Turns out I was wrong.”
“Very, very wrong.” Josie smiles at me, eyes glistening. “I knew too, Brewer. As soon as you walked into the diner, I knew I wanted you.”
My stomach jolts. No matter how many times this angel tells me she wants me, it hits me like an avalanche every time, and Ilean in to kiss her—a long, languid kiss that says everything my clumsy words can’t. When we finally break apart, Josie rests her head on my chest, and I hold her in the dark, stroking her hair as her breathing slows. I whisper her name but she doesn’t stir, and I lie there in silence, holding the woman of my dreams as she sleeps.
“I’ve waited my whole life for you,” I murmur into Josie’s hair. “I’m never letting you go.”
She lets out a quiet moan, shifting in her sleep. It does something to me, knowing she feels safe enough to fall asleep on me—stripping herself bare and leaving herself completely vulnerable. For the first time in forty-two years, I don’t feel like a monster. I feel like a protector. A man with purpose.
And my purpose is Josie.
10
JOSIE
Once upon a time,Brewer Benson wouldn’t look at me.
Now it’s like he can’t stop.
I can feel his gaze burning into me from across the diner, tracking my every move as I work the breakfast rush at Creekside. Every time I glance over at his booth, he’s still staring. Not pretending to look at the menu or the sugar caddy. Not acting like I’m invisible. Just watching me with those intense dark eyes, like he’s thinking about all the ways he could ruin me.
“He’s still looking at you,” Willa murmurs, appearing at my elbow as I pour a coffee. There’s a small smile tugging at her mouth—the first one I’ve seen from her in weeks. “I don’t think he even noticed when Reggie dropped that tray.”
“I know.” I press my lips together to stop myself from grinning. “It’s a little distracting.”
“Only a little?”
“Well…maybe that’s a bit of an understatement.”
Definitely an understatement.
Willa chuckles lightly, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes as she grabs the coffee pot. I watch her carry it to a table at the back, noting the slump of her shoulders, the sluggish way shemoves. My work bestie still looks permanently exhausted. She’s stopped mentioning the online virgin auction, which should feel reassuring, but doesn’t. I’m worried she’s going ahead with it and just doesn’t want to tell anyone.
I really hope I’m wrong.
I finish making coffee, sliding another across the counter to a waiting customer. Then I head into the stuffy kitchen to grab an order from Reggie.
“Creekside Special for your boyfriend,” he says, handing me the warm plate with a wink. “Oh, and tell him to take a picture—it’ll last longer.”
I roll my eyes, smiling despite myself as I carry the breakfast out to Brewer, my pulse racing the closer I get. He looks bigger than ever sitting in his cramped booth, like a giant in a dollhouse. Heck, even the coffee mug he’s holding looks tiny in his hand, and I watch him take a sip, his gaze never leaving my face. My eyes drop to his silver-threaded beard, sliding down his burly chest, to those inked, muscular forearms, propped up on the table.
God, I’ve got it bad.
It’s been a month since that night at Brewer’s cabin. A month since I woke up in his four-poster bed with his arm slung across my waist and the snow still falling softly outside the window. A month since I called Savannah from his bathroom, whispering excitedly into the phone and giggling at her squeals of delight.
Since then, I’ve only been back to my apartment twice. Brewer came with me both times, helping me bundle my stuff into his truck. My lease ends next month, and then the cabin on Cherry Mountain will be my real home. But in every way that matters, it already is. My clothes hang in the closet next to Brewer’s. My shampoo sits on his bathroom shelf, my dog-eared paperback on the nightstand, and my favorite brand of hot chocolate on the kitchen counter. It feels like home in a way thepepperoni-scented apartment never did, and it’s all because of the man I share it with.
The two of us have fallen into an easy routine. Brewer drives us to Creekside every morning before opening time—Reggie lets him in early while we set up for the day—and he stays for breakfast, watching me the whole time like a very large, very tattooed guard dog. When he’s finished, he heads back up the mountain to work, chopping wood until it’s time to pick me up. Sometimes, if he’s ahead on a lumber order, he’ll come back to the diner for a late lunch and stay until closing time.
Those days are always my favorite.
I’m smiling when I finally reach Brewer’s booth, setting his breakfast in front of him.
