“What’s your name, sweetheart?”
“Billie. What’s yours?”
“My name is Larsen. It’s very nice to meet you, Billie,” I answer as I hold out my hand to shake, forgetting about my scarred arm and hand as I extend the limb.
I realize it’s not intentional, but I immediately begin to pull my arm back as her mother gasps at the disfiguration. I don’t turn to look at her, it’s not her fault that I surprised them since I cover myself up as much as possible. But the little sprite in front of me is having none of that.
“What are these?” the innocent child asks as she weaves her fingers around the scarring on my forearm. My story is too horrific and gruesome to share with children, and at this point, I’ve worked up a few fairytales to explain my scars.
“Well, a long time ago a princess became a warrior and defeated an evil dragon so that she could save her prince charming. The dragon blew a raging fire that burned the princess, but that didn’t stop her. She won the battle and saved the prince, who loved her even though she was no longer the beautiful woman he once knew. But he loved the woman beneath the surface.
“They were married and had lots of children and grandchildren. Every few years one of their great-great-great-great granddaughters earns her scars when she fights a dragon’s fire and wins.”
The girl stares at me in rapture, her eyes bright and wild in delight, sparkling in wonder.
“Are you one of the girls?” she whispers as if asking a question in secret, trying to hide her question from her mother.
“What do you think?” I ask her just as I hear my name beckoned from across the room.
“Larsen, let me introduce you to my new friend here.”
Uncle Jeff’s voice breaks through the bustle of the diner and I’m immediately confronted with a jumble of emotions. But anger and ease push through as I run to where Jeff stands surrounded by his group of friends, and wrap my arms around him.
“Don’t do that to me again,” I tell him harshly as I pull back, but only in a tone he can hear, ignoring the empty bottle of booze still dangling from his hand. That’s going to be an entirely new conversation. “Where have you been? I’ve been worried about you.”
“I’ll explain later. Right now, I want you to meet my friend here. He needs me to look at his car and get Sam to tow it.”
The diner has grown quiet, more so than normal on a slow day, and I take a chance to meet the stranger my Uncle is referring to. I have a mental pep talk with myself; strangers and I don’t go well together.
Taking a deep breath, I look at the man blocking the entrance to the diner. Except when I turn my eyes, I’m met with a T-shirt covering a well-muscled chest. I have to continue looking up and up before I settle on his face. And what a face it is, with a familiarity about it. I would know if I’ve met him before, no one would be able to forget a man that looks like this. He is easily six foot one or two, tanned skin, muscles perfectly proportioned to his body. It’s clear he works out at the gym regularly. His skin is clean, not a single imperfection across the legs and arms visible to my eye. I wouldn’t be surprised if he has any hidden tattoos. His appearance screams bad boy. He has just a smattering of facial hair across his chiseled jawline leading up to a mane of dark, almost black hair. It’s shorter along the sides and the front is long, almost brushing against his long lashes. And his eyes, his eyes are what are holding me captive. I can’t look away even as Uncle Jeff calls my name again. Because it’s not just that his eyes remind me of dark chocolate, swirling with hints of gold, it’s that they’re not looking anywhere else but into my own brown eyes. This man is not focused on my scar, or my chest, or the crowd of onlookers growing behind me – he’s focused on me, just me.
“Larsen,” my uncle repeats with a tug on my arm, the bottle now removed from his grasp. “This is Devyn. Can you help me situa
te his car? I’ll look at it this weekend and order the parts.” Turning to look at the stranger he adds, “It may be a few days, we don’t usually carry classic car parts in our area.”
I turn back to the man introduced as Devyn, watching as he acknowledges my uncle without moving his gaze away from me.
“Nice. . .nice to meet you.” I tuck my hands into my back pockets to resist the urge to reach out and touch him. I can feel my ivory skin heat under this gorgeous man’s scrutiny.
“You too.” His gravelly voice churns around me; my skin prickles at the huskiness of it. I’ve never felt this reaction to someone’s voice before. Sure, I get butterflies when Cole is around, I’m almost certain every female in her twenties, maybe even older, feels the same way when he is in the room. But this man? This man has captured everyone’s attention.
“Hey, Larsen!” Joanne shouts, completely unaffected by the presence of the new arrivals. “If you can fill Cole’s drink, I’ll handle your tables.”
“Okay. Yeah.” I feel lost, disoriented as I take a step away from the group then turn my back to them as I walk toward the counter.
I grab Cole’s glass without even asking if he’d like a refill and fill the cup to the brim with the caramel-colored liquid.
“Here you go,” I mumble as I tug my hair back over my shoulder to cover my facial scar, hating that this gorgeous newcomer has knocked me out of sorts.
“Hey, Larsen. Are you okay? You look uncomfortable. I can take this guy somewhere else; to another town over if you want him to leave.”
Thinking about the two of them in a car together has my heart racing. The All-American good guy and the bad boy heartthrob sitting together would have ovaries bursting at every mile.
“No, no, that’s okay, Cole. Thanks for the offer, though. I’ll be back in a bit.”
I’m not sure what possesses me, but I walk over to Devyn and ask him to follow me outside and down the sidewalk. We don’t speak as he trails behind me, and I nervously keep my arms wrapped against my chest, out of his line of sight. But I can feel his eyes boring into my back.
I’m used to seeing the disgust or the questions on other people’s faces, I’m not sure I can handle the same from him.