Page 76 of Villainous Summer

“You can trust me. Truly.”

The deepest sorrow lined her eyes when she opened them.

“Truly?”

“Come to dinner with me.”

She quirked a brow. “A work dinner?”

“No, a date. An actual date, just you and me. No one else. Tonight, seven.”

Conflict passed over her face as she bit her lip.

“I don’t know . . .”

“Or tomorrow—if that works better.”

“You’re determined, aren’t you?”

I flashed her a smile. “When it comes to getting what I want, you’re damn right I am.”

“Okay.”

Standing, I reached forward, helping her to her feet.

“Can I—” I tensed my jaw, oscillating between asking and leaving without a word.

It had been hours since I had last seen her. Too long to not feel her skin under my fingers, to not smell the roses and sun of her hair. As a man deserted, I would take this refuge in her.

I swallowed. “I’m going to kiss you now.”

“Van, I’m at work.”

I stepped closer, taking the evasive strand of hair and curling it around my finger as I cupped her chin. Her eyes widened as I leaned in closer. “I’m going to kiss you because I can’t stand one more moment without your lips on mine.”

My name was her agreement and then her lips were against mine, the soft curve of her body in that white button-down and black skirt pressing against me. My tongue traced the seam of her lips, and I allowed my hand to wander down to her ass, grabbing a handful and pulling her to me.

It wasn’t a long kiss, but it was the promise of more later.

As I pulled away, I tucked that lock of hair back behind her ear. “Tonight or tomorrow?”

Her cheeks pink, she blinked at me as lust filled her eyes. “Tonight.”

As I left her small office with a spring in my step, I sent Lucia a jaunty wave.

Summer

The Boathouse was a local favorite in a local town. Situated on a large pier, the waterside tables boasted floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the narrows of the Salish Sea and the hourly appearance of the Seattle ferry. Seafood restaurants were common, but The Boathouse was one of the nicest in the county.

On sunny days, people would leave their boat at the private dock and come up the metal grated walkway to dine on Pacific salmon, Dungeness crab, and oysters from Hood Canal.

Work ran late when a guest kept me for twenty minutes to talk about the time she saw JFK Jr. at the local Italian restaurant in 1991. I had to rush home to change.

The quick effort must have been good enough because, when Van showed up at my door twenty minutes later, he stepped back and let out a low curse and a big grin.

Cut in a sweetheart neckline, the dress had a fitted waist that flared out just above my knees. The blue patterned fabric reminded me of something from the old-time movies Autumn loved to watch. The dress code was almost always casual, so I had little opportunity to break out my finer things. It was a running joke in our group that, sometimes, it was hard to tell who was homeless or who was trendy. It was the birthplace of grunge, after all, and with the cloud covers and nine months of rain, wearing a rain jacket over a hoodie and a mustard-colored beanie was the norm. Dressing up was putting on your nice performance fleece vest.

Seeing the look in Van’s eyes made me glad I erred on being overdressed.

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