Page 9 of Healing with the Mountain Man
Even if this isn’t a real date, I’m pocketing away this moment and marking it down as a precious one.
Feeling lighter than ever, my heart flutters wildly in my chest, as if nothing can hold it down, but our peace is soon interrupted.
“Are you guys enjoying your lunch?”
A smooth voice comes from beside me, accompanied by the faint scent of citrus and spice. At the same time, a hand lands briefly on my shoulder—warm, polite, gone before I can tense up.
When I turn, there’s a man smiling down at us, his nametag glinting. Javier’s name is in crisp lettering, the wordOwnerbeneath it.
He’s handsome in an effortless way—olive skin, stubble shadowing a strong jaw, his collared shirt rolled to the elbows. The kind of guy who probably gets extra tips just for looking at his female customers.
His dark eyes spark with warmth as they linger on our plates, his smile revealing a dimple that probably charms most customers.
“The food is delicious,” I offer, turning to Dean just in time to see his jaw tighten. The easy light that had been in his eyes moments before has vanished, replaced by something darker as he stares at Javier. It’s an expression I’ve never seen on a man before. “Don’t you think so?”
Dean’s grunt is noncommittal, but the way he deliberately takes another slow bite, eyes never leaving Javier, speaks volumes. The air between our booth and the smiling owner suddenly crackles with something that has nothing to do with the restaurant’s hospitality.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand at the foreign feelings rolling off of him.
Is Dean… jealous?
Javier must sense the shift, but his smile doesn’t waver. If anything, it seems to grow.
“Is there anything I can get you two?” Friendliness hardly dipping, he puts his attention on Dean. “We have a special on desserts.”
“Probably the bill, and some boxes to go, actually,” I interrupt at the notice of Dean’s knuckles growing white. “But thank you so much.”
The owner nods, happy to call out to the woman who’d been tending us earlier. He then thanks us for coming, hardly hidingthe amusement dancing around in his eyes, before he moves to another table to do the very same thing.
“He’s just being friendly,” I whisper, reaching over to lightly touch his hand. “It’s his job.”
Javier might get a kick out of ruffling boyfriends—or not-boyfriends, in our case—but I bite back the observation.
Dean’s jaw stays tight, his shoulders tense beneath his shirt. He doesn’t look jealous. He looks… coiled. Like he’s bracing for a threat I can’t see.
A knot forms in my stomach. Did I misread this? Maybe he’s not jealous. Maybe he’s annoyed.
“Yeah, sure.” Dean finally exhales, dragging a hand over his face. His gaze flicks to the restaurant’s exit, then back to me, and for the first time, I wonder if his problem isn’t Javier at all.
What if it’s me?
What if all this caring nature of his has been a mask, and this is a little slip?
All this time, he’s gone out of his way to help me, and what have I done in return? He won’t let me do anything, and that’s not helping my situation, either.
Grimacing at the thought, there’s no stopping the growth of my insecurities coming in at full force. The same kind of thoughts that hit me back in Texas when I was all alone.
The thought of running away hits me again, but I crush it down. I can’t run from this, not without regretting it. So, if I can’t run, that only leaves one option. I need to fix this, no matter what.
5
Dean
Why the hell am I letting this get to me?
Forty-two years old, and I’m grinding my teeth like some jealous kid. The second she mentioned that damn restaurant, I knew. Knew which brother would be drifting around the restaurant, all easy smiles and lingering touches.
Knew how he’d look at her—like she was something sweet behind glass, just waiting to be claimed. Every man in town would look at her that way if I weren’t trying my damned hardest to block their view.
