Page 5 of All for You

“Barely.” Tears sting my eyes.

“Standing is standing. Give yourself some credit.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right. Now, you gonna let your mom walk all over you this weekend?”

I set my jaw. “No. No, I’m not.”

“Hey, Rachel.” Ruby Martinez, the owner of the café, peeks around the door. “Can you clear table four, please? Daisy has homework to complete now.” Daisy is Ruby’s granddaughter, and the woman always puts schoolwork before the job.

I glance up from the crumpled napkin I’ve been absently shredding. Table four. Right next to Travis Kincaid’s table. With a deep breath, I smooth out my apron and gather the resolve to face him. I’ve spent so much time avoiding situations like this, carefully sidestepping anything that might lead to speaking to the cowboy.

My hands start sweating, and I rub them down my jean-covered thighs. “Yes, ma’am.”

Sheila and I leave the office, and while she heads behind the counter, I sidestep between crowded tables, my heart thrumming in my chest.

Travis sits there, a solitary figure amidst the lunch rush, his broad shoulders hunched over a half-eaten plate of Mrs. Martinez’s famous chicken-fried steak. As I get closer to him, my skin prickles, and I catch a whiff of his cologne, a warm musky blend with a hint of cool mint. Automatically, I lean toward the delicious smell as he looks up. Somehow, I trip over my feet and almost land in his lap. While I try to recover, he turns, and we bump heads.

“S-sorry,” I stammer, stepping back into his table, knocking it with enough force to jostle his water glass. While reaching tostill the wobbling glass which is threatening to tip and spill, he looks up, his lips curling into a faint, sardonic grin. I drink him in like an icy cold soda on a hot summer day.

“Can I help you?” He raises an eyebrow, the question hanging in the air between us.

“Help me?” I keep staring as I gather myself. My face burns hot. I’m supposed to be calm and collected, not some flustered mess of a waitress who can’t keep her composure around a patron.

Suddenly, I’m acutely aware of every imperfection—the coffee stain on my apron, the wisps of hair escaping my ponytail. Why does he affect me this way? Why can’t I maintain my composure around him? I’ve worked hard to build a life for myself, to prove I’m more than my mistakes and that I don’t need a man in my life. Yet here I am, reduced to a stammering mess by a very handsome one I hardly know. The unfairness of it all stings, fueling a spark of defiance.

“Yes,” Travis says, his mouth turned down.

“No, I… uh… I…”

“You’re staring at me like you want to ask a question, but I know you’re not working my table.”

“Do you want to be my boyfriend for the weekend, but you know, not actually be my real boyfriend, at all, just a pretend one, for a few days.” The words tumble out before I can stop them. What the hell am I thinking, blurting out something so ridiculous? To Travis Kincaid, of all people?

Desperation bites at my insides. This is all mom’s fault. Yet some small part of me buried deep beneath all the caution and warning signs, I’m thrilled at the recklessness of it all. I blame Sheila. She did tell me to toss out the big guns. Though I’m not sure, she had this in mind.

Travis leans back, a hint of surprise flirting with the corners of his lips. He studies me as if seeing me for the first time.

I squirm, trying to ignore the warmth that spreads through my body as his gaze travels slowly down and back up, settling on my eyes.

“Now, I didn’t expect that specific request,” he drawls, his husky voice filled with humor.

I shrug, attempting nonchalance, though I wish I could recall my words. My heart thumps hard. The scars my ex left behind are deep ones that make the thought of any sort of commitment feel like a noose tightening around my neck. But this is different. This would just be pretend for a few days. Long enough to get me through Mom’s visit. Good God, what was I thinking?

“Does the offer come with any perks?” he teases. “Because I might be interested.”

“Perks?” I frown. “Um, free coffee? The occasional slice of pie?”

“I do like… pie.” A slow, crooked grin overtakes his handsome features, and I think my panties catch on fire to match my face.

Then I catch his meaning.

That’s when I know I’m in big, big trouble.

Chapter 2

Travis

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