“Coke it is. Tiff!” She raised her voice to call the waitress who was swabbing down a table at the end of the dining room. “Come meet Jeremy’s dad. Is Peyton in yet?”
“I’m here.” She walked up to the older Newhall and stuck out her hand. “You must be Jeremy’s father. You look just like him.” She laughed. “Or I guess he looks like you.”
He gave her a firm, warm-handed shake. “You think?”
“It’s true.” Jeremy treated them all to a rare huge smile. “I got my good looks from Dad.”
It didn’t take a genius to see he was happy to be with his father, and Peyton had to battle twinges of jealousy that she couldn’t claim a similar relationship. Her black mood reemerged.
But for only a moment. Because stronger than her envy was a fierce desire to make a favorable impression on Mr. Newhall.
And wasn’t that a kick in the pants? Because she could hear her stepdad’s voice in her head pointing out that Jeremy’s father was from a far lower socioeconomic stratum than their own. That even though he was neat and clean, he was dressed in cheap clothing. And even though the man’s hands looked well scrubbed, they nevertheless held vestiges of black beneath his nails.
Except that was just...bull crap, she realized. As if she or her dad or anyone else was somehow better than Mr. Newhall simply because they were rich. That kind of thinking was every bit as bad as the kids at school who felt free to give her shit now that they’d learned her social standing was about to be ripped out from under her.
Raising her chin, it dawned on her how much she was changing this fall. She was trying really hard to think for herself these days, and she knew Tasha would be ashamed of her if she thought for a second that Peyton thought she was superior to Jeremy’s dad.
And since her new mantra this fall was WWTD—What Would Tasha Do?—she set out to make him feel welcome.
It worked like a charm, too. Right up to the moment she remembered the beat-up car out back.
“Oh,” she said, turning to Tasha. “Did you know there’s an SUV parked in one of our spots? It’s a POS, so I wonder if someone abandoned it.”
She didn’t know what she’d said wrong, but Jeremy’s dad’s face went carefully neutral, and all the warmth she was accustomed to seeing from Jeremy himself dissipated like morning fog under the sun’s rays.
“That piece of shit is mine,” he said coolly. “My dad fixed it up and brought it for me.”
Noooooo! She knew she should apologize, but all she could think was that crappy, crappy car meant Jeremy had no reason to ever catch another ride with her. A sick-making combination of despair and embarrassment settled in her stomach. Yet, even knowing this was coming out all wrong, she couldn’t seem to stop herself from saying with her old hauteur, “That’s fixed up?”
Oh, God. As if she were looking down her nose at him.
“Yes.” He studied her as if she were one of the asshole snobs at school. “Not all of us get a brand-new ride from our daddies. But my father is one of the best mechanics around, so while the POS, as you called her, may not be as pretty as your car, she runs sweeter than a BMW.”
“How...nice for you.” Her tone suggested how “nice” for someone who didn’t know any better. And she wanted to shut up. She really needed to shut up. But something inside of her just screamed and screamed in pain. Trying to drown it out, she said coolly, “I guess you won’t be needing any more rides from me, then.”
“No,” he agreed flatly. “I guess I won’t.” He turned to Mr. Newhall. “C’mon, Dad. Let me show you the kitchen. You can watch me make us a slice.”
“Sounds great.” The older man gave her a thoughtful glance before he followed his son into the kitchen.
Peyton watched until they disappeared around the far side of the storage closet, then blew out a breath. And turned away.
“Nice going there, Ace,” Tiffany murmured, but gave her hand a pat before heading back to wait on three women who had just come in.
Bracing herself to face Tasha’s condemnation, she turned.
But the woman she admired so fiercely merely said, “You could have handled that better.”
Tears rose in her eyes. Because she could have; she could have handled it so much better than she had. She nodded jerkily. “Anything would have been an improvement over what I actually said,” she admitted.
“Do you know why you acted out?”
She looked at the floor. “Yes.”
“You want to talk about it?”
Her head jerked up, and she carefully studied Tasha’s gray-blue-eyed gaze. It was plain to see the offer was genuine. And yet... “No.”
“Okay. I’m always here if you change your mind. And I know you didn’t ask, but my standard advice covers every situation. You should be honest with Jeremy, if no one else. Because by dissing that car, you dissed his dad. And it doesn’t take especially brilliant powers of observation to see he’s crazy about him.”
“I know.” She glanced into the kitchen again and watched as the guys examined the wood-burning pizza oven. “Would it be okay if I gave Mr. Newhall his pop?”
“Sure. That would be a nice gesture.” Tasha gently bumped her hip against hers. “Particularly if it’s accompanied by an apology.”
She pulled herself up. “Yes, ma’am. I plan to give him one of those, as well.”
“Oh, now you’re just trying to piss me off.”
Peyton looked at her in surprise, and Tash pointed an authoritarian finger at her. “Do not call me ma’am.”
She didn’t know why, but that lightened her mood and she snapped off a salute. “Yes, sir!”
The strawberry blonde sighed. “Go get that drink for Mr. N., smart-ass. Then get to work.”
* * *
JEREMY DIDN’T KNOW what to think when he turned back from retrieving dough from the refrigerator to see Peyton handing his dad a jumbo cup of Coke and leaning in to talk to him in a low voice.
He was so mad at her. And he hated to cop to this, but he was maybe a little bit hurt, too. He’d begun to think she was a real sweetheart in addition to being pretty and fun to talk to. He’d thought that maybe there was potential for them. So for her to turn around and turn up her nose at his father’s offering...
Well, that was a shitty thing to do.
He waited for her to return to the dining room before he stomped over to his dad. “What did she want?”
“To give me this pop—and apologize for disrespecting my gift.”
Damn. He could feel his dad studying his reaction and had to work like hell to keep his expression bland. “Good. That’s...good. She should apologize.”
Although he noticed she hadn’t bothered doing so to him.
“I suppose,” Ben agreed. “Still, it was classy that she did so.” He tipped his head to study him some more. “She a rich girl?”
“Yeah. Or at least she used to be. Her folks are divorcing, though, and her stepdad’s pretty much cut her off. He said if she wants to go to college, she can pay for it herself.”
“What a douche.” Ben shook his head. “Man, I’d give a bundle to have the means to put you through school.”
“I know you’d do it in a minute if you could. And Peyton’s stepdad is a douche, from everything I’ve heard. Which sucks. No two ways about it.” He squared his shoulders. “Doesn’t mean that she gets a free pass to act like one herself.”
“You like her, don’t you?”
“What?” He blew a gusty pfttt! “Noo.” He spotted her cleaning a table in the other room and watched for a second as she leaned over to grab a couple of plates on the far side. A small slice of skin appeared between her top and the low waistband of her pants.
Then, catching himself, he pulled his gaze away to meet his father’s. “You saw for yourself she’s a spoiled brat.”
“I’m not sure I think she is, entirely.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“No. Oh, I don’t doubt that she has her bratty moments. But her willingness to face me on her o
wn and apologize made me think maybe she’s trying to move past that spoiled-girl attitude. Plus, she said something that—”
“What?” he demanded. “What did she say?”
“I think she’d probably want me to keep it to myself. But maybe you oughtta cut her a little slack.”
“It was my fault that she was so bitchy?”
“Of course not. But you’ve been known to dig in your heels when just flowing past a problem would be a lot more productive.”
That was true. It was one of the things Ryan, his counselor, had worked with him on. So he blew out a breath. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll think about that.” When his dad raised a skeptical brow, Jeremy looked him straight in the eye.
“I mean it, Dad. I really will consider what you said. But not today, okay? Right now, I’d just like to wow you with my mad cooking skills.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“THIS ISN’T EXACTLY what I had in mind when I invited you out to dinner,” Luc muttered as he held open the door to Wok On Fire for Tasha.
“Not fancy enough for you?” She grinned up at him as they entered the restaurant. “Silverdale tends to be on the slim side when it comes to upscale. Next time, though, you can take me to Silver City, buy me a Woo Woo and an order of their panko-encrusted fish and chips and have your wicked way with me after. But tonight—well, I’ve had a jones for veggies for what seems like forever, and I love the Mongolian grill here.”
“I’m sorry, did you say something after ‘have my wicked way with you’?” He gave her a wry one-sided smile. A second later his dark eyebrows pleated. “What the hell is a Woo Woo?”
“A cocktail made with vodka, peach schnapps and cranberry juice.”
“Seriously?”
She laughed and headed for a table. “No need to look so horrified. I don’t expect you to drink it. The Silver City Brewery is down by the mall, and it has several award-winning beers. Well, the production facility actually moved to Bremerton, but I’m talking about the flagship restaurant anyway. Annnd I’m rambling.” She drew in a breath, then blew it out. “All of this is a long way of saying it’s the company that makes that Ridgetop Red Ale Max likes so much. And I’m pretty sure we could find you something you’d enjoy, as well.”
“So, if I eat my vegetables without whining, will you let me buy you a drink at the brewery after dinner?”
“You bet.” She dropped her sweater on a table and held up two fingers for the cashier to see.
“You’ve got a deal, then. Hey! Where are you going?”
“To assemble my bowl.”
He followed in her footsteps. “Say what?”
She stopped to look back at him. “Haven’t you ever eaten at a Mongolian grill?”
“I’ve spent a good part of my adult life in South America, cariño, so, no, I can honestly say I’ve never been to one. I have had corn tortillas every way known to man, though.”
“Ooh, what we have here is a teaching moment.” She rubbed her hands together. “Follow me.” After leading him to the food bar, she handed him an empty bowl. “Fill it with whatever catches your fancy—veggies, noodles. Tofu is at the end, so I’m sure you’ll wanna leave room for that.”
The look on his face was priceless, and, laughing, she bumped her shoulder against his upper arm. “Kidding. There’s also beef, pork, chicken and I think shrimp to choose from.”
They filled their bowls and ladled sauces that appealed to their individual palates atop their selections. Then they handed off their bowls to the cook manning the grill. Moments later they were delivered plates fragrant with rice and their freshly grilled stir-fry.
Luc took a few bites—then smiled at her across the table. “Damn,” he said. “This is really good.”
“Toldja.”
“Oh, good, gloating. That’s such an attractive trait.”
She grinned unrepentantly. “And yet, the truth is what the truth is,” she replied. And dived into her meal.
* * *
CONVERSATION GREW DESULTORY as they ate, but eventually they pushed back their plates. Luc had a tough time keeping his eyes off of Tash, which seemed to be an ongoing condition these days. But, hell, her hair was down, which was a rare treat, and it was a wild, bright tangle of curls that tumbled down her back. Errant corkscrews had escaped from where she’d pushed them back to tease an ivory collarbone here, to pile atop a shoulder there. And several swayed upon her breasts with every breath she took. She wore a short, light brown corduroy skirt over darker brown tights, cordovan boots that came up to her calf and a thin, rich amber-brown scoop-necked tunic-length sweater that looked soft as a cloud. The pullover wasn’t one of those skintight numbers, which at first he considered a crying shame. Then he found himself seduced by the way it clung to the upper slopes of her breasts and skimmed the rest of her upper torso as it flowed to her hips.
Her looks, however, weren’t the primary ingredient holding him mesmerized. One thing he’d begun to realize was that, while the girl he’d met in the Bahamas had been compelling, today’s Tasha was exponentially more so. She’d always had killer confidence, but now she was even easier in her skin than she’d been back then. There was something gripping about her sense of humor, her competence and resourcefulness—and he was pretty sure he wasn’t the only one who’d noted and appreciated all of those things. Damn near every person he’d come across in Razor Bay liked and admired her. Respected her.
Which was saying something, from what he understood of small towns and her particular position in this one when she was growing up.
He planted his chin in his hand. “So, tell me how you got Bella T’s up and running. Who are your investors?”
She blinked, and he clarified, “You know—who staked you?”
“Staked me?” She looked at him with a furrowed brow. “No one.” She waved an erasing hand. “That is, no individuals—I didn’t have friends in high places. I took my business plan to the bank and showed them that I had almost a third of the start-up money, thanks to an investment guy I met in Tacoma who’d taken the savings I’d started putting together when I was a kid and doubled it.” She laughed aloud, her face alight with pride and delight. “And they decided I was an acceptable risk and floated me a loan for the rest.”
“And you were how old?”
“Twenty-six.”
“Man.” He looked at her in pure admiration, and his own already sky-high respect did the impossible and soared even higher. “It’s pretty damn amazing to accomplish a business start-up—particularly in the restaurant industry, which I understand has a high failure rate—without investors, let alone under the age of thirty. How does a girl manage to save money in her teens? Babysitting?”
“I did babysit from the time I was just under twelve years old until I turned sixteen. Then I waited tables at the Sunset café. And watched and learned everything I could about running a restaurant.”
“You own the building, too, right?”
“I do,” she agreed. “Well, me and the bank. But someday it’ll be all mine. Of course, I included the projection for its rental income in my business plan, as well.”
“Of course you did,” he agreed dryly. “I admire the hell out of you, you know. You’ve accomplished a helluva lot on your own.”
She shot him a pleased smile even as she shook her head, making several more curls fall forward. “Well, not completely on my own. Old Mr. Jacobs, who owned the building before me, wanted me to buy it, so that undoubtedly went a long way in persuading the bankers. Plus, Jenny has supported me from practically the moment we met—and that’s worth more than a bucketful of rubies.” She made a face. “Well, okay, the rubies would have come in real handy more than once. But she’s believed in me since the first pizza I made her in my mama’s single-wide when we were sixteen, and she’s offered support and encouragement over the years that I can never repay.”
“Why? Didn’t you support or encourage her in return?”
“Of course I di— Oh. Very clever. My po
int is, though, that she’s very special to me.”
Watching the look on her face as she talked about her friend, he suddenly realized that for all his acknowledgment of his feelings for her the other day, he’d still half believed that maybe they didn’t go nearly as deep as he’d believed at that moment. Because, face it, what the hell did he know about love? Hell, he’d believed in his parents’ epic love story—only to find out his dad had been kind of a hound and a crappy father before he’d settled down with Luc’s mom.
And as for him... Well, since joining the DEA, his so-called relationships had generally lasted a week, max.
And yet...
He couldn’t pretend any longer that this overwhelming surge of emotion inside of him was anything other than love. God knew that nothing he’d ever felt before came close to the things that stirred his soul when he was near Tasha. He wanted her. Not just for today and not just for tomorrow or next week. He suddenly couldn’t conceive of a time when he wouldn’t want to be with her.
So, what the hell. He was going for it. He leaned into the table, ready and willing to make this happen. Step One: charm her pants off.
But before he could even open his mouth, she focused her attention on him. “Enough about me. How did a big strong man like you—” she batted her lashes at him “—end up a super–secret agent?”
He smiled at the label. “It started in college when a girl I knew was slipped a roofie and date-raped.”
Her expression lost every speck of flirtatiousness. “That’s horrible! What did you do—beat the rapist to a pulp?” She leaned into the table. “Please, tell me you beat him to a pulp.”
“I wish I could, mi bloodthirsty princesa, but I’m afraid I can’t. What I did do was pretend to be his new best friend. Then I arranged to have the campus police there to arrest his ass the next time he tried to pull that shit on another girl.”
“Okay.” She gave him a sharp, satisfied nod. “That works, too.”
“What I learned from the experience was that I was good at role-playing. And that I got off on the adrenaline rush of it. So I changed my major to criminal justice, and two and a half weeks after I graduated, I joined the DEA.”
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