Page 6 of Stolen Sun

“Touché,” he nods and chuckles again.

While I try to process what I just learned about him, he pulls the truck into the parking lot of a diner that opened a few years ago. I’ve driven past it but have never been inside. Nate preferred the downtown and upscale scenes, so we rarely visited places like this one. Personally, I love a hidden gem of any kind.

Declan gets out of the truck, and I open my door to do the same. When I look up from getting my bag off the floorboard, he’s standing in the opening of my door holding out his hand. The unexpected gesture sends an electric charge straight through me to places I’d rather not acknowledge right now. I look down at his hand then glance at his face. His expression is blank as though this is perfectly ordinary, and he waits for me to take his outstretched hand.

My fingers glide across his warm, rough skin. Gripping it slightly, I feel his strength as his arm holds firm beneath my weight. He lets my hand fall to close the door as soon as both ofmy feet are on the ground.

Walking slightly behind him to the diner entrance gives me an amazing view of his back muscles through his shirt. I clear my throat to make an effort at small talk. Obviously, I need a distraction because Kate was right—it’s been too long since I’ve had sex.

“I’ve heard a lot about this place but haven’t been here yet,” I throw out, unable to come up with anything else to say.

“Always my pleasure to provide a new experience,” he says with a grin as he reaches for the door.

I shake my head and try to hide a smile when I walk past him through the door.

The hostess greets us happily, “Good morning, Declan. Right this way.”

She brings us to a booth near the diner’s office door. “Trish will be right with you,” she says brightly before walking back to her post.

“You come here often, I see.” I smile and pick up my menu. The brightness and commotion of the restaurant works wonders to break the spell of being alone with Declan.

“Trish is the owner and one of my clients. I ship her pecan pies statewide,” he says, “Everything on the menu is fresh and made from scratch, so I can’t say I’d recommend any one meal over another."

“Do you keep in close contact with all of your clients like this?” I ask, genuinely interested.

“If I can support their businesses, I will,” he says matter-of-factly.

Interesting. I stare at the menu while I try to connect the Declan I used to know to the man sitting across from me.

“Good mornin’, darlin’,” a woman in her mid-forties says to Declan as she approaches our booth, “Hi, hun,” she addresses me.

“Mornin’,Trish,” Declan answers. “This is Noel. She’s my new marketing account manager and came along with me this morning to get a feel for what Velocity is all about.”

“Nice to meet you, Noel,” she smiles. “Ladies first. What can I get you?”

“Thanks, you too. Um, I’ll try your blueberry bagel with cream cheese,” I answer, smiling back at her.

“Good choice. What about you, Declan?” She says without writing anything down.

“The usual.” Declan tells her while handing her our menus.

I look around the diner to take in the nostalgic decor on the walls—and to avoid the gaze I feel burning into me from across the table. Declan rests his forearms on the edge of the table and leans forward. “I’m sorry about your husband, Noel,” he says in a low, raspy voice.

I let out a sigh and look down at my ring. "Me too," I whisper without looking up. My tragedy is just a Google search away it seems.

Next comes the questions. People always have questions when they learn I’m a 27-year-old widow. I wait, wondering which one he will lead with. But, oddly enough, none follow.

I glance up to find him ready to meet my gaze. Another surprise. Most people don’t know how to look at me after the initial condolences are given. Then again, Declan is no stranger to death.

Instead of saying or asking more, he nods and changes the subject, “My website should reflect some version of my supportive business stance, but I do not want to appearsmall town.”

I smile my appreciation and say, “I can work with that. Are you partial to green? I noticed it is your primary color in all graphics but isn’t the color of your building or represented in the lobby.”

He lowers and tilts his head thenlooks back up at me from the side through his long, dark lashes with a crooked smile as though I’m missing something. After a beat, he finally says, “I am partial to the color, yes.”

Okay….“Alright. I’ve already started designing a few options. I should be able to send you the first draft of the logo next week.”

“Good,” he says, readjusting in his seat to straighten his back. Even sitting down, I have to look up to him. He’s always been tall, but he looks even taller now that his chest and arms are so big.

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