Page 24
The confusion on her face morphs into sudden, sharp realization. Her posture goes rigid.
“What is this?”
Sweeping my hand out, I indicate the table. “Welcome to our first date.”
I stay anchored to my spot. Every instinct I possess screams at me to cross the ring, slide my hand around her waist, and crowd into her space. I force my boots to stay rooted in the dirt. Rowe was right. Earning her trust means giving her the control.
Sloane stares at the table, and I offer a soft, crooked smile. “Give me a shot, Archer.”
She shakes her head, taking a half-step backward toward the flap. “This is a bad idea. We work together.”
“This is the best idea ever conceived in the history of ideas.” I gesture at the flowers. “Edison has nothing on me right now.”
A long, suffering groan breaks free from her throat. Her shoulders drop, some of the tension bleeding out of her spine, and she finally steps fully into the ring. She folds her arms over her chest, her hands half-hidden in the sleeves of her oversized gray sweatshirt. The worn cuffs stretch over her knuckles, her thumbs hooked through frayed holes.
“I am wearing a sweatshirt.” She gestures at herself. “And sneakers. I am entirely underdressed for silver platters.”
“You look perfect.” I let my eyes drag down her frame and back up to her face, keeping the heat in my stare honest. “You could wear the striped canvas off this tent and still be the most beautiful woman in town.”
A deep, vivid blush blooms across her cheekbones. She bites the inside of her lip, fighting a smile, and walks the rest of the way to the table.
I pull her chair out. She sinks into the seat, her fingers immediately dropping to her lap to twist and fold the white linen napkin into knots.
I take the chair across from her, setting the thistles and anemones near her water glass. Then I reach for the champagne. The cork pops with a sharp crack that bounces off the canvas walls. Pale gold bubbles fill the flutes.
Sloane watches me set the bottle back in the ice. “Did you cook?”
“God, no.” I lift the silver dome, releasing a cloud of steam smelling of garlic, butter, and white wine. “Deke made this. Seared scallops and asparagus. This guarantees it is actually edible and won’t send us to the emergency room.”
A breathy laugh escapes her.
We eat slowly. The scallops melt perfectly, a testament to Deke’s buried culinary genius. Between bites, the silence stretches, thick and electric. I watch the precise, controlled way she moves her fork.
“Tell me something about yourself.”
Sloane freezes. Her fork hovers an inch above her plate. The walls slam down so hard I can practically hear the steel ringing.
“I’m not sure there’s anything to tell,” she hedges.
“Impossible.” I lean my elbows on the table, resting my chin on my knuckles. “Everybody has something. Let’s start small. If you had to fight one carnival animal in a cage match, what’s your pick?”
She blinks. The severe line of her mouth twitches.
“You want to know my combat strategy against the petting zoo.”
“I want to know if you’re throwing hands with a llama or taking your chances with a miniature pony.”
Her shoulders relax a fraction of an inch. “The fainting goat. Obviously. I’d just yell loudly and wait for it to tip over.”
“Too soon.” I clutch a hand over my heart, mimicking a wound. “Barnaby’s betrayal still stings.”
A genuine smile breaks across her face, bright and devastating. The ice thaws, and the air between us shifts.
“Alright.” She rests her forearms on the table, the oversized sleeves swallowing her wrists. “Worst injury you ever gave yourself trying to look cool.”
“I broke my own nose with a pair of nunchucks when I was seventeen. Thought I was Bruce Lee. Swung them around my back, caught myself right between the eyes.” I take a sip of champagne, watching her eyes crinkle. “Bled all over Jonah’s favorite comic book. He didn’t speak to me for a week.”
Sloane laughs, the sound rich and warm in the empty tent. She throws another question at me. Best road trip junk food. Worst town we ever played. I match her pace, firing ridiculous scenarios right back.
