She took a bite, closed her eyes, and moaned. At this rate, his poor dick was going to have permanent zipper marks.
“Really good, Jesse.” Her smile looked sincere, at least. “And I like all kinds of food. Hey, you should come over to Zora and Marquetta’s sometime. I’d love to cook for you.”
“Yeah?” His heart leapt, his reaction way out of proportion for an invitation to dine with two old gals. “What’ll you make?”
“Hmm.” She tapped her sauce-smeared lips. “Maybe Maafe. Ever heard of it?”
He shook his head.I’ve gotta be the most boring guy you’ve ever met.
“Not surprised.” She nabbed another slice of garlic bread. “It’s a stew from Senegal. There’s peanut butter in the sauce. It’s delish.”
“I’d love to try it.” He topped up both their wine glasses. “So, tell me about your life outside of Trappers Cove.”
Her eyes sparkled and danced as she regaled him with descriptions of her mom’s suburban house in Olympia, her dad’s fishing cabin up in Birch Bay, near Canada, her brother’s condo in downtown Austin, jobs she’d worked in Seattle, Tacoma, and Eugene. Her love of travel shone in her happy chatter, but the more excited she got, the lower his heart sank.
Gemma was a vagabond, a true rolling stone. His simple, rooted life could never compete with the allure of the open road.
“Hey.” Her soft hand fell on his and squeezed. “I’m sorry. I get carried away with my enthusiasm. Tell me about your favorite places.”
He huffed a dry, humorless laugh. “My favorite place is right here. You already know that.”
“Of course.” Her smile shrank as if he’d chastised her. “What’s your favorite spot in Trappers Cove?”
He pushed his empty plate away. “Ivan’s Hollow, of course.”
She gave him a blank look.
“That little cove you can only access at low tide. Don’t you remember?”
“Remember what?”
After three weeks of almost daily contact, she still hadn’t mentioned that long-ago summer. That stung, but it wasn’t fair to assume it meant as much to her as it did to him.Tread carefully.
“I was eighteen, so you must’ve been sixteen. Your hair was lighter then. You were visiting Zora, I think. You came to the hollow with your cousin Lina. There was a campfire, s’mores, cheap beer. My friend Ryan played guitar. You and Lina started singing along, and I was fuckin’ mesmerized.”
He reached across the table and took her hand. “I watched the firelight turn your hair to gold, and I couldn’t breathe.”
Even now, firelight did magical things to Gemma. The flickering candle flame gilded her hair and danced in her blue-green-gray eyes like sunset on the ocean.
He sighed, the beautiful memory squashed by remembered defeat. “Then some out-of-town dude from the campground sat beside you, and by the end of the night, you left with him.”
Her hand flew to her lips. “Oh my god, you remember that night? I locked down that memory and never opened the box again.” She pantomimed turning a key. “That guy was a monster! He tried to force Lina and me into his car.” She brushed a chunk of hair from his forehead. “I remember you now—the sweet guy with the chocolate eyes and the curl that flopped onto his forehead. To think I could’ve been with you instead of that asinine frat boy.” She stroked his cheek. “I’m so sorry, Jesse.” Her eyes narrowed. “Wait, when did you recognize me?”
Careful, or you’ll sound like a stalker.He gave her a sheepish grin. “I’ve spotted you in town a few times over the years, but you didn’t recognize me, so…” He shrugged, embarrassed to admit how intimidated he’d been. “The memory of that night slapped me across the face when I walked into Zora’s shop last month and saw you, your hair all golden under that paper lantern. But I wasn’t a hundred percent sure until I asked Zora if you have a Cousin Lina.”
He chuckled weakly. “Hope that doesn’t make me sound like a creeper. I promise, I haven’t been trying to track you down all these years. It’s just—extraordinary that you showed up again. Seems like an omen.”
Head tilted, she held his gaze in an awkward pause that stretched on and on.
He cleared his throat. “So, what does one wear to an Esoteric Arts Expo? One of those poofy Renn Faire shirts?”
Her laughter snapped the tension as she tossed a hunk of garlic toast at him. He caught it mid-air and gobbled it.
She wiped her hands on her napkin, scooted closer, and laid her hand on his thigh. “Wear that chambray shirt you wore when we first met at Zora’s shop. The one that hugs your muscles.” Her fingertips skated higher. “That’ll drive all the women wild—probably some of the guys too. We’ll sell out in an hour.”
He placed his hand over hers to still its wandering. “I’m not trying to seduce all the women, just one in particular.”
“Mission accomplished.” She hooked her leg over his and kissed the side of his neck, firing his blood with the feathery brush of her lips. Much more of this, and he’d explode in his jeans like a teenager.
