Too Hot to Handle (Romancing the Clarksons #1)(72)

At once, Rita’s older brother just seemed irritated by the whole conversation. “If you love something, let it go. Seems to me that sentiment hasn’t gone out of style just because it got older.”

“No, I don’t suspect it has,” Jasper said slowly. “So what’s a man supposed to do? Take his happiness or watch it from a distance?”

A muscle ticked in Belmont’s cheek. “What if the answer is there is no answer?”

Jasper grabbed two shot glasses and slid them onto the glossy bar. “I think that means we should have ourselves a drink.”

Belmont’s eyes were steady on the glass as Jasper poured. “When Rita was younger—a kid—she didn’t like to watch movies. Even on rainy days when there was nothing else going. She would hide off somewhere while we watched Home Alone or Gremlins. The NeverEnding Story.” Belmont rolled the drink between his palms, unaware that Jasper held his breath, dying for something, anything, about Rita he could think about and replay a million times. “Miriam finally asked her why. Why she refused to watch movies. And she said, ‘Once you watch it, you know how it ends. I want to not know a little longer.’”

More than anything in that moment, Jasper wanted to rewind to that morning and keep Rita in bed an hour longer. Bury his face in her neck and beg her to talk. Talk about any goddamn thing, as long as he could listen. “She had a point.”

The other man brought the glass to his mouth as if he would take a drink, but stopped and set it down, with a barely perceptible air of regret. “I found her in the middle of the night about a year later, watching them all back to back. Crying into a pillow.” He pushed the glass of whiskey away. “She does things in her own time, my sister. You have to let her.”

“I don’t have a year.” Jasper poured his own whiskey into the closest plastic-lined garbage pail. “But thank you for telling me, all the same.”

Neither of them moved when the entrance opened to reveal three Clarksons and their unrelated traveling companion. The one who wore her connection to Belmont like a cloak. Rita was the last to walk in, and Jasper barely prevented himself from vaulting over the bar to sweep her up, hold her close.

When the door blocked out the sun and their eyes met, Rita’s throat worked in an up-and-down movement. “Everyone ready to open this restaurant?”





Chapter Thirty-Three



Jasper moved through the dining area of Buried Treasure straightening chairs, looking at the room from different angles. He wanted to be in the kitchen with Rita, but she was going over preparations and talking about the menu with the chef. The chef who would take over once the Clarksons left tonight. Her husky voice climbed up the walls and drifted down, making itself at home, leaving its mark. Only about one more minute remained on Jasper’s internal countdown clock before he busted into the kitchen and carried the woman out over his shoulder.

Belmont watched him from the front entrance, so still he could pass for a marble column in a museum, but Jasper could hear Rita’s older brother loud and clear. Unfortunately, the same man had confused the shit out of him in the bar with what Jasper supposed was meant to be a pep talk. Pep talk, his ass. Turned out there wasn’t a man around who knew what was to be done about women. So Jasper interpreted Belmont’s dark observance as Hurry the fuck up and pick your option. Be selfish or let go of the woman you love…and let me know how it works out.

That was just dandy, wasn’t it? Being the guinea pig when his happiness was at stake? “I’m getting there,” Jasper grumbled at Belmont, picking up a water glass and thunking it back down. “By the way, you’re acting as the bouncer tonight. Not the house therapist.”

Belmont crossed his arms and leaned back against the door frame. Jasper thought he might have seen the guy crack a smile, but when Sage—he’d finally learned her name—floated into the dining room to lay out silverware, Belmont went back to being a statue. Jasper snorted and checked his watch for the hundredth time in under an hour. The restaurant was set to open at five o’clock and they’d just turned the corner on four. Already the parking lot was full, customers peering in through the windows, talking animatedly amongst themselves in groups. Children were perched on car trunks, teenagers tossed footballs back and forth.

True to their word, the Clarksons had slipped right into various positions, ready to train the skeleton staff of Buried Treasure in the way they’d been taught as they were brought up in the world of fine dining. Belmont would act as a bouncer, keeping out anyone who’d had a little too much to drink next door at the Liquor Hole. Aaron and Jasper were handling the money, Sage and Peggy were training the hostess and waitstaff, while Rita worked in the kitchen. Jasper was damned glad to have them there, although they filled up the small space with their big presence in a way that would make it seem empty when they left.

Jasper swallowed hard as Rita’s voice reached him from the kitchen. A soft, encouraging laugh that reminded him of last night, the way she’d painted his house with a glow. The memory fresh in his head, Jasper crossed the dining room toward the kitchen, well aware that he appeared to be a man on a mission. Goddammit, he was. It was obvious that Rita caught the drift, too, because when Jasper entered the kitchen she dropped her pen, bent down to retrieve it, and bumped her head on the waist-high refrigerator.

When she rose again, rubbing the sore spot, Jasper was already by her side, taking over the task for her. “Ah, beautiful. You okay?”