The Bars Between Us Page 4

  She nods. “Spicy, yes.”

  I blow out an exaggerated breath and pretend to wipe sweat from my brow. “Shoo. Thank God.”

  Her lips are pursed, and momentarily I’m distracted by them.

  I blink. “Okay, so to properly eat an oyster po’boy from Red’s, you have to squeeze a bit of lemon on the oysters and then apply the appropriate amount of hot sauce.”

  She quirks a perfectly manicured eyebrow at me. “And what is the appropriate amount? Should I watch you to ensure that I do it correctly?”

  I make a point of studying her. Resting my elbows on the table, I steeple my fingers under my chin. “I’m not sure you’ll get the technique right. Better let me do it for you this time. Don’t want to ruin your first experience because of a rookie mistake.”

  She pushes her plate to me and gestures at the sandwich. “Have at it. But if I hate it, I want you to know that I’ll forever blame you. So, make sure you have a steady hand.”

  I wink. “These hands?” I hold them up. “These hands know exactly what they’re doing.”

  Grace pulls her bottom lip in between her teeth and peeks up at me through her lashes. “Show me,” she whispers, and I swear to God, if it were possible to fall in love with someone based on two words, those two words would have done the trick.

  Slowly, I grab the bottle of hot sauce and, making a show of it, unscrew the cap. My eyes never leave hers and she holds my gaze, her blue eyes dancing with amusement.

  Reluctantly, I tear my eyes away from hers and focus on the task at hand.

  She watches intently, not speaking as I dab the Texas Pete on each one of the oysters in her sandwich, making sure to get it exactly right.

  It started off as a joke, but now I feel the need to make it perfect for her. As if the entirety of whatever this is brewing between us hangs on the outcome of her taste buds.

  My body flushes. I don’t know what this is, but I know that I want it to be something. I haven’t been in a relationship in years, if you could even call a few dates with the same woman that. It wasn’t that I was uninterested in dating, only that there weren’t a lot of options in this town.

  Whatever this is, I don’t want to fuck it up because I couldn’t back up my big talk.

  I finish preparing her po’boy and slide the plate back to her. “There. It’s perfect.”

  She doesn’t speak, just grabs the sandwich and brings it to her mouth. I watch intently as she takes a bite, scanning her features for any signs that I’ve fucked it up. She chews with her eyes closed and I hold my breath, waiting for her approval. As ridiculous as it sounds, I need her to approve of my choices of lunch for us. As if the approval of the food will also equal an approval of me.

  Finally, after what feels like an eternity, her lids pop open and a wry smile graces her face. “You were not lying. Your hands are very capable.” She licks her lips, then dabs the corner of her mouth with a napkin. “I don’t think I’ve ever had hands that knew what they were doing better than yours.” She winks at me and I bark out a laugh, letting out the breath I’d been holding.

  She dissolves into a fit of giggles along with me, and I strain my ears to hear her over my own laughter. I meant what I’d said earlier, her laugh is beautiful, and I want to memorize it.

  “Seriously, how was it?” I ask her once I finally catch my breath.

  She picks the sandwich up again and takes another big bite. With a mouthful of food, she tells me, “Amazing. Better than your pasta yesterday. You were totally right.”

  My chest puffs and I nod, then grab my own sandwich and dig in.

  “Hey, aremt ewe guh uss ho sah, too?”

  Her eyes are wide, her mouth hanging slightly open.

  I quirk an eyebrow at her. “Uh, sorry, I don’t speak food-ese,” I joke.

  She huffs and then makes a show of chewing her food and swallowing. “I said, aren’t you going to use hot sauce, too?”

  I set my sandwich down and grab my napkin, wiping the crumbs from my face. I’d been meaning to shave this morning, but the boat was rocking a bit harder than normal and I didn’t want to end up looking like Edward Scissorhands had been my barber.

  “I don’t like spicy foods,” I tell her and watch as her eyes turn into saucers.

  “What?” she squeaks. “But. But, you… You said…” she sputters, and try as I might, I can’t stop from laughing.

  Again.

  I’ve laughed more this afternoon, with this woman that I barely know, than I have in the last month.

  “Nah. I’ve got a sensitive palate. Me and spicy don’t mix. But my dad told me once to never trust someone that didn’t like hot sauce. And he was the smartest man alive.” I lift a shoulder and then set my napkin back on the table. Picking up my sandwich with one hand, I point it at her. “You, Grace, passed the test.” I take another bite and then wink.

  Grace sits across the table, staring incredulously for about thirty seconds as I chew my food. Finally, she grabs a pickle chip and dips it in the spicy ranch that my pathetic taste buds can’t handle, and pops it into her mouth, pushing herself back in the booth. “More for me, I guess.”

  She crosses her arms over her chest once more, tempting me with another view of her spectacular cleavage, and makes a show of looking me over.

  “So, I’ve proven my trustworthiness. But what about you? Can I trust you?”

  I rest my forearms on the table and lean across. My gaze intense, I whisper, “Probably not.” I’m only partially kidding.

  But I want her to trust me. “Have dinner with me tomorrow night.”

  She continues to mindlessly pop pickles in her mouth while tapping a finger against her lips. Finally, after a few moments, she puts me out of my misery.

  “Only if you take me somewhere that serves fried fish platters and has the local IPA on tap.”

  Sweet Jesus, I think I just fell in love.

  I stroke my stubble. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather have caviar and champagne?” I’m only half-joking. She isn’t the type of girl to want to go to a dive bar and gorge in fried foods.

  “Nah.” She shakes her head. “Let’s live a little.”

  I lift my chin, trying to play it cool, even though I’m downright excited that she agreed to dinner, and fucking giddy that she doesn’t want a fancy restaurant. “Alright. Hole in the wall it is. I know just the place.”

  I spent the entire night before analyzing every minute of my date with Bronn.

  If that’s what it was.

  From the moment that I almost backed over him with my car, to the way he smiled widely when he realized it was me that had tried to kill him, to his teasing about having run someone over before, I’d scrutinized his every action.

  His take-charge attitude about ordering for me should have annoyed me. I was an independent woman; I didn’t need a man speaking for me. But he’d remembered the way I liked my water, and even though it wasn’t that complicated, I was sure as a bartender that he had heard a million drink orders yesterday. Yet, he remembered mine.

  Maybe he’d spent the night before thinking of me, too?

  My stomach flutters at the thought.

  I laugh out loud, glad that I’m alone and don’t have to explain my sudden outburst, when I replay his proclamation that he had wimpy taste buds.

  My heart squeezes when I remember the way his face had fallen, barely noticeable when he’d mentioned his father. Most people wouldn’t have noticed it. But every time I spoke of my father, my face would do the same.

  Had he lost his dad, too?

  I make a mental note to ask him about that. My mental list of things to ask him grows longer by the minute.

  I want to get to know him.

  And that scares the shit out of me. Not because I’m interested in a man, but because I’m worried that I would find a reason to want to stay in this town, and then my job would send me away and I would be reliving my childhood all over again.

  Finally, being at peace with life only to ha
ve it snatched away from me.

  Again.

  So, after a night spent tossing and turning and only getting fitful sleep that was plagued by dreams of both the past and present, I shove out of bed well before the sun is set to rise and strap on my running shoes.

  I’m determined to run Bronnson Williams out of my system.

  The neighborhood that I’m living in is nestled along the Port Royal Sound, and they have a fabulous little beach called The Sands.

  I make my way through the quiet streets, the sun just starting to peek over the horizon, and steer my thoughts away from Bronn, letting them drift to a time long ago.

  “Mama, I miss the beach. Will we go home soon?”

  Her face fell. “No, baby,” she whispered. “We’re not ever going back. This is our home now.”

  My eyes filled with tears, sadness overwhelming me. “But, I don’t like this place. I miss the ocean. I miss my room. I miss Daddy!”

  Mama’s face hardened. “That’s enough!”

  Her tone scared me, causing the unshed tears in my eyes to fall.

  Instead of pulling me in her arms to comfort me, she turned on her heels and rushed from the room, leaving me to cry for my losses alone.

  When I pull myself from the painful memory, I realize that I’ve made it down to The Sands. I glance around, seeing that I’m alone and slow my jog down to a walk.

  At the water’s edge, I drop to my ass and cross my legs, content to sit and listen to the sounds of the water while I wait for the sun to rise. The sadness lingers, but begins to melt away the longer I sit.

  Mama wasn’t being cruel all those years ago, the way I’d always thought. She was hurting just as much as I was and coping the only way she knew how. She was determined to forge a new path in life for herself and her only child. I wish I could have realized that then, but I was only a kid.

  And now it’s too late.

  Mama is gone.

  Just like Papa.

  Just like Daddy.

  It’s just me now.

  I have Riley. And more than enough friends. But there is something about knowing that you have another part of yourself out there, someone that’s connected to you the way no one else is, that’s a comfort.

  And Nana is still alive, but dementia’s stolen her mind.

  Even though Mama had been estranged from her own parents for a while, she still took comfort in knowing they were there. And it had proven to be an effort worthwhile, because over time she’d mended fences with them. After their reconciliation, she’d reminded me constantly that it was never too late for apologies and second chances.

  After we’d left Beaufort, my mother had made good on her promise that we would never return. Our family vacations never included the beach or ocean. She told me it was because she preferred the mountains or the plains, but I knew that it was really because she was trying to erase the memories of where we’d come from.

  I didn’t understand her motives then, and even now I still can’t fully comprehend it. But, whatever her reasons, she took them to the grave with her, and there was no use in speculating about it.

  I sit in the sand a while longer, watching the sun rise spectacularly over the water, and breathe deep, relishing the smell of the salt water. A dolphin leaps from the water in front of me, and I squeal in delight. Several more follow their leader, and I’m treated to a show that I never could have imagined I would see living in the capital of the state.

  “You were wrong, Mama. This is my home,” I murmur.

  I push to my feet, wiping the sand from the seat of my leggings and resume my run. I’d managed to push the thoughts of Bronn from my mind, but I wasn’t sure the memories that had taken his place were any better.

  I push harder than I should, intent on running the negativity out of my blood. While on my second lap around the neighborhood, I spy a quaint coffee shop and decide to stop in and treat myself. The bell over the door chimes and I’m welcomed by the scent of brewing coffee and freshly baked pastries.

  “Good morning!” a perky brunette greets from behind the counter.

  I smile and lift my hand in a wave.

  “Out for a run?” she asks.

  “Yeah, I ran in high school and college, but I’ve been slack lately, and it was pretty evident this morning.” I laugh, clutching the stitch in my side.

  I’d been a state champion cross country in high school and continued running and competing in college, but after graduating hadn’t been as strict as I once was. This morning’s run was the first in at least a month, and even though I hadn’t pressed myself as hard as I could have, I was still going to be feeling it tomorrow.

  She nods. “I try and run a few mornings a week before opening up the coffee shop. But more often than not, my cozy bed wins out over my desire to stay in shape.” She’s unloading cookies from a tray into the display case and I meander over to check out the selection. A cheese danish the size of my head catches my eye.

  “I’m going to have to change my running route so that it doesn’t pass by here, otherwise I’ll ruin all my hard work with these goodies you have.”

  She laughs and straightens, setting the tray on a counter behind her. “You new in town?”

  I nod.

  “Well, I’m Dani. I own this slice of caffeine heaven along with a couple of other businesses downtown. See something you like in the case? First one’s on the house.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to do that! But, yes, I’ll take that cheese danish. And a large coffee, extra cream. I’m Grace by the way.”

  She pulls the danish from the case and puts it in a box before setting it on the counter and moving to make my coffee. Over her shoulder, she tells me, “Consider it my version of a welcome basket.”

  She’s putting the finishing touches on my coffee when the bell above the door chimes again, and I turn instinctively to see who’s come through the door.

  My eyes widen when I see that it’s Bronn.

  So much for getting him off my mind!

  My hands automatically fly to my hair and I try desperately to smooth it down.

  An older gentleman sitting by the door catches his attention, and I breathe a sigh of relief that he doesn’t notice me.

  I turn back to the barista and whisper, “Uhm, do you have a bathroom?”

  One eyebrow arched, she smirks. “Sure do. Right over there.” She lifts a finger and my gaze follows the direction that she points toward the back of the shop, directly behind where Bronn stands.

  Shit!

  I grab a napkin from the counter and dab my face, wiping away the sweat and shine from my run. “Do I look ridiculous?” I ask, my voice still low.

  “If you mean your running attire, then no. But if you’re referring to the panicked look on your face because Bronn walked in…well, maybe just a little.”

  Dammit!

  She laughs and the noise catches his attention. He looks away from the gentleman he’s talking to and straight at me.

  With a slow smile, he says a quick goodbye and then saunters over to where I stand frozen, adrenaline coursing through my veins as he makes his way over. That smile grows wider the closer he gets, and I can’t seem to catch my breath. He’s wearing a sleeveless shirt, and I can’t stop staring at his muscular arms, imagining what it would feel like if they were wrapped around me.

  “Well, what a surprise to see you in here, Grace.” His voice is low and a chill shoots down my spine as his eyes take me in from head to toe.

  Finally pulling myself out of the bicep-induced haze, I swallow hard and tell him lamely, “Yeah, I was just finishing up a run and popped in for breakfast.” It’s obvious what I was doing, but my mind blanks on any other form of intelligent conversation.

  Bronn looks over my shoulder and nods. “Dani. Can I get one of those blueberry scones and a large coffee?”

  I assume she agrees because his attention returns to me. “You have somewhere to be?”

  I shake my head. “Job doesn’t start for another
week.”

  “Great. Let’s sit.” Just like yesterday, he doesn’t wait for me to agree, just turns on his heel and makes his way to a table in the corner.

  With little choice but to follow, I make my way across the small shop and take the chair opposite of him.

  “You’re used to getting what you want, aren’t you?” I ask after settling into place.

  He lifts an eyebrow and I elaborate. “I mean, you didn’t even wait for me to say, ‘gee, yes, I’d love to have coffee with you.’ You just say, cave-man style, ‘let’s sit’ and then off you go. What if I didn’t want to sit? What if I wanted to stand? What if I wanted to sit outside, not in this dark corner?”

  He leans forward, resting his arms on the faux wood tabletop. “Do you want to stand?” he asks solemnly.

  I stretch my legs in front of me, wincing slightly as they twinge in pain. “Well, no. My legs are already sore from my run.”

  He nods. “Mmhmm. And do you want to sit outside?” he asks, his face still serious.

  “I mean, it is a nice day outside.” I glance around at the cozy shop that’s now empty, save Dani the barista. “But this is okay, too.”

  “So, what you’re telling me is that this table I’ve chosen is fine with you?” His mouth twitches, and I swear he’s fighting off a smile.

  My eyes narrow and I cross my arms over my chest. “I suppose that is what I’m saying.”

  His eyes dart to my chest and he finally gives in and lets out a sharp burst of laughter. “You know, you do that a lot.”

  “What? Bitch about something even though it really isn’t worth bitching about?” I ask, fighting my own smile.

  He gives a quick shake of his head. “No.” Jutting his chin toward me, he says, “You keep crossing your arms over your chest, giving me a teasing shot of your cleavage. And the more often you do it, the harder it’s becoming to not give in and enjoy the view.” His voice drops deliciously low. “And, I’ll be honest with you, Grace, I’m trying real hard to be a gentleman here.”

  The way he keeps saying my name, coupled with the silky smoothness of his voice causes my body to tingle and I squirm under his penetrating stare.