Take a Chance on Me(5)

She was such a cute little thing. Petite and small boned, she looked as though she might float away in that huge dress.

“I like to keep my business plan simple, catering to bikers and alcoholics.”

Once again, she glanced around. “Mission accomplished. Although I don’t see any bikers.”

“There’s a festival over in Shiloh.”

Auburn brows drew together. “And I’m where, exactly?”

“Revival, Illinois, population 2,583.” He’d recognized the city on her the second she’d walked through the door. “You’re about four hundred miles south of Chicago. How long have you been driving, anyway?”

“Since about twelve-thirty.”

He calculated the math, scratching his temple. “What exactly have you been doing?”

Averting her gaze, she stared down at the bowl of pretzels as though they held the answer to life’s mysteries. “I don’t really know. Driving, I guess. Before my car broke down, things are kind of a blur.”

Her wheels clearly spinning, she took another pretzel and toyed with it, clicking it on the bar.

He kept quiet, taking another sip of beer. Over the bar, the television was tuned to ESPN. The barflies watched, nursing their drinks of choice, only casting occasional looks of puzzlement in the bride’s direction. Mitch glanced over at his bartender, Sam. Ignoring the paperwork sitting in front of him, he watched Maddie with avid interest, raising one brow at Mitch in question.


He shrugged. He had no idea what he was doing, but he wanted to keep talking to her.

Finally, Maddie smoothed down her veil. “Hey, how’d you know I was from Chicago?”

“You’re not from here.” He scrubbed a hand over his scruff, realizing he’d forgotten to shave today. “I lived there until about three years ago. I guessed.”

Slim, perfectly manicured white-tipped nails touched her parted lips before flitting away. Slowly, she craned her neck, surveying the sorry state of the bar, then turned to him once again.

“Why’d you move here?” She asked the question as though Mitch might be touched in the head.

He understood: it wasn’t too long ago that he’d have reacted the same way. “Why not?”

Her forehead crinkled as though concentrating very hard. “Do you have family here?”

It was a normal question, the obvious question, but his gut tightened. He never spoke of his past, let alone invited questions he didn’t want to answer. “I have ties, but no family.”

“What’s that mean?”

A muscle jumped in his jaw. “My grandmother grew up here, but my family lives in Chicago.”

“Why did you move here?”

“I spent summers here when I was a kid. I know people, and it seemed as good of a place as any.”

She popped a pretzel in her mouth, chewing slowly. “Did you own a bar in Chicago, too?”

“No.” The word flat. Why had he mentioned Chicago? A tactical error on his part, forgetting she wasn’t in a hurry to discuss her life any more than he was.

She picked up a sparkly piece of fabric and toyed with the beads. “What’d you do?”

He shrugged. If he started evading now, she’d only make a bigger deal of it, and besides, it didn’t matter. It wasn’t a secret. He just didn’t talk about it. “I was a lawyer.”

Surprise flickered over her face. “Really?”

“Really.”

“But . . .” She pointed to his arm. “You have a tattoo.”

Laughing, his muscles eased. “Princess, haven’t you heard? Lawyers are deviants.”

“Maybe.” Her lips curved, her gaze resting on the black scrolls over his biceps. “But I’m pretty sure none of the lawyers I deal with are hiding tats under their suits.”

Happy to change the subject, he leaned over the bar, close enough to breathe in her honey-and-almond scent. An urge to lick her came over him. What would that smooth, pale flesh taste like on his tongue?

“And what kind of lawyers have you known, Maddie Donovan?” His voice sounded low, with a hint of seduction threaded through it. He really should be ashamed of himself—after all, she was in a wedding dress. But he’d stopped caring about that detail as soon as she’d started arguing with him about pretzels.

Wide eyes met his. Blinking, she cleared her throat, then squared her shoulders. “Um, is something going on here?”

The smile twitched on his lips, and he let it spread. “Maybe.”

She placed a hand on her stomach, her waist appearing impossibly small in the tight, corseted top. “This is making me nervous.”

“Good nervous or bad nervous?” he asked, leaving the past where it belonged to enjoy the unexpected surprise of her wandering into this shithole bar.

“I’m not sure yet. It’s been a while.” She propped her chin on her palm, auburn curls falling over one shoulder. Even in the dim, yellow-tinted light, her hair shimmered with a hundred different strands of red. She wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous, but there was something absolutely breathtaking about her.

He wanted closer. The question was, would he work on those nerves or take it easy on her? Maybe a little nudge. “I do like to make pretty girls nervous.”

She gave him a delicate little snort. “I bet that line works all the time, doesn’t it?”