Craft (The Gibson Boys 2)

Oh, God.

I can’t look away from him fast enough. Lifting my purse from the seat next to me, I scavenge through it like a girl who may perish if she doesn’t locate her phone.

“Did I say something?” he asks after the waitress is gone.

“Nope. Nothing at all. Just worried I left my phone in Jonah’s car,” I say, pulling it out like a trophy. “Whew. I wasn’t sure.”

“All righty then …”

Setting it carefully next to my glass, I exhale. “I feel better now.”

“Tell me about the hippie.”

“He wasn’t a hippie,” I insist. “He’s a doctor. Or going to be one. I think. I have doubts with his lack of interpersonal communication skills.”

“How’d you meet him? Is this the guy you’ve been seeing?” He pulls his brows together. “No disrespect, but he’s not exactly the type I thought you’d be having dinner with.”

“Well, for the record, he’s not exactly who I thought I’d be having dinner with either,” I shrug. “But it’s over now.”

“So you won’t be seeing him again?”

Considering my options, I realize I have only one. There’s no way he’d believe I wanted this guy. So, I give in. “No, I’m not seeing him again. This was a blind date.”

“Ah …” Lance’s voice trails off as he blows out a breath. “That makes sense.”

I’m not sure how to respond to that, so I take a drink of my Coke. Just as my glass hits the table, two plates of pie slide in front of us.

“Here you go!” she chatters happily. “Does it look like rain out there? I get off in an hour and was hoping for a clear night out.”

“Um, no rain,” Lance responds.

She chatters on and on about her lack of plans. As I watch her make conversation easily, I wish I had that quality. There’s no way I could walk up to someone I just met seconds before and chatter away about my life’s hopes and dreams. But the longer I wait on her to end the conversation, the more I forget my conundrum and the more agitated I get at her for flirting with Lance.

“Excuse me,” I say, butting in. “This looks great. Thank you.”

“Oh,” she giggles. “Yes, I’m sorry. Let me know if you need anything else.” She tucks her chin and darts to the kitchen.

Lance sticks his fork in his pie, a smug look etched on his features. “Is that what jealousy looks like on you, Ms. Malarkey? I like it.”

“Why would I be jealous?” I huff, lopping a big lump of pie on my fork. “She did the same thing to Jonah so don’t feel special.”

“Oh, I didn’t feel special,” he grins. “Until now.”

“Why is that?” I ask before shoving a quarter of the pie into my mouth.

“Because when she did it to Jonah, you were looking at me. You didn’t give a fuck. But when she did it to me, you looked like you wanted to rip her throat out.”

“I did not,” I protest, gulping.

“You did and it was hot as hell.” An ember burns in his eyes so bright I can’t even look. I’ll melt. I’m sure of it.

Shoving a bite of pie into my mouth, I can’t quite get it past the lump sitting at the bottom of my throat. I cough, covering my mouth with a napkin until I manage to get it down. “That’s super lemon-y,” I eek out.

“I bet.”

“Want a bite?” I offer, trying to keep the conversation well away from the waitress and my non-jealousy.

“Nah. It’s not my favorite,” he says, taking another bite of his dessert.

“You’re lucky I like it since you ordered it for me without knowing and you don’t like it,” I say, taking a sip of my drink.

“No luck involved, sweetheart.” He takes another bite of his. “This isn’t bad, but your peanut butter icing is unbeatable.”

Charming bastard.

Sitting my fork down, I take him in. There’s no pretentiousness to his words. There’s nothing for me to get irritated about or dislike, just a kindness in his compliment that I know he means.

This is what bothers me so much about him. He keeps me off kilter on purpose.

“How did you know I’d like lemon pie?” I ask. Attempting to regroup and find my feet, I settle back in my chair and watch him.

“Because you always have a box of lemon candies in the middle drawer of your desk. I see them when you pull it out,” he adds quickly, before I can accuse him of snooping. “Do you ever make lemon cupcakes? Can you even do that?”

“Yes, you can do that,” I laugh. “I’ve made them but never gotten them exactly right.”

“After you make the red velvet, maybe you could try them?”

“I never said I was making you red velvet anything!” Lofting my straw wrapper across the table, it hits him in the chest. “Do you think I just bake to order?”