Page 23 of Silent Heart

He tipped his head, stormy eyes grey in the soft lighting. “Do you even know what I drive?”

I faltered. “No, I guess I don’t. But I assumed some luxury European model.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Nothing flashy. I prefer to blend in.”

As if he could…. “Well, I’m glad you’re here.”

His brows drew together. “Did you expect anything less?”

Words stammered on the tip of my tongue, but Gemma saved me by gliding to the table with a pot of freshly brewed goodness. “Bless you,” I breathed. “Keep it coming?”

Chuckling, the waitress set an even larger mug down and splashed the heavenly black liquid into it. “I pulled one of our cups from the back.”

“You know me so well,” I beamed.

“You sure you don’t want some, hun?” Gemma asked Kole.

I slid a look in his direction.

“Just water,” he rumbled. “Thank you.”

“Well, then, what are we hungry for?” Gemma coaxed. “We have a strawberry waffle special this morning and a Philly omelet.”

“The strawberries are canned, aren’t they?” I gave my friend a leveled look.

Gemma scrunched her nose and nodded. “You know they don’t make things from scratch around here.”

“All the more pity. Whenever you decide to open your café, let me know,” I pushed.

The wistful look spread over Gemma’s face, but I knew the answer before she said it. “That’s the dream, Har.”

It had been her dream for years, and here she was, still serving unimaginative food that came off the Sysco truck.

“French toast, over easy eggs, and bacon for me,” I ordered, not even needing to look at the menu. “But did you need a minute, Kole?”

He shook his head. “I’ll have the same. Extra side of bacon, please.”

Gemma sauntered away, leaving behind a sudden rush of awkwardness.

“So…a café?” Kole broke the silence.

I nodded, grateful for the topic of conversation. “There’s a farm-to-table café in Lake Geneva—the town twenty minutes south of here. Gemma wants to open one in Moosehorn that focuses on local ingredients with a rotating seasonal menu. She’d work with farmers to have cleaner food choices. For instance, we have a beautiful strawberry crop that starts at the end of this month and goes strong through next month. Gemma’s waffles would be fresh ground flour with seasonal toppings like that. She makes a mean sourdough, which elevates her French toast!”

I clapped my mouth shut, realizing that I’d been rambling.

“As opposed to what they serve here.” Kole lifted his water, took a sip, and grimaced.

“Exactly.” I nodded to his cup. “The pipes here are old and give it that pungent taste.”

“Yet they’re packed,” Kole observed.

I nodded. “It’s a phenomenon, that’s for sure. But it’s not like there are many choices for breakfast around the lake.”

“So your friend’s dream is a café, but yours is….” One dark brow lifted.

I brushed my fingertip against the single carnation in the bud vase, a pitiful attempt to liven up the place. “I’m going to veterinary school this fall.”

“Tell me about it,” he insisted, voice velvety and soft. Almost like a tangible caress.

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