Page 6 of Grant’s Heat

“You said, ‘hmmm,’” she pointed out, her eyes going big and curious. “So what were you hmming about?”

I blinked. Then again. Well, shit. She was clearly expecting an answer—to a comment I hadn’t meant to voice aloud.

“These smell so good, don’t they?”

My lying skills were really getting to stretch their wings today. Fortunately for me, Rio bought into the illusion this time.

“They do,” she answered excitedly. “I think this was a good call. And thank you, Mr. Old-Fashioned Twombley, for treating me to lunch. Next time, it’s on me. No arguing!”

“We’ll see.”

“Yes, we will.”

“Hmmm.”

She bit her lower lip and flashed me a cheeky grin.

I clenched my jaw and attempted a rebuking glower. But the woman was my glower killer. I simply couldn’t be in a bad mood around her. Especially not now, as our order came up and the little lady handed our food over the stainless-steel surface.

We found an empty precast concrete table out of the way, in the shade of a large Angel’s Trumpet. Though scientists had likely named the plant eons ago, it was a perfect fit for a planter in the center of the City of Angels. The hearty beauty clearly agreed, since even on this hazy afternoon it was showing off its drooping yellow horn-shaped flowers, some as large as my fist.

“This is a perfect little lunch spot,” Rio declared after sitting down. “A secret little hideaway. I love how LA has all these gems tucked away for the people who dare to look beneath the surface.”

“Me too.”

But I was only half-invested in the response. I was wholly mesmerized by the sight of the woman as she unfolded the paper napkin and placed it on her lap, treating the paper square as if it were the most beautiful linen. The action was so unique in this background of casual business lunchers, college kids on laptops, and people walking their dogs.

In short, it was a typical weekday afternoon in La La Land. And I didn’t want to be anywhere else except here, next to the girl taking dainty bites from her meal like the Queen of freaking England. She was constantly a revelation to me. A divine surprise.

“Have you lived in LA for a long time?”

“My whole life,” I said freely.

“Wow.” She popped up her eyebrows again. “A real California boy? Should’ve known those sun streaks in your hair were natural.”

My cheeks ached from a fresh grin. She’d noticed my streaks?

“Damn straight they are,” I supplied. “In all those years, I’ve seen the city go through so many changes. Some good, some not so good. But I love it here. I can’t imagine living anywhere else.” I cut into my lunch with the plastic knife, watching the flimsy cutlery yield to the crust.

“Do you travel a lot?” Rio asked, going with the finger food approach.

“For work, yeah.” I gave up and picked up the doughy pocket too. “But not that much for pleasure.”

“Why not?” she asked around a bite.

“It’s not that much fun when you’re alone, I guess?” How sad did that sound?

“Why are you alone?” She watched me thoughtfully.

I refrained—barely—from choking on my next bite. “Damn. You dig right in, don’t you?”

“I guess I do. Sorry?”

I laughed. “When you say it like a question, it doesn’t sound very contrite.”

“Well, I’m not trying to be rude.” She took a sip from her soda. “It’s just my way, I guess.” And then she shrugged her petite shoulders. “I’ve always been this way. I don’t see the point of tap-dancing around a subject, you know? When people hem and haw, scrambling to be nice when being direct would do the job better, it drives me crazy. I want to yell, ‘Oh my God! Say what you mean!’”

I let out another laugh, assuming she’d finish by doing the same. But when she simply took another bite and seemed to drift off in thought, I indulged the chance to take in her stunning profile. The woman’s features never ceased to fascinate me. Those dark lashes framing such expressive eyes. Her chiseled cheekbones balanced by that full bow of a mouth. Her adorable short haircut surrounding such blatant feminine beauty…