Page 53 of A Secret Chance
Chapter 19
THERE WAS NO WAY HEwas letting her get away like that. He jogged up behind her, grimacing as his rock-hard erection pressed against the zipper of his pants. He grabbed her arm. “Lauren.”
His heart sank when he saw that her eyes were welling with tears. He hated seeing women cry. He had grown up with a cheating bastard father and while she had tried to hide her tears from him, he saw his mom cry more than any woman ever should.
“Can we talk about this?”
Her chest rose high with her visible sigh. “I don’t know what there is to talk about.”
“Is there somewhere we can go? Somewhere that’s not freezing?” He blew on his hands; his fingertips were starting to go white.
“That’s your own fault. You threw your gloves on the ground.”
He jerked his head up and caught the slight upturn of her lips. “The whole town is here and everything is closed, but...” she began, tilting her head and looked upward, a move he recognized, she did it when she was thinking, “There’s a small chance that the G-Spot is open.”
“Excuse me?” He couldn’t believe that she had said that with a straight face.
She laughed and shook her head. “The G-Spot is the gas station. There’s a small diner in there that’s open late.”
“That’s the best name ever,” he chuckled. Baxter reached up and wiped the wetness from under her eye. “Lauren, we may be professional enemies, but I never want to be the reason that tears fall from these eyes. Ever. Please, let’s go to this spot that may or may not exist and figure out a way that you and I can co-exist in this small town.”
She hesitated. He reached out and squeezed her hand, resolving any internal debate that she seemed to be having. “Okay,” she said and squeezed back.
“I’ll call my driver,” he said. He couldn’t believe that she had agreed. He punched in Al’s contact information.
“And Baxter.”
He diverted his attention to her while the phone rang in his ear. “Yeah?”
“It definitely exists.”
***
LAUREN WATCHED BAXTERslide into the booth that had been in the general store’s diner since the fifties. If she had seen him in the wild, she wouldn’t have given him a second glance. Not because he wasn’t attractive, it was the opposite; he was too good looking. Like one of those cake show cakes that you wouldn’t dare cut into because it looked better than it tasted. That’s what he was. Fondant, with a smattering of cocky.
“Lauren, how are ya?” Muriel ambled over to the table, a pot of coffee in her hand.
“Hi, Muriel. I’m good. And you?” Lauren turned over one of the coffee cups on the table and set it in the saucer.
“Oh, I’m still going.” The gray-haired woman held up the pot and raised her eyebrows from behind her oversized old lady glasses. “Coffee?”
Muriel’s coffee was notoriously syrupy. “Sure, I could use a little of your rocket fuel.” She slid her cup and saucer to the edge of the table.
