Page 6 of Freedom's Kiss
She followed him out of the truck, the vehicle creaking and swaying with their weight. A park picnic table sat by a palm tree a few yards away, illuminated by the lamps that lined the street. A slight breeze picked up from the beach a few blocks over, and Olivia stuck her elbows out just a little for the air to move over the hot, damp places of her skin.
Adam sat on the bench facing out and leaned his back on the edge of the tabletop. He poured tea into the cups and handed her one as he downed the other. Closing his eyes, he looked relaxed, the stress and energy of the night draining away from him before her eyes.
“Sit.” He motioned the bench beside him with a sweep of his hand. “You’ve been going a hundred miles a minute since you busted into my place. Rest.”
She perched on the end of the bench and crossed her legs, burying her fingers where her thighs met and rubbing her fingertips along the stitching of her ripped jeans.
“Where are you a waitress at?” Adam asked as he poured himself another cup of tea.
She sat up straighter. “How’d you know I was a server?”
He shrugged off her question. “You carried a real order book in your back pocket.”
Oh. Right. “I work at Seaside.”
A low whistle punctuated the air. “Fancy. Slumming here then, hmm?”
“No! That’s not what I—”
He chuckled beside her. “Relax. I’m teasing.”
Something he did a lot, she noticed.
“But seriously. You already have a nice job at one of the best restaurants in town. Why do you want to help me out with my truck?”
Her shoulders lifted a fraction before falling. “What can I say? I have extra time on my hands, and you need the help. Plus, I love working with food. Win-win-win, right?”
He pivoted his hip on the bench so he faced her. “I used to be a lawyer. I know when someone is handing out BS.”
She turned to match his posture. Strategy: deflection. “You used to be a lawyer?”
“Nice try, but I know that one too. Real answer now. Why do you want a job at my truck?”
He regarded her with sincere interest. Head tilted and temple resting on a closed fist, he patiently waited for her response. She studied him, a little nonplussed that she could read him so easily. And he her. The rhythm they’d fallen into as they’d worked swirled around her. Music, cadence, melody…the steps to a dance of which she was unfamiliar but her body by instinct recognized.
Before a muscle even twitched in the man beside her, she knew he was about to touch her. To reach out and place his warm hand on her knee. Effusive family, he’d said. The recognition of her struggle flashed in his eyes, followed by the need to comfort. His hand lowered and covered the bent part of her leg, his skin touching hers through the rip in the denim.
It seemed part of his makeup, his DNA. One that embarrassed him, if the quick flush of color in his neck and his receding hand were any indication. But he wasn’t coming on to her. And she knew. Every woman, it seemed, knew the type, which was why the #MeToo hashtag had gone viral. But even if the actions of the man beside her could fit into that category—what with a hug and a leg squeeze after barely hours of introduction—the motives didn’t. Anyone who looked into his clear eyes could see that. No guile. No hidden agendas. Just empathy and kindness.
“Look, I know we just met and you have no obligation to tell me anything, but you really did help me out big time tonight, and if I can repay the favor, I’d like to.” No vocal apology sprang from his mouth this time about the physical contact, just a quirk of the lips and a tiny shake of the head that saidoopsas he shimmied his palm under his leg.
Olivia’s lips twitched. She kind of wanted to press him to see if sitting on his hand would be enough to deter his nature and personality. He’d teased her, and she had the itch to return the favor. If she laid it on thick, his hands would no doubt find their way to her. A squeeze on the shoulder or a press to her elbow. Even if the experiment would be fun, perhaps now wasn’t the time. Not when she still needed something from him.
Man, that sounded manipulative.
She massaged her forehead and heaved out a sigh, hating where her train of thought had led her. If she wasn’t careful, she’d find herself with a one-way ticket to a person she didn’t recognize. Carpe diem was all well and good, but not if it meant turning into someone she wasn’t. And as much as she wanted this opportunity, she wasn’t an opportunist. Not one that would twist a situation for her own gain, no holds barred.
“Have you ever had a dream?” It was a bit strange, having such an intimate conversation with someone she’d just met. She didn’t even get this personal on first dates, of which this definitely couldn’t be considered. “I mean, a passion for something that burned so hot inside you that no matter how many times you or other people have tried to douse it, it won’t be put out. It’s become a real part of your identity until you wouldn’t be able to recognize yourself without that dream as well?”
Adam shifted, his movement bringing Olivia’s gaze from the distant horizon back to his face. His very pinched, uncomfortable face. Uh-oh. She’d said something wrong. Heat flushed her skin, and her stomach dipped. “I’m sorry. That was out of line. I just meant—”
He held up a hand. “Don’t apologize.” This time his smile looked forced. “You didn’t say anything wrong.” He worked a frog out of his throat. “So, your dream. It’s a food truck?”
Her fingers spiraled together. “Food in general. Cooking. I want to go to culinary school or learn in a kitchen, but I don’t have the money for the first and can’t seem to find a chef willing for the second.”
He nodded. “Food is a bit of a passion of mine as well. Which is why I opened the truck in the first place. My brothers like to tease me that I’m a bit of a snob, but…well, have you seen Ratatouille?”
“The Disney movie about the rat?”
