“Twice in one day,” she said, a hint of sparkle in her eyes.
“I like your donuts.” God, for the second time that day he wished the floor would swallow him whole.
“I make sandwiches, too,” she said, “if you don’t want a sugar coma. I was about to make myself a chicken salad sandwich. Care to join me?”
His heart stuttered. Had she just…? “Sure,” he blurted. “I’d like that.”
“Do you like a lot of mayo?”
He nodded. “Sure,” he repeated.
“Sweet or tangy relish?”
“Tangy,” he said, glad he got the word out without his tongue garbling it.
She lifted her chin toward a table in the corner. “Go have a seat. I’ll bring some tea. Sweet?”
“Of course,” he mumbled.
She laughed and turned away. His shoulders slumped, feeling as though he’d better get seated and get his shit together, because he was about to have to face her across a table, and who knew how that would go when he wasn’t ready and hadn’t practiced in his head what he’d say to her when he had her to himself other than, “Can I kiss you?”
* * *
Laura moved around behind the counter, gathering what she needed to make the sandwiches. She’d already prepared chicken salad and just needed to add a bit of mayo and the relish. While she worked, she tried her best to tamp down her excitement.
He’d said yes! Okay, so this wasn’t exactly a date or anything like it, but she’d had her eye on him for a few weeks now. She knew he was one of the bounty hunters in the new agency that was building an office on the edge of town. From Nadine, she’d learned that most of them were former military types, which made sense when you looked at them. Most of the men, and one of the women, looked extremely fit and carried themselves with the confidence only battle-tested people could. While she’d met all of them over the course of the last month, seeing as how they had a daily donut run, the one she’d been most impressed with was sitting at her table now.
Preacher, he’d called himself. Likely it was one of those nicknames the men in his unit had given him. But why Preacher? Was it because anyone he faced in battle called out to God? She chuckled at her own thought. She was building him up in her mind to be this heroic figure, and he was likely an average Joe—with a god-like physique. The man didn’t have an ounce of fat on his hard body.
That thought sank like a lead weight. What would a man who took such great care of his body want with a woman who liked her own donuts a little too much?
Well, she had him for the next little while. She’d make the most of the moment.
She brought the sandwiches, a bowl of kettle-fried chips, and two tall glasses of ice tea to the table.
He stood as she approached and reached to take the tray.
She let him, feeling like her femininity went into hyperdrive as she stood beside him and noted his height and the breadth of his shoulders. When he held out her chair for her to take her seat, she smiled. “Someone taught you manners.”
“My mother was big on that,” he said, then closed his lips. He took his seat across from her and waited as she handed him his plate and set the bowl in the center of the table, the glasses beside their settings. She reached behind her to stow the tray on an empty table then faced him again, catching his glance as it whipped up from her breasts to her face again. So, maybe he didn’t mind a little extra padding in certain places…
His gaze went to his sandwich, and he picked it up, taking a deep bite then slowly chewing.
She did the same, only a smaller bite because she hoped to prolong their conversation. “You’re one of the bounty hunters. How do you like the work?”
He swallowed and gave her a nod. “I like it fine.”
She waited for a moment, expecting a little more clarification, but when it didn’t come, she smiled and glanced around her shop. “I love what I do, too.”
He set down his sandwich. When his gaze rose, she noted that sitting this close she could see gold flecks intermixed with the brown of his irises. She liked his eyes. Liked how he looked at her. Liked that he was taking in everything.
His gaze slipped to her cheek, and she raised a hand. “Did I get sugar on my cheek again? I’m always such a mess when I bake.”
He reached out slowly, like he was waiting for her pull away, but when she didn’t, he smoothed his thumb over her cheek then took it to his mouth and licked the pad. “Glaze, I think,” he said, his eyes looking somehow smokier now.
She felt warmth in her cheeks and between her legs. “Thanks,” she said, suddenly shy. She’d liked the scrape of his thumb on her skin, and now she was imagining how it would feel on her breasts.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
His voice was pitched low and held a hint of rasp. Something else she liked about him to go along with his short dark hair and the beard that was the perfect length—not so short it looked like some Hollywood actor’s attempt at chic scruff, and not so long it was bushy. She had a distinct preference for just his length of beard, and now she was thinking about how it would feel against her intimate parts.
She met his gaze. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable. I’ve just…” She paused and wrinkled her nose. “I’ve just been trying to think of a way to see if you’d like to…have one of my sandwiches…with me. And you said yes.” She felt foolish that she’d admitted that. Maybe she’d just scared him off for good, but as she watched his mouth twitch and then stretch, she relaxed.
“I’ve been trying to think of the perfect line to get you to go out with me.”
“Really?” Pleasure sent more heat into her face.
“Yeah.” He relaxed in his chair. “Let’s start over. I’m Dylan Priestley,” he said, reaching across the table.
“Ah. I get the Preacher bit now. I’m Laura Pinchot.”
He held her hand a moment longer than socially acceptable, just long enough she felt his warmth and strength. When he released her, her palm tingled.
“So, will you?”
She blinked.
“Go out with me?”
“Of course,” she said. Of course? She couldn’t have been more enthusiastic. Did he think she was desperate?
He shrugged. “I don’t know what people do around here…on dates.”
“Depends on whether you like the out of doors or staying in. We do have a couple of restaurants—nothing fancy, which is actually how I like it. Or… I could cook you a meal.”
He frowned. “Seems like that’s what you do all day.”
“Baking. I bake here, but I also love to cook. Do you like pasta?”
“Love it,” he said, rubbing his belly.
“Do you like—”
“I like everything. I’m not picky and don’t have any weird food allergies. Whatever you want to make, I’ll eat and be grateful for it.”
They fell silent for a few moments, eating their sandwiches, but now, there was an ease between them that hadn’t been there before. She felt his gaze on her, and she grew comfortable beneath it. He seemed to like what he saw, so she’d stop worrying that maybe she didn’t have the perfect body. Her body suited her perfectly.