“Right.” She opened her menu, although she’d had it memorized forever. “I’m from Inter—” As usual, she choked halfway through the word. “Intercourse.”
Luke lowered his menu and eyed her across the table.
She tried not to feel the embarrassment she’d felt as a kid. She might have grown up in a tiny Pennsylvania non-town with the most mortifying name on the planet, but she’d had her own apartment in Hershey for years. The town was small, but at least it had its own post office.
“Ahh, that’s right.” Luke nodded. “Your father ran a farmers market in Lancaster County.”
“One of them.” She glanced across the dining room, hoping the subject would die.
What was it about being around Luke—or any of the Elliotts—that made Natalie feel like a barefoot hillbilly? Was it that big house on the hill where he’d grown up, while she’d been raised forty miles away in the sticks, surrounded by Amish dairy farms?
Or was it because she always seemed to be sporting exceptionally unruly, lion’s-mane hair and jeans and Barbie-pink sneakers whenever she happened to see him?
Maybe it was all of the above, plus the fact that she’d had a crush on him since birth.
“Does he still have a farmers market?” he asked.
“It’s smaller and only one weekend a month. But there’re plenty of others in Lancaster.”
“But yours had the apple cider.”
Natalie couldn’t help smiling. “You remember that?”
“Are you kidding?” He rested his forearms on the table. “We had that stuff year-round. Holden Apple Farms. I can picture the label.”
So could Natalie—way too vividly. “I haven’t had any in ages.”
“Why?”
She gave him a long look. “I had to pick those apples instead of going to parties.”
His grinning eyes crinkled at the edges. “I hear ya.”
While he went back to studying his menu, Natalie stopped to think how, in the last ten minutes, they’d exchanged more words than they ever had. Definitely more than during those dimly-lit moments inside the boathouse. The memory made the hair at the back of her neck stand up.
Luke chuckled.
“Does your entrée page have a comic section mine doesn’t?” she asked.
“I forgot how huge bologna is around here. I know it’s an Amish thing, but I never liked it, even as a kid.”
Natalie crinkled her nose. “Me neither, but the tourists expect it. That and chocolate-covered everything.”
“Of course.” He smiled again, all broad and manly, and right at her. Jeepers. “So, you mentioned the med center. You didn’t go into the family business? No farming?”
“No farming. But I didn’t stray far.” She draped a napkin over her lap. “I work at the Hershey factory.”
“And at the med center? How do you swing that?”
“That is a long story.” She lifted her water glass and took a drink, not wanting to get into the nitty-gritty of her upcoming research trial. Not that she didn’t want to shout her excitement from the rooftops, but for someone who didn’t know her family history, the root of this project was personal.
Having come from a perfect family, Luke wouldn’t understand, anyway.
“What about you?” she asked. “You didn’t follow in your father’s footsteps, either.”
“No, I did not.” He took a sip of his own drink.
The Elliotts were easily the wealthiest non-chocolate-connected family in Hershey. Mr. Elliott ran one of the most successful software companies outside Silicon Valley, with three offices in Manhattan and a tiny one in Hershey. She admired that Luke had gone his own way, instead of the big corporate route like the other Elliotts.
“Last I heard, it was music,” Natalie said.
Luke’s eyebrows arched and he lowered his glass. “Where did you hear that?”
“You know Hershey. The grapevine isn’t particularly accurate, but there’s always plenty of information.”
“That I do remember.” He ran a finger along the rim of his glass. “I could never give up music. It’s my first love. Tough to get over your first love.”
Sure is, Natalie thought, looking away from him. At least not without a whole lot of work, years apart, and mucho Kit Kat bars.
During their senior year, Luke was never more than an arm’s length from his guitar. He was an acoustic guy, stripping down rock songs; Ed Sheeran before Ed Sheeran existed. To Natalie, Luke’s cool style stood out.
“It’s tough to make a living at music,” he added. “My father saw to it I had something to fall back on.”
Unfortunately, Natalie suspected this about Luke Elliott, too. How nice it must be to have a cushy inheritance so you could cross the country with a guitar on your back. She tried not to feel envious.
Roy appeared to take their orders. “What do you recommend?” Luke asked Natalie.
“Anything but bologna,” they said together, then looked at each other, laughed, then fell silent.
Luke held eye contact for a good three seconds longer than was socially acceptable for two old “non-friends,” causing Natalie’s cheeks to flush and the back of her neck to tingle. She knew she’d be in full-blown blushing mode if she didn’t break the silence quickly.
She scooted up in her seat, reached over, and pointed to the center of Luke’s menu. “You look like a beef man,” she said, crossing her legs. “You’ll find nothing better than the filet.”
“A beef man? I can’t wait to hear why you think that,” Luke said, right as Natalie felt his foot slide against hers under the table.
Luke’s eyes couldn’t move from the woman sitting across from him. He wasn’t sure if he was pathetically out of practice, or if he’d just accidentally hit on Natalie Holden.
Why did he feel the need to stretch out just as she moved?
When he’d spotted the curvy blonde with the big eyes waiting by the hostess station, he hadn’t recognized her. But when she’d called him by name, something flickered inside his brain, the shred of a memory from a million years ago.
Natalie Holden.
Until he’d pictured the label on the apple cider, he hadn’t remembered her last name— Hell, he’d even gotten her first name wrong. In the past decade, the woman hadn’t so much as crossed his mind. She’d seldom crossed his mind in high school, either.
Why was that? Five feet away from him now, with that cute little button nose and bright smile, she was zigzagging all over his mind.
As he continued to pretend to read the menu, he felt her large, long-lashed eyes on him, but he chose not to look up. It had been two years since the divorce. There’d been lonely nights and accommodating women, but Luke was miles away from something more than a friendly dinner with anyone who had even the slightest…potential.
No flirting, not even an accidental game of footsie.
He cleared his throat. “Filet sounds good, but ladies first.”
She seemed to be deciding for an awfully long time for someone who came to this place so frequently she knew the staff by name. “I think I better have a Cobb.”
“Cobb salad for the lady,” he said to the server. “And the filet for me, rare.”
After the server left, Luke finally glanced at Natalie. She hadn’t minded him ordering for her. That was another difference he’d noticed about some city and country women. It used to annoy his ex-wife, Celeste, when he showed the tiniest amount of polite authority. Yes, he was perfectly aware she could order for herself and open her own doors. That wasn’t the point. His father taught him and his brothers better than that, and his mother and sister never expected less.
“So?” he said. “Better?”
“Better what?” She tore off a piece of bread.
“You said you better have a salad.” He pushed the butter dish toward her. “Why?”
“Today at work, we finished the cycle of a test product.”
“Meaning?”
She took a bite and tilted her head
. “I’ve been eating chocolate all day.”
Her straightforward answer made him laugh. “Not a lot of green vegetables in that.”
“Not enough if I want to keep up the sampling and still fit in my clothes.”
Funny, she didn’t give off the impression of being the kind of woman who stressed about what she looked like. Not that she wasn’t attractive— She was. More than that, she seemed comfortable in her skin.
With that thought, Luke couldn’t keep his gaze from dipping to the healthy triangle of skin exposed by her low-cut V-neck, then a little bit lower. “A balanced diet, yes,” he said after a throat clear and a quick glance up at her face. “All the studies say how important that is. We gotta keep a balance; I’m all about balance.”
And now he was babbling. In front of Natalie Holden. Farmer’s daughter from Intercourse. That quiet sixteen-year-old who used to catch his eye then disappear around a corner before he could say more than hello.
Now she sat across the table, intriguing him.
It was a good thing she was the exact opposite—right down to her blonde hair—of anyone he’d ever been with, starting with his first middle school girlfriend, Misty, and ending with Celeste, his ex. He’d always gravitated toward assertive, polished women, lethally classy, with big, fast-paced lives. Never a dull moment. Those women were the right fit for his own fast-paced lifestyle.
Natalie was good looking, but not his type.
“Balance, right,” she said, while buttering another piece of bread. “Of course, I’m in favor of the scales tipping a little more on the chocolate side.”
“Job security.”
“Exactly.” She slid half the piece of bread into her mouth and pulled back a sunny smile. Smiles like that could only come from the goodness of the country. Back in Philadelphia where he’d lived the past decade, they were few and far between. Or maybe it was that he hadn’t had much to smile about lately.
“How do you deal with the whole job security thing?” Natalie asked when the server returned with their food.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re a starving artist.”
When she reached for the salt, and that deep V-neck started sliding off one shoulder, Luke caught a peek-a-boo glimpse of flesh-colored lace.
“Um, what?” He blinked up at her face.
“I’m just saying, it’s a pretty insecure field.”
Luke had no idea what she was talking about. “I’ve got inner security.”
She laughed and pointed her fork at him. “Bragger.”
He’d never thought of himself as a bragger, but when Natalie said it, it sounded like a compliment. He smiled and shrugged. “I try.”
And so they ate, while watching and giving commentary about a family with five kids who’d taken over the middle of the dining room.
“How often do you play?” Natalie asked.
“Play?” The way she slowly slid her fork out of her mouth and looked at him made Luke’s imagination shoot to one kind of play. Or maybe that was his pent-up mind drifting.
“Your guitar.” She laughed lightly, femininely. “You’re so funny.”
He wasn’t sure what he’d said that caused her to laugh, but he hoped he’d say something funny again. He liked the sound of her laugh, and he liked her smile. She had a dimple on her cheek he’d never noticed. And a lacy bra strap he couldn’t help but notice.
Damn. Natalie Holden is sexy as hell.
Her brown eyes blinked at him. “You were telling me where you play guitar?”
“Ah.” He wiped his mouth on a napkin. “There’s a coffee shop in Philly that’s forced to allow anyone open-mike access Thursday nights. They have no choice, even if I drive customers away.”
She batted the air between them, as if his last sentence had been absurd. “I’m sure you pack the place.”
“Not even.”
“You have a beautiful voice.” Their gazes locked, then she blinked hard, wiped her mouth like she was wiping away her smile, and looked down at her plate, spearing the salad. “I mean, you did in high school.”
“You heard me play back then? I had no idea you were a fan. Do you want my autograph?” He couldn’t help grinning. “I’ll sign it wherever you want.”
He was flirting, and it wasn’t accidental. He liked watching how her cheeks turned pink, and sometimes when she smiled, she twirled her hair around a finger.
“I wasn’t a fan,” she said.
He chucked into his fist. “Don’t break it to me gently.”
“I mean, I wasn’t one of those girls.” She rolled her eyes. “The ones who followed you around and went to all your concerts.”
“I didn’t have concerts.”
She forked a cherry tomato on her place. “We didn’t go to the same high school, but I know you played your guitar at assemblies.”
“Hershey has a superior music program. Two choirs and three bands.”
“Ah, I see.” She toyed with the stem of her glass. “Which were you in? Band or choir?”
“Uh, neither,” he admitted, narrowing his eyes at her playfully, which caused her to lift a tiny smile. No dimple appearance yet.
“And yet they asked you to perform anyway.”
He grinned. “Okay. I guess I was kind of a spotlight hog back then.”
“You mean, inner security.”
His felt his smile broaden at the same time hers did. “That makes me sound less like a cocky jerk, thank you.”
Natalie took another bite of salad. “I heard you play at Philip Arthur a few times.”
“The ice cream shop?” He had a flashback. The school assemblies had been one thing—his buddies were there and whoever his girlfriend was at the time. Plenty of friendly support. But Phillip Arthur was public. Not even his mother could clap loudly enough when that party room fell silent.
“You were great.”
Luke’s seventeen-year-old self felt the warmth of gratitude. “Really?”
“You sound surprised.”
“No one listened to me back then.”
“I was listening.” Her eyes lingered on his for a moment, then she glanced away, suddenly fascinated by a huge orange clock on the wall.
“Maybe I could play for you again. How about tomorrow night?”
Damn. He’d done it.
But how could he not? She was incredibly cute—no denying that, and she made him laugh. She was open and enchanting, yet with something mysterious and held back. It made the academic in him curious, and the rule-follower forgetful.
But Natalie didn’t reply, didn’t even look at him as a few long moments ticked by. His “inner security” was about to take a hit.
“I’m free tomorrow,” she finally said, sliding her gaze to his. “Or maybe…”
“Maybe?”
She tugged a strand of her long blonde hair. “Do you have your guitar with you now?”
Warmth—that had nothing to do with teenage gratitude—gathered in Luke’s chest like tropical storm clouds. “It’s in my car,” he said. “Should we…” He made a check motion in the air with one finger.
When she smiled, not only did her dimple show, but her whole face lit up.
It had been a while, but Luke felt lit-up, too. She might not be his type, but Natalie sure as hell could distract him from stressing about work for a while.
His mind skipped from strumming his guitar for her to strumming his fingers across her cheek then into her hair, down her…
Suddenly, he had to keep his mind as well as his hands occupied. “Enough about me. We’re here for you. A toast.” He held up his half-empty glass. “Though it’s belated, sorry.”
“I appreciate the thought.” She tilted her glass toward his.
“Here’s to…wait, you haven’t told me what we’re celebrating.”
“A research project I put together finally got funding for a pre-clinical trial,” she said. Luke caught the appealing twinkle of pride in her eyes. “We start next week.”
&nb
sp; “Congratulations. What kind of research?”
“I guess you’d call it a supplement. In layman’s terms, the idea is to insert my serum into chocolate and gauge its stimulants on the brain.”
Huh. That sounds vaguely fam—
The glass in his hand slipped an inch. “What control group?”
“Teenagers suffering from depression. I was contacted a few weeks ago that we were awarded a seed grant. It won’t be enough for phase two, but it’s a start. I didn’t find out until today that the foundation giving us the grant booked the lab for next week. It’s either now or they’ll give the money to someone else.”
Luke felt himself nod stiffly.
“Anyway, we’re a pretty unorthodox team. Just me, another chemist from Hershey, two medical interns from the university, and…” She paused to roll her eyes. “Apparently the NIH is sending a microbiologist to proctor the whole thing. Like the feds want to cover their asses before approving a grant—which I get, but it’s a pain. The proctor’s probably some new-age health flunky they dug up.”
Before unhinging his jaw, he took a breath, then calmly rested his palms on the table. “Flunky?” he repeated. “Why do you say that?”
“For one thing, I don’t think it’s common for the National Institutes of Health to bother proctoring tiny projects like ours. It puts the spotlight directly on us, and I’m already under enough pressure. But it’s as though the guy lobbied to be added to the team, like he has a grudge against the project.” She shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe he’s not a flunky, but a vegan who’s never had a bite of chocolate his whole life.”
“Or maybe he’s someone who champions healthy living.”
“Yeah.” She snorted. “Like I said, new-age.”
If that snort hadn’t been so adorable, Luke might’ve been insulted. “First of all, my specialty in holistic medicine for mood disorders makes me more than qualified,” he said. “Second, the NIH promotes the absolute importance of proper diet, especially in those whose brains are still developing and susceptible to foreign stimuli.”
Natalie was staring at him, her glass still outstretched in mid-toast.
“And third, I’m not a vegan.”
Kissing Her Crush Page 2