The image of his muscular biceps leapt into Grace’s mind, complete with the little bit of ink peeking from his sleeve. What was the tattoo?
“Eye color?”
“Brown.” Grace let that slip before thinking twice.
Molly’s eyes gleamed with glee. “You noticed.”
“You can’t help but notice.” Grace turned her attention to the napkin. “You’ll see.”
The silver stopped clinking as Molly stilled. “Okay, you can’t not explain that comment.”
She was like a lion chewing on a bloody carcass. Grace expelled a breath, trying to formulate what it was about him. “I don’t know, he’s very... intense, I guess. He takes in everything.”
“Including you?”
Grace ignored her.
“So he’s an observer?”
“Yes, but not just that. It’s like he’s, I don’t know, wired for 240 or something.”
“What does that even mean? He’s hyper?”
“No, the opposite. Wired on the inside, like super alert or something. He’s actually kind of eerily still and quiet—and maybe a little guarded.”
Molly arched a brow. “That’s a lot of impression from fifty words.”
Grace started to reply just as Molly’s gaze darted past Grace to the doorway.
Just as a throat cleared. A very male throat.
Grace sucked in a breath.Please, no.Her eyes widened on Molly, hoping against hope it was their brother with a frog in his throat or something.
Molly’s eyes, equally wide, swung back to Grace. Her expression told Grace everything she needed to know.
How long had he been standing there? How much had he heard? And why on earth hadn’t they shut the door? Grace’s face heated a degree or ten. It had to be a veritable beacon by now.
“Is the restaurant open for lunch?” he asked, in that low, yummy drawl.
Molly gave Grace anOh!look before her eyes swung back to Wyatt, her lips curving into a professional smile. “Of course. Come on in and have a seat anywhere. I’ll let Miss Della know you’re here.”
Grace gave her sister a pleading look, nuanced with desperation.Don’t you dare leave me!But Molly raced for the kitchen as if a swarm of bees were on her heels.
Thanks a lot,Grace telegraphed to the back of Molly’s head.
Grace resumed folding the napkin, her fingers now trembling. She messed up and started over. She kept her back to the doorway, giving the flame in her face time to extinguish. She heard a chair scrape the floor in the corner of the room. Heard it squeak as his weight settled into it.
She glanced toward the kitchen door, willing Molly to return quickly.
She didn’t.
Long seconds ticked by. One napkin folded. Two. Finally, the last one. She placed it on the table and turned to leave, lifting her chin a notch and arranging her expression into a bland smile.
Wyatt was facing the entry, so she could hardly avoid eye contact without being rude.
“Have a nice lunch,” she said as she scuttled from the room.
“Will do.”
