Too Hot to Handle (Romancing the Clarksons #1)(37)

His laughter was short. “Maybe at one time. Or maybe it was just a place for my friends to hang out. It’s hard to remember what was going through my mind at twenty-one.” He scrubbed a hand along his jaw. “I sure as hell didn’t realize what a mockery I was making out of my grandfather’s life’s work. He probably thought I would do something meaningful with the money he’d set aside. Turns out he was wrong.”

Rita gathered that he was referring to an inheritance of some kind. An inheritance he’d used to purchase the Liquor Hole. “Yeah, but you’re doing something about it now, aren’t you? Opening the eatery?”

“Yeah.” He nodded once, shifting in his chair. “Yeah. I’m hoping it’s not too late.”

“It’s not,” Rita said, surprised by her own vehemence. She actually had to restrain herself from reaching across the table and—what? Grabbing his face or hair or something? It wasn’t clear, but it felt imperative that she convince him he would succeed. The eatery would be a success, if he just focused all his energy on it.

But wouldn’t that make her the ultimate hypocrite? Even before her catastrophic dinner service her first night back from the reality show, she’d been on a path to bludgeoning the restaurant’s success to death. Success her mother had all but ensured. What business did she have trying to convince Jasper his outcome would be any different?

“If you’re doing it out of guilt or…maybe you want to sleep better at night knowing your grandfather approves…it won’t work.” Despite her attempt to drown them with wine, the words climbed up her throat and dove out. “Open the eatery because you want to, not because you think it will make someone else happy.”

Jasper rotated his beer bottle, those discerning blue eyes fastened on Rita. “You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”

“I am.” Why was she telling him this? God, he would think her twice as pitiful, knowing how many advantages she’d gotten but still failed. “My mother was Miriam Clarkson.”

And, yup, even honky-tonk owners from New Mexico recognized the name. “From the Food Channel all those years back? What was the program”—he snapped his fingers—“Miriam’s Main Dish.”

“Got it in one,” Rita said, her lips lifting involuntarily. “She opened Wayfare when it went off the air. We were still mostly teenagers.”

“Rosemary loved that show.” His gaze strayed to the side as if trying to recall something. “She recorded the Christmas dinner special over my VHS of The Goonies. One of my youth’s greatest tragedies.”

“That is truly awful. I feel indirectly responsible.”

“You should feel that way. You owe me a new copy on behalf of your mother.”

They were laughing when the waitress approached to take their orders and refill Rita’s wine. Jasper declined another beer because he was driving, ordering a glass of milk instead. Apparently the catchphrase was true. Milk did do a body good. Fucking great, actually, she amended, remembering the way his abdomen had flexed against her back on the hotel bed.

“What are you smiling about over there?” Jasper asked when the waitress retreated. “Looking real secretive-like.”

God, it was like he already knew. Too bad she wasn’t going to confirm any possible theories. “Nothing, really. It’s just…usually, when I tell people about my mother, they ask a million questions. Did she cook amazing dinners every night of the week? Did she ever just drive us through McDonald’s?” She waited. “You’re not going to ask me any of that, I guess.”

“Not unless it’s going to tell me something about you.”

Ohhh. And the crowd goes wild. Well, technically it was her loins going wild. Not because she was a sucker for sweet one-liners. But because his words felt genuine. He seemed genuine. “It won’t,” she murmured.

“Then let me ask you something different.” She could almost see the wheels cranking in his head, letting off big puffs of steam. So much effort, just for her. “You say I should open the eatery for me, not the town who think I’ll fail, or my grandfather.” He paused awhile. “Who were you cooking for?”

“I’d rather talk about McDonald’s,” Rita said quickly, reaching for her full glass of wine, thankful for the path it burned on the way down. She wasn’t completely blind to the textbook case she appeared to be on the surface. Mother sets high standard. Daughter can’t reach said standard. All very tidy when spelled out, but it didn’t leave room for the gray, patchy areas. So many gray areas. And she certainly wasn’t used to having her issues presented on a silver platter, which accounted for the touch of bite in her voice when she said, “I didn’t realize this date would be so therapeutic.”

Jasper’s head fell forward, briefly, then lifted. “Shit, Rita. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. It’s like I’m trying to cram fifteen dates into one because you could leave any minute.” He shoved a frustrated hand into his already haphazard hair. “That’s not even really it, though. I just want to know something about you no one else knows. And if that isn’t creepy for a first date, I don’t know what is. We haven’t even eaten chicken milanese yet.”

The crowd had gone wild earlier, but it was roaring loud enough now to crumble the whole damn stadium. When was the last time anyone had been so honest with her? He looked so disgusted with himself, when it should have been the opposite. “When I was eight, I wanted to be a detective.” She threw a small laugh up at the ceiling, unable to believe the nonsense she was sharing with him. “I wore sunglasses inside for a month and called myself Gumshoe.”