The Firefly Cafe (Billionaire Brothers, #1)(11)

Giving her a nod, Dylan headed toward the back of the restaurant, and Penny sent up a silent prayer that she was doing the right thing.

When she dropped her gaze back to Greta’s expectant stare, Penny pressed her lips together. “Don’t make a fuss. He’s just a man.”

A man who was about to have a heart-to-heart with her son.

“Riiiiight.” Greta’s dark eyes snapped with curiosity. “And a Ferrari is just a car.”

Penny leaned her hip on the edge of the booth, lowering her voice. “He drives a motorcycle.”

Greta moaned. “You’re killing me, here. If you try to tell me Dylan Workman gives you no special feelings in your lady parts, I’ll have to call Dr. Fairfax to check you for a pulse.”

“He’s hot, okay, yes,” Penny admitted, frustrated and on edge. “But it’s not that simple.”

“It could be,” Greta said hopefully. “Dylan could be exactly what you need to break your dry spell.”


Penny laughed, but it sounded harsh to her own ears. “Dry spell. More like total lockdown. Ever since Trent, the instant I get close to a man, all I can think about is…”

She broke off, swallowing back the tinny taste of adrenaline and fear, the instinctive flinch.

“I know, sweetie.” Greta’s strong-boned face went soft with understanding. “What happened to you was awful, scarring—and I can’t imagine how hard it is to trust another man, after that. But Dylan isn’t Trent.”

“You’re such a closet romantic,” Penny said, shaking her head. But the comparison helped. Dylan wasn’t Trent. For one thing, Trent had never shown much interest in spending time with his own son—and here Dylan was, attempting to mend a fence he wasn’t even responsible for breaking.

Dylan was … unlike any man she’d ever known, actually.

“Yes, I have a slight romantic streak,” Greta hissed, glancing around with alarm. “Don’t spread it around, I have a reputation to uphold. My brothers would never let me hear the end of it.”

Breathing in a deep, calming breath, Penny said, “Want to hear something romantic? Dylan kissed me last night.”

Greta gasped. “Girl! You are docked at least a hundred friend points for not leading with that information. How was it?”

A shiver of remembered passion gripped Penny for a delicious heartbeat. “Wonderful, while it lasted—which is basically the story of our whole potential relationship. I mean, what relationship? He’s only here on the island until he finishes the work on the house! I’d be crazy to open myself up to the pain of being left behind.”

“Sweetie. I say this with love and understanding, but you are one of the most closed-off people I’ve ever known. Your life motto is No Second Chances. If this guy makes you want to take a chance and open up, even just long enough to experience a little joy and pleasure?” Greta cocked her head. “You’d be crazy not to get with him. Yes, for however long it lasts.”

Before Penny could argue or agree—she honestly wasn’t sure which—Greta’s gaze snagged on something behind them.

Glancing over her shoulder, Penny saw that Dylan had installed himself in the corner booth, across from Matt. A weird pang hit her heart at the sight of their two dark heads leaned close across the table, the expression on Dylan’s face as serious and intent as if he were speaking to the president of the United States.

“Maybe I should go over there. Should I?” Penny fretted. “Not that it would help. Matt hasn’t said three words to me all day. I had to threaten to withhold his comic book allowance to get him to come with me to the restaurant today, but I wanted to keep an eye on him.”

Greta’s dark blond brows lifted almost to her hairline. “If you want to keep an eye on him, you better look quick. They’re leaving. Together.”

“What?”

Penny whirled around in time to catch a final glimpse of Matt preceding Dylan out the back door of the café. The back door led out onto a seaside patio deck, usually empty during the heat of the summer noon. What on earth was going on?

“I’d better go check on them, make sure Matty’s okay,” Penny said.

“Not so fast,” Greta muttered, jerking her head toward the kitchen where a tall, bald man was glaring balefully at them over a pile of dishes waiting to be served. Chef/owner of the Firefly Café, Alonzo Chappelle was a marshmallow to work for—most of the time.

Rushing up to the pass-through window, Penny apologized profusely as she gathered up the rapidly cooling plates of food. “I’m so sorry, Lonz! I’ll straighten these orders out, I promise. And then—can I maybe take my afternoon break? Please! I have to talk to Matty.”

Lonz scowled, but waved her away. “Sure, for Matty. Go, go.”

Balancing orders for five different tables on her arms, Penny went, as carefully but as quickly as she could.

Her mother senses, which had been tingling for months, were suddenly clamoring like a fire alarm. Something had been up with Matty for a long time, something more than the regular stresses of adolescence, but this felt different.

Her son was in trouble.

But no alarm on the planet could’ve been warning enough for what Penny saw when she finally squared away her tables and slipped out the back door.