Page 24 of Falling for the Wrong Guy

“Are you telling me that or are you trying to convince yourself, ‘cuz I can’t figure it out. I’ve got experience, and if you could look past whatever opinion you’ve formed of me?—”

“I told myself that same thing just this afternoon when those two men walked into the café. I silently chastised myself for instantly assuming they’d be a couple of toads. Turned out I was right. They were toads, warts and all.”

“And that’s what you think of me? That I’m a toad with warts?”

She zipped her coat higher and shrugged. “Maybe without the warts.”

I chuckled. “Well, that’s good to know at least.” There it was again, that strange long moment where our gazes locked tightly and neither of us could figure out how to look away.

I stepped closer to her and was relieved when she didn’t step back. “Maybe, just maybe, you’re worried about what might happen between us if we become better acquainted.”

Her laugh was short and brisk. “Happen between us? First of all, I’ve got a boyfriend.”

I nodded. “A real sensible type, I’ll bet. Gets his fancy shoes shined and his suits pressed, and a cocktail party with his dull, snooty friends is his idea of a good time.”

She flinched as I said it.

“Aha, I nailed it, didn’t I? And I was just guessing. See, I think you’re not into sensible and snooty. I think your idea of a good time is something less predictable—maybe even a little dangerous.” I stared down at her lips for a second. It caused her to step back.

“You don’t know me at all. Thank you for stopping by, and I’d stay off those rocks over the cove if I were you. People have gotten gravely injured trying to climb them, especially at night.”

I nodded. “Thanks for the warning. And thanks for the dinner.” I turned to walk away.

“What was it you were looking for?” she asked.

“Buried treasure, Rocky. Buried treasure.”

ChapterSixteen

Aria

Iclimbed into my car and turned on the heater. It had been a hectic day at the café. Linda felt sorry for herself after having to cover most of the dining room the day before, so she’d called in sick. It was Terry’s turn to complain about having to serve so many tables. I helped in between flipping eggs and bacon and omelets. It was the same story every year. The regulars would stuff themselves silly with pumpkin pancakes the first day they were on the menu and then they’d switch back to their regular orders for the rest of the week.

I felt bad that the last thing I wanted to do after a long day of work was shower, change and head over to Kellan’s apartment, even if he had promised to pamper me for the rest of the evening. He sent a meme of an Egyptian woman stretched out on a lounge while one servant fanned her with a palm frond and another hand-fed her grapes. I let him know that I drew the line at being hand-fed grapes, or anything, for that matter.

A light drizzle fell to make the road wet and slick. I’d been too busy to replace the crummy wipers on my car. With every swish, they left a nice rainbow of streaks across the windshield. I used the sleeve of my sweater to clear the condensation off the window. The defroster in my old car was no better than someone blowing hot air against the muggy windshield.

My feet and back ached. Flannel pajamas and a few strategically placed heating pads sounded much better than being pampered. That was mostly because we were still at that early stage of the relationship where I had to look pretty in my pampering. I’d pulled on tight jeans and a cobalt blue sweater that looked great with my hair and complexion but that felt just a bit too tight and itchy for a relaxing evening.

The heater was one thing in my car that worked well, a little too well. My car was an instant sauna. I reached forward to turn it down and noticed that my hand was dry and chapped. I’d put lotion on after my shower, but between cooking, cleaning and prepping for the next day, my hands couldn’t catch a break.

I desperately needed to find a cook. My sisters had pestered me for the rest of the night, telling me I should give Dex a chance. I had to remind them that a fine pair of eyes and a nicely chiseled jaw were not qualifications for a cook job. Ava was the first to agree with me. “It’s Aria’s business. We have to respect her decision, even if she might be making a big mistake.” She’d almost agreed with me anyhow. Her comment was far more supportive than the joint statement from Ella and Layla that I was just being mean. Isla was less vocal with her thoughts because she knew that she, too, would be experiencing plenty of the same problems once she opened her bakery.

Kellan owned a beautiful three-bedroom apartment on the sixth floor of a very nice building in the center of town. I personally thought it was a little too modern and full of steel and glass, but it did have a nice city view at night. Of course, a city view was nothing compared to the view I grew up with.

I’d forgotten an umbrella, so I used my purse as shelter as I hurried to the entrance. Sleekness was prioritized over convenience when the building was designed, so I had to stand very close to the wall as I pushed the intercom.

“Is that my princess?” Kellan asked. He had a few too many sugary nicknames for me.

“A very wet princess,” I said back.

“Oops. Sorry.” The door buzzed, and I pushed inside.

The nighttime security guard, Roy, was eating potato chips and reading the paper. “Hello Aria. Not a great night to be out, eh?”

I shook off my purse. “So true.”

“Stay dry,” he called to me as I stepped into the elevator.

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