“Tell them you’re welcome from me.” If he wasn’t mistaken, he heard her stomach growling. Time to lighten the conversation. “Speaking of food. Are you up for a late lunch slash early dinner?”
“I am if you are.” She glanced up from returning her sister’s text. Some emotion flickered in her gaze, gone too quickly for him to discern what it was. She finished her reply and tossed her phone into her bag. “Where do you recommend?”
He rose from his seat, feeling like there’d been so much left hanging, so much unsaid, but she’d made it clear she needed adjustment time to this new phase of their relationship and he was going to give it to her. Going for all or nothing would end him up with nothing. They didn’t hate each other, and they shared an awesome chemistry when they weren’t arguing. That was a far better place than they’d been in a handful of days ago.
But no one enjoyed being patient, especially when it came to love. He locked the front door and led the way down the steps to the yard. “What are you in the mood for? Carpinteria has a number of options.”
“Mmm.” She slung her purse strap over her shoulder. “Nothing too spicy, but there’s no particular cuisine that’s calling to me. Okay, after yesterday, let’s just nix tacos for the next while. Fish too, now that I think of it.”
“No seafood, no Mexican. Got it.” In a coastal California town, that cut out quite a few choices, but he had something she’d probably enjoy. “Then we have to check out Tony’s Pizza & Ribs.”
“Pizza and ribs? That’s a weird combination.” They walked over a set of railroad tracks, and hit the main drag. “Unless it’s some sort of fusion place, barbeque pizza?”
“Nope, they just do good Italian and good ribs.” He shrugged. “The food is great. Trust me.”
“Isn’t that what Tweedle Dumber said about the tacqueria yesterday?” She shot him a mock-worried look.
He patted her back as he steered her toward the entrance to Tony’s. “I’ll hold your hair back, sweetheart.”
“Gee, thanks,” she drawled.
They entered the restaurant, which was lined with dark wood booths, and a waitress took them to a table by the window. A woman with rainbow colored hair walked by and Nora grinned. “Good people watching, at least.”
“I like it here,” he agreed. They both chuckled as a tiny sprite of a girl ran by with balloons dancing wildly from strings tied to each wrist.
Nora nodded when the server brought them water, then turned back to Ben. “So, how do you know this town even exists?”
“An old college friend is from the area. She decided a bunch of us should get together for a reunion, and she managed to snag a weeklong reservation at Linden House. It apparently books up six months or more in advance. She sold Carpinteria as a cute ’burb with nice restaurants and a couple of good breweries, plus a short walk to an uncrowded beach.”
Her mouth formed a moue. “All things to recommend a town.”
“I think so.” He flicked his fingers to indicate the street outside. “I hope you’ll enjoy it.”
“Are you really in doubt?”
He gave her a crooked grin. “I just wasn’t sure how you’d react when you woke up and found I’d unilaterally changed the plans.”
Squeezing a lemon into her water, she seemed to consider that. “Well, we are still headed home, so it’s not a total change in plans.”
He leaned back in his chair. “No, I suppose not, but you know what I mean.”
“I’m not upset about the detour. I love a nice beach town—I live in HMB for a reason.”
“Exactly. Me too.” He resisted the urge to point out something else they had in common that had nothing to do with sex or their family connection.
They paused the conversation long enough to order dinner. He went for the meatball sub and she got a calzone. The waitress took their menus and disappeared. He watched Nora grin at a guy riding a unicycle down the street. She seemed relaxed, and he figured it couldn’t hurt to see if she wanted to do more than dinner tonight. As much as he liked the sex, it would make it far too easy for her to dismiss the possibility of a relationship if they never got out of bed.
Running a finger around the rim of his water glass, he asked, “How do you feel about beer?”
She arched a brow. “I have generally positive feelings about it, as long as I’m not drinking too much or driving at all.”
“Okay, I think we can manage that.” He waved away those concerns. They weren’t driving and he didn’t really want to get her hammered. “Let me treat you to dinner and then take you to the tasting room of a microbrewery that has the best hefeweizen made on this continent.”
That brow rose higher. “Not in the world?”
Shaking his head, he chuckled. “I think Julie’s husband would kill me if I said Americans outdid Germans on a German-style beer.”
“Ha, that’s right.” Her expression softened with fondness. “He is from Germany, isn’t he? I didn’t know he was a beer snob.”
“He’s German. Enough said.”
The food arrived and the spicy aroma of the marinara sauce on his sandwich made his stomach gurgle. It smelled great, but it always did here. They dove into the food for a few minutes, and it wasn’t until he started eating that he realized just how hungry he was.
Nora picked up the conversation where they’d left off. “Beer snobbery is genetic in Germany?”
He finished chewing a bite of his sub and wiped the corners of his mouth. “No question.”
Narrowing her eyes, she smiled after a moment. “I’ll have to make sure to offer him a Coors Light at the baby shower.”
He snorted. “Nice! Make sure I’m there when you do, so I can get a picture of the look on his face.”
“Deal.” She winked.
“I like your sadistic streak.”
She frowned. “I’m a very nice person.”
“With a slight sadistic streak,” he concurred with a caveat. Leaning forward, he lowered his voice. “How else do you explain making a guy beat off while staring at him like you’re starving and he’s your personal banquet?”
Her face turned redder than her hair. “You weren’t complaining this morning. And it’s not like I had no follow through on…banqueting, or whatever metaphor you want to use for sex.”
“I would never, ever complain about getting to have sex with you. I merely mentioned that you have a sadistic streak and very explicitly noted that I like it. How is that a complaint?”
She harrumphed and didn’t say anything else, focusing on her meal.
He loved that she could handle almost anything without flinching—likely a side effect of her profession—but when he brought up specific things she’d done, she went pink in the cheeks. It didn’t seem to matter if it was flattering or sexual, anything that implied she was extremely nice or extremely naughty could get a blush.
It was one of the many little quirks he’d always adored about her.
He just wished she felt the same way about him.
Chapter Eight
The Island Brewing Company’s tasting room was packed. Surprising considering they didn’t sell food. A few people had their kids playing outside, while the adults sat at tables under bright blue umbrellas. Inside, the décor matched the blue and yellow-orange of the brewery’s logo. The walls featured pieces from local artists.
Nora liked the relaxed vibe immediately. She snagged a recently vacated table for them outside while Ben waded through the throng at the bar to place their orders.
“Is someone using this?” A middle-aged woman grabbed the chair across from her.
“Yes!” Nora answered quickly before the lady snatched Ben’s seat. She pointed toward his back. “The guy in the black shirt is getting our drinks.”
The older woman turned to look, letting go of the chair. Her lips pursed and a wicked twinkle filled her
gaze. “Nice tush. Looks muffiny and bitable.”
Nora winked. “It is.”
“Have fun with that. I know I would.” Chortling, the lady wandered off to find another empty seat to steal.
Sucking in her cheeks to keep from laughing, she waved when Ben glanced over his shoulder at her. Yep, he really did have a muffiny butt.
After they’d finished dinner, he’d insisted they walk off the substantial meal and take a stroll up Linden Avenue away from the beach. There were a bunch of cute stores, from coffee shops to toy stores, art galleries to vintage clothing boutiques.
They’d had dessert at Crushcakes & Café because she had a deep, deep weakness for red velvet and this place had giant cupcakes painted on the wall. She couldn’t resist. Ben opted for strawberry, and the orgasmic groan he’d given when he’d bit into his cake reminded her of something else she was powerless to resist. If she had any brains at all, she’d never have gone for a second round with him this morning, or be considering a third tonight.
Willpower? What willpower?
The bottom line was, she had no idea what she was doing with him. She had no idea how he really felt about her, and her own feelings seemed to be in flux. Was this just sex? Was he just fulfilling teen fantasies? Was that okay with her and she should just go with it until they got home? Her heart squeezed painfully at the idea of this thing ending. Sure, they bickered like an old married couple, but…he also made her laugh when he wasn’t pissing her off. And he’d been an amazing partner in crime on this road trip from hell.
Ben mixed her up, and every instinct told her to cut things off because this insanity couldn’t be a good thing. Except…
Except she didn’t want to.
If that wasn’t the definition of crazy, she didn’t know what was. And that scared her because the craziest person in her life was her mother, and the last thing Nora wanted was to end up like her mom. She’d always managed to steer clear of any man that could turn her into the twitterpated idiot Mom became when she fell for a new guy. It never lasted.
Well, that was the harsh reality, wasn’t it? What she was doing with Ben couldn’t last. They might be compatible in the sack, he might have been crushing on her for a while, but they drove each other nuts. You couldn’t make anything permanent out of that. This fluttery, excited feeling in her belly would go away. This ache in her heart when she thought about never having that feeling again would fade.
A tall glass landed in front of her, filled to the brim with foamy amber liquid.
“Your Island Pale Ale, as requested.” Ben settled into the chair opposite her, cradling his own pint.
“You know I had to fight off a horde of women who wanted your seat.” She picked up her beer and took a sip.
“How heroic.” Amusement glinted in his emerald gaze. “How big was the horde?”
She gestured expansively with her glass. “It was a horde of one, but the battle was magnificent.”
White teeth flashed in a grin. “Sorry I missed it.”
“The horde also complimented your ass,” she added, and enjoyed watching him choke on his beer. “How’s your hefeweizen?”
He coughed a few times before he answered. “I don’t even want to know about the ass horde. And the hef is the best in the US, seriously. They also sell it in individual bottles in there. I might need to make a to-go order before we leave and take some home.”
“You can’t get it in NorCal?” She took a swig of her pale ale, letting the crisp, slightly bitter flavor roll over her tongue.
He shook his head. “Sadly, nope. It’s only offered seasonally too.”
“Well, enjoy it while it lasts.” The pint had an even shorter shelf life than their affair.
Maybe he understood that her words had deeper meaning because he leveled a steady gaze on her. “Some things do last.”
“Name something,” she dared him.
He didn’t even blink. “Love.”
“Ha!” She leaned back in her chair. “My mother has been in love so often you’d think it was going out of style. Love is ephemeral.”
“Which means you don’t trust it, but I do.” He took a deep swallow of his beer. “My parents have been married for over forty years and they’re still crazy about each other.”
Yeah, because one example counted. “They’re an exception to the rule. The statistics are on my side. Love doesn’t last.”
His dimple dug a deep groove into his cheek. “I’m a big fan of beating the odds.”
She snorted. “Remind me never to take you to Vegas. You’ll come home broke.”
He snapped his fingers. “Anne and Gabe.”
“What about them?” She grabbed a napkin to swipe the condensation from her glass. It was getting slippery, and she didn’t want to risk dropping it.
“Do you think they’ll last?” His eyebrow rose, his question a clear challenge.
Did she? There were very few couples as well-suited for each other as big sister and her husband. If anything, he was even more irreverent than she was, and there was always a lot of laughter when they were around. Nora nodded. “Yes. I do. They have a lot in common.”
Ben stabbed a finger at her, his expression triumphant. “So, you do believe in love that lasts.”
Was there ever a dispute he didn’t feel the need to win? She took another sip of her beer and realized she was almost done. Too bad. “Maybe I just don’t think I’ll ever find what my sister or your parents have.”
That made him go quiet for a few minutes while they both finished their drinks. Finally, his voice smoothly casual in a way she didn’t trust, he said, “I think you will. You’re a lovely, caring woman. Any man would be lucky to have you in his life. He’d be smart if he did everything in his power to keep you.”
She shrugged, refusing to ask something stupid—like if he thought she was so great, why hadn’t he ever volunteered for the job? Not that she wanted him to volunteer. She crossed her legs and glanced away. “My last serious boyfriend left me because I was spending too much time with Cami after her accident. He felt neglected.”
His empty glass clinked loudly as he set it on the table. “I didn’t know that. What an asshole.”
“I agree.” The leashed anger in his tone made her meet his gaze. A muscle ticked in his jaw, and she was pretty sure if her ex were here, Ben would deck him.
“He should have been helping you, not making a hard time harder.”
She lifted her hands and let them drop to her lap. “Most of the men out there are assholes, Ben. I doubt there are many nice women either. The odds of a nice man and a nice woman meeting and falling in love are probably even worse than a marriage enduring. Most have the life expectancy of a fruit fly.”
“Cynic,” he accused.
“Realist,” she corrected. “How many divorces have you handled?”
He didn’t tend to deal with criminal cases, but she knew the firm took on a variety of civil and a family law cases. She imagined he’d dealt with a plethora of different clients, including those who wanted to end their marriages.
He grunted. “Enough.”
“And you still believe in love everlasting?” She couldn’t hide her incredulity. If anything, he should be even more dubious about the prospects of matrimony than she was.
“With the right woman, yes.” His dark brows drew together and he tapped his fingertips against the tabletop. “Make no mistake, I’ll find her and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her happy. I think the problem with relationships is that people don’t want to do the work to maintain them. It’s not all effortless.”
“It shouldn’t be so hard you have to constantly bend over backward and tie yourself in knots, either.” As she’d seen many men do for her mother over the years, and as her ex had wanted her to do for him. “There’s a point where you’re just spinning your wheels.”
; He nodded. “True, you need a partner who’s willing to put in the work too, who loves you as you are. No fixer upper relationships. That doesn’t work either.”
“Such a relationship guru.” Her tone was somewhere between teasing and mocking. Not that she disagreed with him, per se, but things that worked in theory often broke down in practice. Marriage was one of those things.
He looked down his nose at her. “I’ve handled enough divorces I might qualify as a marriage counselor.”
“Or an un-marriage counselor.”
Drawing his foot up to prop against the edge of his seat, he draped an arm over his bent knee. “There’ve been a few who gave up too quickly and I told them so. I recommended a good counselor, and let them decide if they wanted a lawyer or a therapist to work out their differences.”
Wow, seriously? Her eyebrows rose. “That’s ballsy, considering they came to you for legal advice. What happened?”
“Two couples stayed together, the third split up.” He brushed a hand down his pant leg. “You can’t win them all, I guess.”
“I guess not.” When it came to relationships, she couldn’t win any. It wasn’t that she wouldn’t like to find what Anne or Karen had with their husbands, but there’d never been a guy who fit her that way. Both women had men who complemented them, who shared many similar interests and ideals. No such luck for Nora.
And she needed to stop thinking about that or she was going to start crying into her beer. The conversation fell into a pool of silence, so the sound of the music the brewery was playing and the babble of other people talking filled in the void. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but she still felt a bit off-balance and morose.
“Brown Eyed Girl” by Van Morrison came over the loudspeaker and Ben flashed a grin, caught her hand, and pulled her into a small open area between the tables.
She frowned. “What are you—?”
“I feel like dancing.” He spun her around and dipped her over his arm. He pulled her up into a loose hold and led her across their tiny, makeshift dance floor. She didn’t have time to be flustered by them putting on a show because a few other couples quickly joined them.
Ensenada Escapade: Destination: Desire, Book 6 Page 11