by Box Set
True, he’d misunderstood her anger this morning, but after one look at her exhausted face, the bruising under her eyes, he’d acted. His sister would have called him “being his usual overbearing jackass self.” But he’d been the one to make sure she got to school when their Pops was tomcatting around. He’d stepped up and been a man since he was seven years old.
He acknowledged, briefly, he might come across as bossy and possibly perceived as overbearing, but it had got him and his sister raised and through school and brought him to the success he had in business today. Bottom line—he protected the ones he cared about.
And he cared about what happened to Savannah.
His heart threw in an unexpected beat.
Which made saying the next words difficult because he didn’t want to screw this up.
“Already spoke to Billy-Bob.”
Savannah’s navy eyes widened then narrowed.
He took a step toward her as her anger flooded the room. He held up his hands. “Hear me out. I swung by here this morning at opening time, and the diner was locked. I made a couple of calls to some friends of mine, found out where Billy-Bob lives, and we had a man-to-man sit-down.”
Her face grew red, her eyes narrowed, and a vein in her temple throbbed.
There could even be steam coming out her ears.
“How dare you,” she whispered, in a voice that would crack Kryptonite.
He held her gaze. “It needed to be done.”
“It would have been done by me.” Her voice rose with each word.
“I suspect you’ve had a chat with Billy-Bob many times.” Her mouth slammed shut. “It needed to be done man-to-man. You can’t fix someone who doesn’t want to be fixed; that’s Billy-Bob’s call.” He pushed his hands into his pockets.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked quietly, standing there so damned beautiful it hurt his heart. Vulnerability leaked out of her. It took all he had not to wrap his arms around this proud, beautiful woman and take away her pain.
But he couldn’t.
His reasons for not wanting to get into a relationship were way different than Savannah’s. She’d dreamed of the happy ending. The white picket fence, baking Christmas cookies, kids, and pets were her future. He’d never looked into a woman’s eyes and known she was the one. As far as he was concerned there was no one. For some people, like Savannah, yes. He wanted to believe in her happy ending, but for him he’d never felt that supposed surge of knowing he’d found his girl. What he felt for Savannah was friendship nothing more.
He hoped the third thing he was going to say wouldn’t dump his ass out of the diner, because when Savannah had confessed about her vibrator, he’d known he wanted to be domesticated – with Savannah – for two weeks. The memory of her hazy eyes on him, her cheeks flushed, her nipples begging for his tongue... Seeing it for real – well he’d happily meet his maker holding on to that image.
“One more thing,” he said slowly and right on cue Savannah’s face blanked.
The bell rang, announcing a customer.
“I’ve done all right in my business life.” He glanced around at the diner that he guessed hadn’t been updated since Savannah bought it. She hadn’t changed the name. The whole diner needed to be pulled out of its mid-eighties, boom-box slump and given a facelift.
“Tonight we’re going to write up a business plan.”
She held up her hand.
“Can’t keep a customer waiting.” She walked into the diner and after ten minutes when she didn’t return, Walker walked out to see her shaking hands with a man in a suit who collected papers off the table.
The suit nodded to him once then walked out the door.
“All good?” he asked, his eyes following the suit, who got into a decent car. The logo was unreadable on the side of the car.
“Yeah, all good.” She smiled at him a little sadly. “I don’t need a business plan because I’m selling.”
“Selling?” he said slowly.
She twisted her hands together. “Yeah, there’s nothing holding me here now that Miss Hattie’s moved to Florida. There’s barely a relationship with my father – he’s more about meetings and agendas than family.” Pain rolled across her face. “I’ve stayed here longer than I should. I don’t want to see Lawrence, who harbors the insane idea we’re going to get back together. I’m done. I want a fresh start where no one knows me.”
He looked at her, not entirely buying her story. Savannah loved Montana, had always said she’d never leave.
“Where are you moving to?”
“Hawaii. Who doesn’t want to live there, right?”
He stared at her manufactured smile. “Got a job, place to stay lined up?” He was curious to know if this was an impulse move or something she’d put a lot of thought into.
“I’ve been working through the details for a while. I’ve had some phone interviews and a tentative offer for a marketing job for a resort on Kona. The pay isn’t great, but I’ll be in Hawaii, and what girl doesn’t want a strong island male to curl up next to.”
His stomach turned sour and he blocked the image of Savannah curled around anyone.
He looked around. The diner needed capital injected into it. Capital she didn’t have. The day he’d walked in she looked like she’d been running on fumes. Hawaii probably looked pretty amazing right now, and it was a great place.
“Judging the amount you text and the people who stop by to see you, seems like you have some good friends.”
“I do and I’ll really miss them.” If she twisted her hands any tighter they might pop out of their sockets. “But I can’t keep propping up the diner in the hope Billy-Bob will get his act together. I’m at the point where I’m going to be negative soon and that was before you paid off six months of my loan.”
He frowned. Something wasn’t adding up here. Larry didn’t look poor, judging by the car he drove, the golf membership, and the clothes he wore. Savannah’s daddy was loaded. Savannah drove a beat up car, her house was a cute rented cottage She dressed in decent but old clothes. Nothing at her place was big or new.
“You do all right in the divorce?” He folded his arms.
And right in front of him she shut down.
“None of your business.” She turned away. “I’ve got to bake now.”
Hours later the scent of cake drifted around the kitchen, he hoped her cakes weren’t like her cooking, because the aroma made his stomach growl in appreciation.
Billy-Bob had shown for the dinner service, bringing his niece, Cassidy, who was going to waitress for the night, giving Savannah time off.
“Thank Christ.” He shook Billy-Bob’s hand.
During a frank discussion, he’d laid out the facts to Billy-Bob. Savannah was trying to fix him so she’d never fire his ass. With Billy-Bob not turning up, Savannah would go broke and give her chef her last dime. Something he didn’t want to happen. The shame hung off Billy-Bob like a wounded dog who’d deserted his pack.
Savannah hugged Billy-Bob, her eyes glassy. The older man squeezed her shoulder.
“What do you mean, thank Christ?” Savannah turned to him.
“I know how to cook three things, and I’ve used up my recipe book. At home, I either pick up something after work, or I have my girl make me something,”
Her eyes flashed. “Your girl?”
He internally grinned at her reaction. “Yeah, my girl, Missy. She’s sixty-two years old, married to Hector, and since her kids have moved away and she has no one to cook for, she makes it her mission in life to feed me.”
“So you only stayed and cooked for me?” She sidled up to him and her floral scent washed through him. A barn, haystacks and Savannah doing a sexy striptease filled his head. He swallowed, hard.
“Yeah.” He shrugged. “Not good business serving food that might send people directly to a bathroom.”
She touched his arm then moved away. “Thanks, it means a lot.”
Her soft touch sent both yearning and
need through his body.
Need he’d settle later in the shower with the image of her sexy striptease playing in his head. Yearning? He had no idea for what. He must be tired because Savannah’s couch wasn’t built for a guy his size. But walking into her bedroom, shutting off her alarm, and seeing her asleep in an old T-shirt, her hair a riot, her lips parted, he’d been struck by a bolt of appreciation. The privileged girl who’d grown up with Miss Hattie’s cooking had taken on the diner and didn’t balk.
With nothing to do in the kitchen, he’d checked with his manager and the accounting and operations guys in L.A. Everything was running smoothly which kind of annoyed him and made his proud. Annoyed because he wasn’t there making the decisions. Proud because he’d put good people in place.
His mentor had taught him to go with his gut instinct, which was rarely wrong. If you did get it wrong, then you’d own it and move on.
Right now his gut was screaming at him to get out of there but for once he ignored it, telling his gut it was there for her cakes.
Savannah frosted a cake and cut him a slice, which she’d served with her coffee. He took the plate she’d offered.
Buttery banana cake melted in his mouth. The lemon frosting cutting through the sweetness with the perfect combination of sweet and sour.
Woman couldn’t cook, but man she could bake.
“This is the best cake I’ve ever had,” he confessed. “If Missy ever got hold of this recipe, I’d be six hundred pounds.”
Savannah gazed over his body in a way he liked.
A lot.
A look that said his body was good.
Caught staring, she turned away, blushing.
Billy-Bob’s niece pushed through the kitchen door. Billy-Bob moved with purpose at the grill. Cassidy said to them that the sign Walker had put out front announcing that Billy-Bob was back and Savannah was baking again was working and the place was filling up.
With Billy-Bob on board – so far, and Savannah serving cakes and he, delicious coffee, this place should be spitting out money.
An idea that had been germinating in the back of his head grew a trunk and leaves.
There had to be a way for Savannah to have a profitable diner, which would keep her in Montana. He’d better come up with a business plan.
Maybe there would be frequent trips to Montana.
He grinned.
Yeah, he’d be ponying up with a plan.
***
“Sit down, we’ve got some domestication issues to sort out,” Savannah said later that evening. Walker cracked a beer and was about to sit on her deck and flick through Yelp trying to decide what take-out they’d order.
He looked into serious blue eyes and his stomach cramped.
Shit.
She sat at her kitchen table, her spine straight, her hands resting lightly on the table, a single sheet of paper showing a typed list.
He pulled a slug of beer. He hoped they weren’t going to talk about bleach and shit.
She waved her hand. “I’m talking about living with another person. Sharing space and learning to be someone’s partner.”
He slowly blinked.
She cleared her throat. “So, rules. At the end of the day we carve out time to talk about our day.”
He nodded.
So far so good.
“We eat dinner at the table, together, every night.”
He frowned. “Even when there’s a game on?”
“Yeah,” she said, looking pained. “Even when Survivor is on.”
He grinned, being a fan of the show himself.
“If I do something that pisses you off, you have to tell me instead of bottling it up and exploding later and vice versa.”
He put the Budweiser down. “I’ve always been upfront with my thoughts and opinions. I don’t bottle shit up.”
She nodded. “Good to know.”
“What else is on the list?”
“No one person can’t hog the remote. We both get to choose a show we each want to watch.”
His gut clenched. “I can’t get through dancing and dating shows, baby, I don’t have it in me.”
Her gorgeous navy eyes sparkled. “What about if you sit next to me and do stuff on your phone so we’d still be together.”
Sounded good.
“I can run with that.”
A smile lit her face.
“You’re good when I’m watching WWE?”
The smile slid off her face. “Yeah, I’ll spend my time Googling what body parts are going to need reconstruction.”
He chuckled. “Anything else on that list of yours?”
She glanced at the list and up at him. Her teeth worrying her bottom lip.
“Well, some of it doesn’t apply to us.”
He grinned. “If it says you can’t cook, I’m on board with that. I’m happy to order take-out or cook, might even give you a lesson.”
She smiled and her sunshine warmed his body.
“I wouldn’t mind a cooking lesson. I tried to make Miss Hattie dinner once when I was a teenager and she banned me from the kitchen. Apparently my meatballs could be used as weapons. Even Slugger the dog wouldn’t eat them.”
He laughed and grabbed the list and stilled when he came to rule number seven.
Always go to bed together and wake up together.
Shit. That was breaking his cardinal rule.
His stomach curled into a hard ball and threatened to escape out his ass.
“As I said, some of the rules don’t apply to us, but they will to you later on. A heads up. Unless you’ve got a phobia, give your girl the side of the bed she wants and she’ll be grateful.” He paused the word grateful sliding straight to his dick. “But let’s start with talking about our days while sitting on the porch.” She stood and moved toward the door.
He picked up his beer and followed her, his eyes glued to the gentle sway of her hips.
He sat next to her breathed in the cool air and tensed. He barely talked about himself. It wasn’t something he did or felt comfortable doing. He couldn’t fake it with Savvy, she’d see straight through him. Maybe he could turn it around so she did all the talking.
Twenty minutes later, Savannah had filled him in on her day. She rattled off a list of names of people in the town she’d chatted with or texted. He vaguely remembered her friend Melanie, a redhead who’d hung around at Savannah’s. He wasn’t overly thrilled that Melanie was trying to recruit Savannah to hit the local bars. Something he shouldn’t give a shit about.
“We can sit here all night until you’re ready.” Savannah’s hand landed on his arm, her voice gentle. She’d stopped talking and had twisted in her seat to look at him.
Resigned, he filled her in on his phone call to his operations manager in California. He recounted the telephone call he’d had with his sister and her kids – his niece calling him Unca Valk – she chatted about her pink pony, her friend Alice at pre-school and Dora the Explorer. He’d forgotten how much the kid made him smile. Savannah’s hand landed in his and squeezed when he told her about the visit to the hospital to check on John. He’d sat by the man and inhaled the hospital scent of rubbing alcohol, pine disinfectant, and despair. The nurses gave kind smiles. With no change in his prognosis, the outlook wasn’t good.
“I’m sorry.” Savvy had interlaced her fingers with hers.
His fingers flexed around hers and held on.
“Yeah,” he said with a long breath.
What also felt good was talking about his day, the guilt of not coming back often enough to see John. How much he liked talking to his sister and her kids. He’d forgotten about the pink pony he’d bought her for no other reason than because he thought she’d like it.
He turned to Savvy and smiled. “Thanks.”
She smiled back.
A comfortable silence stretched between them.
***
Three days later.
Savannah dumped her purse on the counter. Billy-Bob had stayed true to h
is word and turned up three days straight.
Miracle.
The diner had a great dinner service. She’d baked three cakes for tomorrow when she was officially off.
She inhaled the scent of Chinese five spice, soy sauce, and garlic. Her favorite takeaway containers sat unopened on the counter.
Diet number 712 had officially ended when she’d sampled a new recipe she’d been trialing for a lemon and pistachio cake. The cake had been a success so she’d allowed herself—possibly three—slices to form an opinion.
Last night Walker had taught her to cook spaghetti bolognese when he’d pried it out of her that she usually either opened a can of something or made a sandwich. Apart from the pasta being overcooked and the garlic bread a little browner than recommended, the meal had been a success, much to her delight and Walker’s. She’d shared one of her favorite cake recipes with him but he’d said point blank that he’d never bake.
They’d shared the meal at the table and chatted about their respective days.
Now it was three days later and living with Walker was easy so far easy.
Apart from one thing.
Savannah turned at the bathroom door opening. Her breath caught in her throat, and her body did an embarrassing “come to mamma” shiver.
Walker stepped into the room wrapped only in a towel. A towel that barely covered his assets.
“Sav?”
Dear God. Again?
She’d been caught checking him out again.
At this rate I’ll have to check into “Perv’s Are Us” rehab.
Since he’d moved in the sexual tension had built to the point she was walking around perpetually turned on. It was a wonder she didn’t have to change out her damp underwear at least three times a day. She’d contemplated taking a fever-reducing pill to keep her body from flaming at inappropriate times – when he brushed past her, when he smiled at her, when he walked around in a towel. If he touched her, she’d likely rip the clothes from her body without a word and plaster herself against him.
It was as ridiculous as it was embarrassing.
She had to get this ridiculous attraction to his body under control before she did something stupid and pant in front of him.
“I thought I’d make you dinner.”