Too Hot to Handle (Romancing the Clarksons #1)(39)

She did as he asked, humming in her throat as Jasper led her through the small hostess section, into the dining room. It felt more natural than breathing to hook an arm around her middle, drawing her back against him, exhaling into the fragrant skin of her neck. “Okay, here goes.”

Jasper flipped on the lights.

He hadn’t put his lips against her pulse purposefully, but hell. Having them there, feeling her pulse kick up into overdrive as she scanned the dining room? Might have been the best moment of his life. Because someone paying homage to the four walls he’d built, what he’d done inside them, would have been nice. But having undeniable proof that he’d managed to accomplish something worth a damn—now that was priceless. The fact that it came from Rita made it all the sweeter.

When he’d decided to build the addition, he’d only been able to see shapes, colors. No real vision for what the place should look like. So he’d thought of Hurley. How its people were unique—sometimes uniquely crazy—but somehow meshed into a pattern. He’d tried to portray that with mismatched antique furniture, eclectic lighting, different-shaped tables tucked back into quiet corners. To describe it out loud, the dining room would sound like a straight-up disaster, but it somehow flowed together in person. He hadn’t quite planned for every table to have a different theme, but that was the way it had worked out. And knowing he wasn’t the only one who thought so was one hell of a relief.

“Jasper.” She pulled out of his arms and took a few steps into the dining room, running her fingers over one of the chair backs. “Why did you let me think…you said you were just going to open the door and see what happened.”

“That wasn’t a lie. We open two days from now.” He leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms. “After that, it’s up to the town.”

“That’s always the case. In every restaurant.” She looked up at the chandelier fashioned from faux deer antlers. “How much time have you spent putting this together?”

Time had never been a factor since he owned the building free and clear, so he hadn’t kept count, but he wanted Rita to keep looking around, keep talking to him—would he ever get used to that?—so he thought back. “Including the time it took to build, I’d reckon it’s been around eighteen months. I’ve been driving up to Santa Fe on the weekdays, bringing back pieces I liked, going to auctions.” He nodded toward the back. “Kitchen is that way if you’re interested.”

Jasper could only see Rita in profile, but he caught the flare of curiosity in her eyes, even as her shoulders tensed up. “Yes. I am interested…in a minute.” A loud round of laughter drifted through the wall, invading the eatery’s intimacy, but Rita’s lips only twitched. “Smart idea, putting separate entrances. Are you going to serve food at the Liquor Hole, too?”

“No. Just here.”

Rita nodded and continued her slow turn around the room. “I can’t believe this has just been sitting here, like…buried treasure.”

An ache speared Jasper through the chest. “That’s it. That’s the name.”

“What?”

“Buried Treasure.” Trying the name out a few more times under his breath, he pushed off the wall. “All the knickknacks and antiques, you know? One man’s trash…”

“…is another man’s treasure. Wow. It fits.” When they stared at each other too long, Rita ducked her head. “But you should name it. It’s your place.”

Or maybe it had been waiting for Rita to walk through the door, say a few words, and make it real. Make it a possibility instead of just a project. Maybe it wasn’t just his place and that—that—was why he’d dragged his heels opening it. Something had been missing. It seemed obvious that Rita wasn’t ready to hear any of that out loud, however. Apparently they were at the point where she would share intimate details about her life, but not the point where he could attempt to include himself among those details.

Rita broke his stare and headed for the kitchen, Jasper following a moment later. He found her testing the knobs on his oversized stainless-steel range. Nodding in approval over the utensils hanging above the workstation.

“Who’s going to cook here?”

“The only local man with decent experience.” He went to join Rita near the stove, but she’d already moved on to the storage area, the pantry, beyond. “He used to work at a hotel in Gallup and retired a few years back. He’s going to get me up and running, training one of the other local guys to eventually take over.”

Rita nodded, then she was on the move again.

Since flipping on the lights in the restaurant, he could swear they were performing some kind of dance. A dance that kept Rita just out of reach—and he didn’t like it. Something about the restaurant seemed to have done it, though, rather than him. Needing to witness her reaction to every small thing, Jasper found Rita just as she exited the walk-in freezer and could only describe her expression as subdued excitement, with a hint of anxiety.

“You didn’t cut any corners,” Rita murmured. “Everything is where it should be, functionality wise. There’s room to move, to breathe. Lots of ventilation. Anyone would be lucky to work in this kitchen.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Rita shook her head, laughing a little beneath her breath. “Jasper, why don’t you see this place is extraordinary?”