Tinsel (Lark Cove #4)(15)

He’d heard enough in the kitchen to know that what I’d really needed was a reprieve.

So there had been no more lessons. No more cleaning instructions. No more tips on how to best deliver drinks. He’d just let me sit on this rickety stool and rest my weary bones.

God, I wanted a bed.

I’d planned on moving my things into the boathouse tonight, but that was before Thea and Logan had surprised me with their vacation. Now I was glad I didn’t have to pack up my things. I could just go back and crash in their guest bedroom.

I wasn’t even going to wash my face.

Yet as exhausted as I was, as easy as it would have been to lay my head in my arms and fall asleep on the bar, my eyes were wide open. And they were locked on Dakota.

He really was something incredible. I’d seen some rather handsome Native American men before in the city. There was an Apache gentleman I’d met last year who was becoming a go-to model for some top fashion designers.

That man had the same black hair and high cheekbones as Dakota. He was absolutely beautiful, but he lacked Dakota’s utter brilliance. The model didn’t have the same depth to his eyes, the endless black orbs that stripped you bare. He didn’t convey the same level of intimidation that was terrifying and dangerously sexy.

Watching Dakota work over the last hour had been torture. The fit of his jeans, the way his shirt strained across his biceps and chest as he moved were nothing short of erotic.

I so badly wanted to see more of his tanned, smooth skin. Just the thought of raking my nails across his bare back sent a shiver racing down my spine.

“You done?” Dakota asked, pointing to my half-empty cocktail.

“Yes, thank you.” I shuffled my empty plate and crumpled napkin, hoping Dakota hadn’t noticed me staring.

He swiped up my glass, my plate and the pizza pan, taking them all to the kitchen. I listened to the sound of him rinsing the dishes and putting them in the washer, glad to have a moment to compose myself.

And chastise myself.

Same old tricks. Wasn’t this how it always happened? I’d be feeling lonely or sad or confused, and within a week, I’d find a man who’d give me some attention. I’d find someone who would provide a distraction, like I had with both of my ex-husbands.

My first husband, Kevin, had been working as a stockbroker on Wall Street. We’d met through a mutual acquaintance my senior year in college, just a month before graduation.

At the time, I’d felt so much pressure to find a job and put my interior design degree to use. Everyone had been waiting, expecting me to make these monumental life decisions. All of my classmates had accepted offers and were planning the next stages of their lives.

But me? I hadn’t planned a thing. All I’d wanted was to get my diploma and never talk about the differences between artistic, bohemian and retro styles again.

So when Kevin had come along, he’d provided the excuse I’d been searching for. We’d fallen in love, fast and hard—at least, I had with him. He’d fallen in love with my last name. But when he’d asked me to marry him, I’d accepted immediately.

From that point on, I hadn’t had to answer questions about my future. I’d told everyone I’d start my career after the wedding.

Start to finish, my relationship with Kevin had lasted only nineteen months before I’d come home early one day from a yoga class and found him fucking our neighbor from three doors down on the kitchen counter.

I’d recovered from that broken heart by marrying Bryson, the artist, four months later. My union to him ended just shy of our three-year anniversary, when I discovered he’d been stealing jewelry and trinkets from my parents’ and grandparents’ estates at our regular dinners. He’d been pawning them to help pay his mistress’s rent.

The ink on my divorce papers had barely dried when I’d met Jay.

Here I was again, recovering from a breakup, my self-image shredded to pieces. The first thing I’d done was latch on to my handsome companion for the next ten days.

When was I going to learn?

One thing I’d figured out from years of watching Jay play poker? All that really mattered was the number of chips in your stack. When it came to my heart, I’d been losing chips for years.

The smart thing to do would be to hoard the few remaining.

But as Dakota came striding out of the kitchen, once again holding a white towel in his long fingers, those chips were his for the taking.

Maybe he was different. Maybe I was just as foolish as ever. Maybe people didn’t really change.

All I knew was that if he asked, I’d be all in.





“Like this?” Sofia gingerly crushed the mixture of sugar, lime, mint and huckleberries with the cocktail muddler in the bottom of a glass.

“Yep. Get after it.”

She gripped the wooden tool harder as she dug in, smashing the remaining berries. “Okay, now what?”

“Fill it with ice. Shot of rum. Club soda to the top. Then stir.”

She nodded, her eyebrows set in a focused line as she concentrated on the glass and followed my instructions exactly.

I’d been teaching her how to make drinks all afternoon.

We’d started with the easy stuff, pouring draft beers and making two-ingredient drinks. But when she’d mastered those quickly, I’d started giving her more complicated cocktails. She whipped them out like she’d been working behind the bar for months, not a day.