That Secret Crush (Getting Lucky #3)(88)

I step into the store, which boasts a small but diverse range of groceries if you need something quick and can’t make it up to Pottsmouth. I head to the back, knowing exactly where to look for the man I’m searching out.

Standing by the ice cream case, stocking his homemade ice cream, is Oliver—handsome as ever, with a bit of mystery behind those dark eyes of his. I wave as I approach. He smiles and closes the cooler door. When I reach him, he pulls me into a hug. “Hey, what are you doing here?”

“You said you made blueberry-buckle ice cream. I’m going to need some of that.”

“You know I don’t start selling it until five o’clock sharp.”

“Can’t you make an exception for me?”

He looks toward the cooler, considering. “I don’t know. You didn’t let me pay for dinner the other night. I’m still kind of mad about that.”

“Stop,” I say, pushing his shoulder. “You know—”

“What’s going on here?” a voice asks. There’s curiosity in that voice but an edge too. I don’t have to turn around to know exactly who it is.

Reid.

Plastering on the same fake smile I’ve learned to keep on my face whenever I’m around him, I turn. “Oh hey, Reid. How are you?”

He looks between me and Oliver, blue eyes keen. “Fine.” He wiggles his finger back and forth. “You two look chummy.”

Not even being subtle about it.

“What do you want, Reid?”

“Besides a word? Nothing else.” He nods toward the restaurant. “Have a second to chat?”

I glance down at my watch and wince. “Not really, just stopping to get some of the ice cream Oliver was telling me about, and then I’m on my way.”

“It’s not five yet.”

“He’s making an exception for me.” I give Oliver a wink as he reaches in and hands me a fresh pint of blueberry-buckle ice cream.

“Want to make an exception for me too?” Reid asks, batting his eyelashes.

Staring blankly at Reid, Oliver answers with one word: “No.”

Reid’s face falls flat, and then his eyes narrow, issuing a silent warning.

Needing to break the tension building between all of us, I say, “Okay, Reid, bye.”

“What?” His brows shoot up to his hairline. “Are you dismissing me?”

“Yeah, I was having a private conversation with Oliver. So if you could leave us alone, that would be nice.”

The corner of his jaw pulses right before he spins on his heel and stomps away, basket of groceries in hand. When he’s out of earshot, Oliver leans down toward my ear and says, “That was uncomfortable.”

I turn back toward him, feeling bad he got mixed up in that. “He’s going through things.”

“Does he think we’re dating?”

“Probably.” I chuckle; I can’t help it. “Apparently, he’s been running around town trying to figure out who I’m going out with, and it looks like you’ve just become his prime suspect. He’s gonna be so mad when he realizes we’re just friends.”

“He’s still so hung up on you.”

“Yeah, I know.” I sigh. “It’s a shame that he ruined it.”

“There’s no second chance for him?”

I glance toward where Reid walked off. “I really don’t know at this point.”



I was expecting a good amount of applications to work at the restaurant—but not this many. Holy cow, a lot of people want to be a part of Knight and Port, and I don’t blame them. The buzz around town about the restaurant has been absolutely amazing. The restaurant committee approved the menu, which is an important step, especially in a small town. No one ever wants to step on anyone’s toes, so to see the overwhelming support for what the boys created is a huge win.

Now to hire some people.

Two weeks out. Interviews have been conducted, and now I have to make the final decision. Mr. Knightly had a few candidates he really wanted to hire, the boys picked a couple of chefs to help out in the kitchen, and now I have to fill in the holes.

On Friday, Eric and Reid are making all the new hires a buffet of the entire menu so they can test everything and know how to talk about it with customers. Since the kitchen isn’t quite done, Mr. Knightly said he would hold a cookout at his house as a celebration for Knight and Port. I stare at the mountain of applications on the kitchen counter, knowing I only have a few days to make some decisions.

I’m shuffling through some applications as my apartment door opens. Expecting Eric, I say, “Please tell me you got the orange chicken.”

“I didn’t, but I’m sure hoping Eric did.”

Still staring at the applications, I try not to let myself get excited at the sound of his voice. “What are you doing here, Reid?”

“Such a nice greeting.” He shuts the door behind him and takes a seat at the table with me. When I still don’t look at him, he lifts my chin, forcing my gaze to his and creating a crack in my usual confident veneer. I miss lying in bed with him and staring into those eyes. I miss the little jokes, the teasing, the command he held when buried deep inside of me.

I miss all of him.

He’s wearing his classic worn jeans and a tight black shirt that clings to the boulders of his arms, and his hair is styled into an almost fauxhawk. Dangerous and compelling, his self-confidence in this moment has me light headed.