by Tessa Bailey
Why did her body—including her heart—fill with lead at the prospect of climbing back into the Suburban?
Chapter Thirty-Two
Jasper usually left the bar’s busywork to Nate, but cutting limes and replacing cash-register tape was helping keep his mind occupied, even if the silence acted as needles beneath his skin. In just under an hour, the Clarksons—including Rita—would arrive to help him and the chef prep the kitchen for Buried Treasure’s first ever dinner service. The specials menu lay on the bar in front of him, but it resembled more of a eulogy to Jasper.
If that were true, dropping Rita off this morning had been a wake. Their impending separation had filled the truck’s cab so thoroughly he hadn’t even been surprised when Rita simply climbed out with a sad smile over her shoulder, setting off bone-deep agony so thick he hadn’t been able to swim through it. Hadn’t been able to call her back and say a proper good-bye, the way two people did after slaking each other’s lust for damn near ten hours.
She’d said his name in her sleep. When he’d returned to the room after removing the perfect soufflé from the oven, he’d slipped in beside her, rain beginning to pelt the roof, feeling more contentment than was wise in their situation, but unable to help himself. He’d lain awake, watching the reflection of raindrops play on Rita’s back, refusing to believe at first that she was breathing his name. But she was. She’d done it exactly three times, all in different ways. Insistent, sweet, and longingly. That last time had prompted Jasper to roll her over, slide down between her thighs, and wake her up with his hungry mouth. He could still taste her. Probably would for the rest of his life.
By the end of the day he would know if he’d get to refresh that taste every day, the way he craved the chance to do.
When the front door of the Liquor Hole opened, shedding light on the dim bar, Jasper squinted into the sunlight. The prospect of seeing Rita an hour earlier than expected sent his pulse haywire, but when the door closed again, Jasper saw it was only Belmont who had arrived. Interesting.
Jasper sent Rita’s older brother a nod and stood, going behind the bar to toss a coaster in front of him. “Get you a drink?”
The stool creaked under Belmont’s size. “No.”
“Okay.” Silence stretched. “You stop by for a reason?”
“Yes.”
When it became apparent that Belmont was going to take his sweet damn time revealing his reason for stopping by early, Jasper set about icing down beers, cleaning the empty liquor bottles, and making a fresh pot of coffee. He might still be sticking to his sober guns, but he had no self-imposed rules against being caffeinated. Damn, he hoped Belmont had stopped by to talk about Rita. It would be nice to talk about her with someone. And Belmont’s interest in his sister’s relationship would mean it hadn’t been some elaborate daydream.
Belmont cleared his throat, bringing Jasper’s head up. “Do you have intentions?”
“Intentions for what?” Jasper asked, wanting to have the words said out loud. Wanting the last three days to be real.
“My sister.”
Jasper picked up a bar rag and started cleaning. “I do. But you might have noticed she has intentions of her own.”
He swore another five minutes passed before Belmont spoke again. “You could try and change her intentions to match yours.”
Jasper’s laughter hurt on the way out. “Thank you for the advice.” He threw down the rag in his hand. “You know, I’m a little out of my fucking depth here. I couldn’t have made it any clearer how I feel about her. Now, I’m going to be selfish and I’m going to fight, but it’s like trying to race a clock and I only had three days to compete.”
“That true?”
“Which part?”
Belmont ran his thumb along the crease of his chin. “You made it clear how you feel about her?”
Jasper started to say Yesgoddammit, but realized it wasn’t true. Not yet. Still, a man didn’t expose the most vital parts of himself—as he’d done with Rita—without wanting that woman to hold them in her hands, accept them, did he? He’d showed her his restaurant, introduced her to Rosemary, held her in his bed. He’d all but screamed, Take everything of mine. Please take it. Hadn’t he? “I made it clear,” he hedged.
“How did it go?” Belmont asked after a minute. “When you told her?”
If Jasper had blinked, he would have missed the way Belmont shifted, tension creeping into his lumberjack shoulders. As if maybe he’d come to the Liquor Hole to get advice, just as much as needing to give it. “Why do you ask?” Jasper propped an elbow on the bar, a few feet from Belmont. “Something to do with your fifth traveler, maybe?”
Blue eyes frosted over. “She’s not your concern.”
“No, I reckon she isn’t,” Jasper said, burying his amusement. “Pretty obvious she’s your concern, though.”
Belmont’s hands balled into fists on the bar and once again silence filled the room, making Jasper wish he’d had the presence of mind to put on some music. “Love is kind of a selfish business, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know,” Belmont muttered. “What if it’s really the opposite?”
Jasper’s throat constricted. “What do you mean?”
At once, Rita’s older brother just seemed irritated by the whole conversation. “If you love something, let it go. Seems to me that sentiment hasn’t gone out of style just because it got older.”
“No, I don’t suspect it has,” Jasper said slowly. “So what’s a man supposed to do? Take his happiness or watch it from a distance?”
A muscle ticked in Belmont’s cheek. “What if the answer is there is no answer?”
Jasper grabbed two shot glasses and slid them onto the glossy bar. “I think that means we should have ourselves a drink.”
Belmont’s eyes were steady on the glass as Jasper poured. “When Rita was younger—a kid—she didn’t like to watch movies. Even on rainy days when there was nothing else going. She would hide off somewhere while we watched Home Alone or Gremlins. The NeverEnding Story.” Belmont rolled the drink between his palms, unaware that Jasper held his breath, dying for something, anything, about Rita he could think about and replay a million times. “Miriam finally asked her why. Why she refused to watch movies. And she said, ‘Once you watch it, you know how it ends. I want to not know a little longer.’”
More than anything in that moment, Jasper wanted to rewind to that morning and keep Rita in bed an hour longer. Bury his face in her neck and beg her to talk. Talk about any goddamn thing, as long as he could listen. “She had a point.”
The other man brought the glass to his mouth as if he would take a drink, but stopped and set it down, with a barely perceptible air of regret. “I found her in the middle of the night about a year later, watching them all back to back. Crying into a pillow.” He pushed the glass of whiskey away. “She does things in her own time, my sister. You have to let her.”
“I don’t have a year.” Jasper poured his own whiskey into the closest plastic-lined garbage pail. “But thank you for telling me, all the same.”
Neither of them moved when the entrance opened to reveal three Clarksons and their unrelated traveling companion. The one who wore her connection to Belmont like a cloak. Rita was the last to walk in, and Jasper barely prevented himself from vaulting over the bar to sweep her up, hold her close.
When the door blocked out the sun and their eyes met, Rita’s throat worked in an up-and-down movement. “Everyone ready to open this restaurant?”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Jasper moved through the dining area of Buried Treasure straightening chairs, looking at the room from different angles. He wanted to be in the kitchen with Rita, but she was going over preparations and talking about the menu with the chef. The chef who would take over once the Clarksons left tonight. Her husky voice climbed up the walls and drifted down, making itself at home, leaving its mark. Only about one more minute remained on Jasper’s internal countdown clock before he busted into the ki
tchen and carried the woman out over his shoulder.
Belmont watched him from the front entrance, so still he could pass for a marble column in a museum, but Jasper could hear Rita’s older brother loud and clear. Unfortunately, the same man had confused the shit out of him in the bar with what Jasper supposed was meant to be a pep talk. Pep talk, his ass. Turned out there wasn’t a man around who knew what was to be done about women. So Jasper interpreted Belmont’s dark observance as Hurry the fuck up and pick your option. Be selfish or let go of the woman you love…and let me know how it works out.
That was just dandy, wasn’t it? Being the guinea pig when his happiness was at stake? “I’m getting there,” Jasper grumbled at Belmont, picking up a water glass and thunking it back down. “By the way, you’re acting as the bouncer tonight. Not the house therapist.”
Belmont crossed his arms and leaned back against the door frame. Jasper thought he might have seen the guy crack a smile, but when Sage—he’d finally learned her name—floated into the dining room to lay out silverware, Belmont went back to being a statue. Jasper snorted and checked his watch for the hundredth time in under an hour. The restaurant was set to open at five o’clock and they’d just turned the corner on four. Already the parking lot was full, customers peering in through the windows, talking animatedly amongst themselves in groups. Children were perched on car trunks, teenagers tossed footballs back and forth.
True to their word, the Clarksons had slipped right into various positions, ready to train the skeleton staff of Buried Treasure in the way they’d been taught as they were brought up in the world of fine dining. Belmont would act as a bouncer, keeping out anyone who’d had a little too much to drink next door at the Liquor Hole. Aaron and Jasper were handling the money, Sage and Peggy were training the hostess and waitstaff, while Rita worked in the kitchen. Jasper was damned glad to have them there, although they filled up the small space with their big presence in a way that would make it seem empty when they left.
Jasper swallowed hard as Rita’s voice reached him from the kitchen. A soft, encouraging laugh that reminded him of last night, the way she’d painted his house with a glow. The memory fresh in his head, Jasper crossed the dining room toward the kitchen, well aware that he appeared to be a man on a mission. Goddammit, he was. It was obvious that Rita caught the drift, too, because when Jasper entered the kitchen she dropped her pen, bent down to retrieve it, and bumped her head on the waist-high refrigerator.
When she rose again, rubbing the sore spot, Jasper was already by her side, taking over the task for her. “Ah, beautiful. You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Really, okay?” His concern must have reached her, because understanding passed between them, as real as anything he knew.
She nodded slowly. “Everything—even the kitchen—feels a little easier after last night.”
“Good.” Pressure pushed against his jugular, but he was too aware of the chef regarding their exchange, so he lightened the mood. Temporarily. “Can I talk to you for a few minutes before you knock yourself into a coma?”
A smile smoothed across her mouth. “Funny.”
Just like that the silent tension of the morning faded, leaving them searching one another’s eyes for what came next. The hand he used to soothe Rita’s head drifted down to hold her face. “Talk to me about the specials.”
Pink highlighted her cheekbones, obviously pleasure that he’d remembered that talking over the specials menu calmed her. Made her less anxious. Except Jasper was pretty sure it would benefit them both right about now, considering he was about to lay everything on the line. He gestured for Rita to precede him into the office, closing the door behind them. He leaned back against it, watching like a starving man as Rita perched herself on the edge of his desk, a piece of paper pinched between her fingers.
“Okay, well.” She tucked a few strands of stray dark hair behind her ear. “I looked over the menu your chef planned on using and offered a few suggestions. I hope that’s okay.”
“Don’t use that professional tone with me, Rita Clarkson.”
Her flush deepened. “I don’t mean to.” She used the paper to fan herself. “You were so different this morning. I wasn’t sure I should still come.”
Lord, she might as well have fired a round of bullets into his stomach. Had she misinterpreted his silence for checking out early? “I can’t even imagine you not being here.” He advanced toward her. “Read me the specials.”
She traded glances between his approaching body and the menu, as if unsure whether she should proceed. “Um.” Her voice wobbled. “There were some great items. I just added some spice, I guess you could say. The strip steak is already on the main menu, but I thought as a special, we could encrust it with blue cheese. Serve it with baby spinach and…”
Jasper rested his hands on either side of her hips, tracing the curve of her neck with greedy lips. “Keep going.”
“Keep…?” Her head fell to the right and Jasper pressed his advantage, raking the sensitive skin with his teeth. “Going?”
“Yes, keep going,” he breathed, punctuating his words with a soft bite.
It took a few minutes for Rita to continue, her breasts puffing up and down beneath her white tank top. “Fried Kobe meatballs…served with spicy mayonnaise. Th-they—we—glazed them with teriyaki sauce.”
“You’re making me hungry, beautiful.”
“Maybe I should stop.”
“Don’t.”
“Oh, God. Okay.” Her exhale washed over him. “The chef had a shrimp cocktail on the specials menu, but I-I think that should be on the regular appetizer list. A buffalo-shrimp po’ boy for the specials menu, though. Ohhhh, what are you doing now?”
Jasper smiled against her neck. “Just unhooking your bra for a little while.” The snap made them both moan a little. “That okay with you?” She nodded without hesitation, giving Jasper the green light to slide his hands around front and palm the two sweetest tits he’d ever held. “Anything else you want to tell me about the menu, Rita?”
God, her panting breaths were sexy as all get out. “I-I did a little research and found a fish market not too far from here. They’re willing to deliver, but I just took a drive and picked up some bluepoint oysters—”
“What?” Cement bags piled on top of Jasper’s shoulders. “You drove somewhere?”
Golden-brown eyes, still a little lust-fogged lifted to his. “Just a few towns over,” she murmured. “The Suburban is fixed now.”
The room tilted around Jasper. “I knew that. I knew.” Fuck, he had no control over his mouth or his pulse. The latter sped up so fast his head felt like it might float off. If he reacted this way to Rita leaving and coming back, how the hell would he cope with her never returning? Not good. Really fucking bad. Catastrophically. “Stay, Rita.”
She stared at his mouth, as if the words were painted there. “What?”
“Stay in Hurley, Rita. Don’t leave me.” His hands skated down from her breasts to enfold her waist, shaking her body on the desk. “Sit here every day and read me the specials menu. This place—Buried Treasure—it became half yours when you walked inside, and we both knew it.”
“Jasper,” she whispered, sounding out of breath. “I don’t—”
“Please, just don’t act surprised. I won’t be able to stand it.” His mouth fell to hers, kissing, kissing, like a man mouthing a furious prayer. “You can’t be surprised when the last few days have given me life. Act upset or happy or storm out. But I can’t handle surprised, like maybe you didn’t even consider me for a second.”
“I’ve considered you,” she sobbed. “Of course I have. Just stop talking like that for a second, stop stealing my breath when I’m trying to catch it.”
“No.” He pressed their foreheads together. “I don’t want you to catch it. I want it to stay lost and I want to be the man who steals it. All day, every day. Forever. Stay with me right here.”
“I want to say yes,” Rita sa
id with her eyes closed. “It’s crazy after only three days to—to toss everything aside and start a new life. And I still want to say yes. But somewhere over time, I lost my family and I’m just starting to get them back. They…I think they need me. I think we need each other. I don’t know if I can just say good-bye when we’re on this road I never expected.”
Jasper found her so achingly gorgeous in that moment with honesty pushing at all her seams and tears falling down her cheeks. How could something so beautiful rip his soul out and stomp on it, even if it wasn’t on purpose?
“I lost myself in the kitchen.” She shook her head. “What if I lost myself in this one, too?”
“I wouldn’t let you.”
“Jasper—”
“You don’t have to work the kitchen,” he rushed to say, even though it stung. “You don’t have to work here at all.”
Rita only looked saddened by his words. “Then I’d be denying this place. This place you already adore, whether you know it or not.” She glanced down. “How can I set them on this journey and desert them? How can I burn down my mother’s life’s work and disregard her final wish? I’d be a terrible person. I wouldn’t be the person you—”
“Say it.” He gathered her hair in two fists and spoke right against her forehead. “Say it. You know how I feel about you. Say the words.”