The Wingman (Alpha Men 1)

His eyes flared with interest.

“Yeah? Like cakes and stuff?”

“All kinds of cakes, biscuits, pies . . .”

“I happen to like pies,” he said without subtlety, and Daisy laughed.

“I’ll bear that in mind.”

“I’m partial to cakes and biscuits too.”

“I’m sure you are.” She giggled, and he returned her smile.

Daisy McGregor might not be the cute one or the pretty one, but she sure as hell was the adorable one. How nobody else could see that was beyond Mason. He wanted to keep that wide, gorgeous smile on her face, but it was already fading to be replaced by her more habitual earnestness.

He saw their waitress, Thandiwe, approaching and shook his head slightly to indicate to her that they weren’t ready yet, before lifting the menu.

“All this talk of confectionaries has made me hungry,” he confessed as he perused the menu. His eyes widened as he stared at the all-too-familiar items listed on the laminated paper. “This menu is still exactly the same.”

“I know.”

“Exactly the same, Daisy,” he repeated, waving the plastic card in front of her face. “Seriously, and I don’t just mean the content. I’m almost sure this is one of the actual menus they had when I was working here. See this water stain?” He pointed to the blotch beside the M in MJ’s. It was on the paper that was sandwiched between the thin sheets of plastic and had to have been there before the menu was laminated. “I know I’ve seen it before. How have all of you not died of boredom yet?”

“Most of the younger people leave as soon as they’re old enough. They move to Knysna, Plettenberg Bay, Port Elizabeth, or sometimes further afield to Durban or Cape Town. Or in certain extreme cases . . . the UK.” The last was said with a pointed glance over the top of the menu, and he grinned again.

“And why didn’t you leave?” Especially since the people in this town were so set in their ways, they hadn’t even noticed that she was a captivating woman in her own right who didn’t deserve to be forever unfavorably compared to her sisters.

“I went to university in Pretoria, but I always wanted to come back here and join my dad’s practice. Still, that taste of independence was what led me to move out of my parents’ house and buy my own place. My sisters are so content living there, and I get so—” She stopped talking abruptly, and he wondered if she felt guilty about whatever she’d been about to say. She did seem fiercely loyal to her family. She put down her menu and folded her hands over the piece of plastic. “I already know what I want to order.”

It was a pointed change of subject, and he allowed it only because he really was famished, and he didn’t want to push her in case she clammed up. As it was he was just grateful she hadn’t again started talking about how going ahead with her plan was a bad idea.

He waved Thandiwe over, and they placed their orders—pasta arrabbiata for Daisy and a rare steak with baked potato for him—before he turned his attention back to his dinner companion. Her hair was starting to slip out of that knot and beginning to resemble a soft cloud around her face. The heat from the place added a becoming flush to her cheeks.

“What about you?” she asked, and he blinked, startled out of his perusal of her pretty face.

“What do you mean?”

“What do you do for fun? Especially now that you’re back in our boring little town. I can’t imagine you’d find it that interesting being back.”

“You’d be surprised,” he muttered under his breath. He was finding her more and more fascinating with every passing moment, but he didn’t think she was quite ready to hear or believe that. “I haven’t been in town long enough to get bored yet. I’ve been on the go for the last year. I like camping, hiking, off-roading, parasailing, and I do a bit of surfing when it’s not fucking freezing.” He paused and then winced. “Sorry, all those years in the military with a bunch of crude guys didn’t do much for the vocabulary.”

“And what are your plans now that you’re home? Do you intend to settle down here? Stay permanently?”

He fiddled with the stem of his glass as he considered the question.

“Not entirely sure, really.”

His answer surprised Daisy. Mason Carlisle struck her as a man who always knew what he wanted and when he wanted it. The indecisiveness seemed out of character. “After selling my half of the company, I thought I’d try something I’ve always wanted to do.”

“Which is?” she asked, lifting her glass for a sip of wine.

“Nothing.”

She choked on her drink and squinted at him.

“What?”

“I’ve always dreamt of being rich enough to do absolutely nothing,” he elaborated with a sheepish grin. “Granted, I was about seventeen and working those aforementioned three jobs when I wished for this, but I thought I’d give it a go.”