Page 50 of Golden Touch
“What?” he demands, opening the refrigerator for a can of beer.
“If the seams of that shirt start to unravel from the stress of the fit, don’t come crying to me.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it. Beer?”
“Certainly. If you leave the grocery receipt on the counter, I’ll pay you half.”
“Nah. My treat.”
I don’t like that, because I can’t owe this man, and I’m not going to pay off my debts the way he’s hoping I will. But I keep silent because I also don’t want to argue.
When the food is ready, I make him a big plate of cheesy, gooey enchiladas with diced avocado and scallions on top, and I sit down across from him at the table.
He takes the first bite and moans. Loudly. Then he takes another and does it again.
“Everything okay over there?” I ask, daintily cutting a bite for myself.
“It’s really indecent what you can do in the kitchen,” he says with a sigh. “Makes me want to get down on one knee and propose marriage.”
“That might be almost as triggering to me as being cuffed to this chair,” I mumble.
He flashes me a grin, and we both tuck into our dinners. There isn’t much talking, but our silence is weirdly companionable, given everything that’s happened.
Like that kiss, for instance.
Nash’s playlist segues into a song by Noah Kahan, the local superstar. I’m scraping the last bit of cheese off my plate and listening to the lyrics when I hear tires on the gravel outside.
My whole body goes cold.
Nash puts his fork down and reaches across the table to squeeze my hand. “Breathe. You expecting anyone?”
I shake my head.
“All right.” He grabs his phone to silence the music, and then we hear footsteps crunching toward the door. I practically hit the ceiling when there’s a firm knock.
Nash doesn’t panic. He calmly pushes his chair back from the table, walks to the door, and pushes the hideous curtain aside to see who’s out there. He unlocks the door and opens it. “Hey, Benito! Come on in.”
A handsome, clean-cut guy with shiny, dark hair enters the room. “Sorry. I shoulda called instead of interrupting dinner. But I was driving this way…”
“It’s no problem at all,” Nash says. “Have you met Livia? She’s my father’s office manager, and she’s stuck sharing the bunkhouse with me for a few weeks.”
“My apologies, Livia,” the newcomer says with a smile. “You must know my brother, Matteo?”
“Oh, of course.” I’d thought Benito’s name was familiar, but I hadn’t been able to place it. Now I realize he’s the younger brother of Leila Giltmaker’s partner. “How are Matteo and Leila holding up?”
“They’re great. Happy. And tired.” He parks his hip against the kitchen counter. “We have a new baby at home, too, so I know how it is.”
“Congratulations.” Come to think of it, I’d heard this. Leila is friends with Benito’s wife. “Can I offer you some enchiladas? I made a lot.”
“Or a beer?” Nash adds.
Benito sighs. “Hurts me to say no, because that food smells amazing. But Skye is expecting me at home. I just wanted to let you know that I ran that license plate you asked me about.”
License plate. My whole body goes cold, and I shoot an angry look at Nash.How dare you?
Nash keeps his gaze on Benito. “Find anything interesting?”
“Well, yeah.” Benito taps his chin, a thoughtful expression on his face. “The truck is registered to a business out of Rutland. A garage that services motorcycles.”
