Frayed (Connections, #4)(17)

She’s serious. I have to hide my laughter at how f*cking cute she is. “Ah . . . those half-truths are easier to tell than lies.”

“Yes. That’s it.” She’s got a glow about her that’s not from the parking lot lights above us. “And, Ben”—her tone drops to a whisper—“I never got to say thank you for changing my tire.” Then she lifts her wrist. “And for the watch.”

“It was no big deal. Glad the watch has come in handy.” I decide to make light of it. I’d helped her out over the summer by changing a flat and giving her my watch when hers was broken. But I’m glad she seems to have appreciated it. I want to kiss her. I want her to come home with me. But I settle on trying to turn the quickie in the prep kitchen into something more and ask, “You hungry?”

“A little.” She smiles with that look of innocence she has about her, and the heat between us is almost unbearable.

I avert my gaze and bob my chin toward the sidewalk. “Come on, I know a great little coffee shop right around the corner with the best homemade pies. We can walk.”

Four & Twenty Blackbirds seems straight from a 1950s sitcom, all decorated in red gingham. And in keeping with the nostalgic theme, the homemade pies taste as if they’ve just come out of Grandma’s oven. The mom-and-pop place is dimly lit, but the carousel of pies is lit up in a way I’ve never noticed.

S’belle rushes over to it and splays her hands across the glass. She points to a slice. “What’s that one?”

I step close enough to whisper in her ear, “Oh, that would be their signature triple-crusted berry pie. I know it well.”

“Triple crust?” Her eyes are wide as she turns to glance back at me and licks her lips. Fuck, that’s hot.

“It’s really good.” I pat my stomach.

From this angle over her shoulder, my eyes go directly to her ample breasts spilling out the top of what I know is a black lacy strapless bra. My cock throbs at the sight—again. She turns her head in time to catch my stare. Her breathing picks up as if she’s reliving things too. I can see it. The light of the case highlights her freckles. I think about the way her eyes drift downward when she talks and how she lets her hair cover her face when she answers me—she’s got a quirky, sassy personality, but there’s also an innocence there.

“What’s that one?” she asks, twisting back toward the case.

“I think that’s the sweet potato pie.”

She wrinkles her nose. “Vegetables should not be put in desserts.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You have an issue with vegetables?”

“I just might,” she says sassily.

A smile tugs at my lips. “Me too.”

She’s flirting with me. I haven’t flirted with a girl in . . . Fuck, I’m not really sure I’ve ever actually flirted, except with her back in college. My pulse is racing and I think it’s time to leave the pie display before I push her up against it. I glance around. Only a few people are sitting at the communal table, so we have our choice of seats.

“Come on. The booth in the front has the best view of the street.”

We sit by the window and I notice her shiver when our thighs touch. I remove my jacket and stand to drape it around her.

“Thank you.” She pulls it closed around her body.

I catch sight of her sniffing it and although I want to bust out laughing, at the same time I find it really endearing and don’t want to ruin the moment, so I keep my mouth shut and glance down at my menu instead.

The waitress doesn’t wait for us to go to the counter to place our order. Instead she comes over to our table. “Haven’t seen you around here in a while,” she says.

“I know. I’ve definitely missed the food.”

“Ruby just left.”

“That’s too bad. I haven’t caught up with her in a while.”

The waitress whose name I don’t know pulls out her small pad of paper. “What are you two having?”

I look across at S’belle and motion for her to go first.

“Coffee with cream and sugar—oh, make it decaffeinated—and whatever pie he’s having.”

The waitress glances over to me. “Coffee, but not that decaf crap, and two slices of the triple-crusted blackberry pie.”

The waitress closes her pad. “Coming right up.”

My eyes lift toward S’belle’s, and a smile crosses her face. “Good choice.”

“Yeah, I’ve been known to make a few.” I grin at her.

A yawn escapes her mouth.

“Am I boring you?”

“No, it’s just been a long day.”

“Well, drinking decaf isn’t going to help that.”

“Yes, it is.”

I give her a questioning look.

“Coffee is coffee.”

Man, this girl is quirky . . . it’s such a turn-on.

The waitress returns with our coffees and I watch as S’belle turns hers into a cup of steamed milk. A few minutes later the pie arrives and we sit happily across from each other drinking coffee and eating pie. Glances swap back and forth and there is no doubt what we’re both thinking about.

She pushes her half-eaten slice of pie in front of her. “I’m so full. That was delicious.”