CHAPTERSIX
“Do you still want to go?”
Rosalie had a hard time making sense of his question. “Yes,” she said, almost guessing.
“My default is yelling,” Lee said, his voice barely loud enough to be heard. His shoulders lifted and raised again. “I still want to go eat if you do.”
“I’m hungry,” Rosalie said, reaching for her seat belt. She didn’t mind so much that Lee had yelled at the other driver. In all honesty, she might have too. She’d just needed a minute to breathe after the near-accident.
“Stay,” Lee said, his voice louder and more commanding. “I’ll come help you down.”
She did what he said, watching him as he jogged around the front of the truck. He pulled open her door, and she turned her legs together so her knees pressed into one another. She reached out, and his gloriously warm hand took hers.
Rosalie seriously contemplated falling on purpose in that moment, just to feel what it would be like to be held again. It had been so long since she’d stood in the arms of a man, especially one as tall and strong as Lee Cooper.
In the end, she slid from the truck with relative ease, adjusted her skirt, and looked up into his dark, deliciously green eyes. Asteroids could’ve hit the Earth a meter from her and she wouldn’t have noticed. He tucked a curl behind her ear, saying, “That bit has come loose, baby.”
She automatically reached up to fix her hair, as she’d tried to tame the curls by pulling back the sides and clipping them into a barrette on the back of her head. Sure enough, the left side had come out already, and Rosalie sighed as she removed the barrette entirely.
“I hate my hair sometimes,” she said, trying not to sound too whiny. “Thank you.” She tossed the barrette onto the seat of the truck and bravely lifted her chin to face Lee again. “Anything else I need to fix?”
“I’m afraid I erased your smile,” he said, bringing back part of his. “Can we maybe erase the drive here and just pretend it didn’t happen?”
“No,” Rosalie said, smiling at him as she stepped out of the doorway and linked her arm through his. “I learned you have two sisters on the way here and at least one brother, the latter of whom is engaged. That, and you have access to really great candy, and that you think your family is a little too close sometimes.”
Lee chuckled, sending vibrations into the air and right down into Rosalie’s lungs. “Wow,” he said. “All I learned is that I need to remember not to yell names at people when they almost hit me.”
“And that I have one sister,” Rosalie said.
“And that you love sour candy,” he added, giving her a sly look out of the corner of his eye.
Rosalie couldn’t argue with that. “You have to tell me,” she said as they walked toward the entrance to Montague’s. “Who told you about Thumper?” Maybe they’d told him about her love for sour grape penny candy too.
“Karyn Harlow,” he said. “She said she lived down the street from you. She knows Trav and Will—I have two brothers.”
“Ah,” Rosalie said. “I assume you’re the oldest.”
“The oldest brother,” he said. “My sister in San Antonio is actually the oldest child.” He opened the door, and Rosalie stepped past him to enter first. She kept her questions to herself as Lee gave the host his name and it took several long seconds of conferring between the host and the hostess as to where they could possibly put Lee and Rosalie.
Finally, the man said, “Right this way,” as he flashed a tight smile.
Rosalie slipped her hand into Lee’s as they walked past the other diners to their cozy booth near the back of the restaurant. The simple act of holding his hand made her feel more connected to herself, as well as to him. She missed the soft touch between two people who loved each other, and she craved the ability to be close to someone.
At their booth, a huge window sat to her right and showed the park across the street. Happiness flowed through Rosalie as she slid onto the bench, and she picked up her menu as the host said who their waitress would be.
“Oh, really?” Lee asked. “Can we, uh, sit somewhere else?”
Rosalie lowered her menu, sure she hadn’t heard him right. It had nearly taken an Act of Congress for the pair at the podium to agree on this table. Lee shifted in his seat, his eyes flying all over the restaurant.
The host was as confused as Rosalie. “A different table?” He looked around too.
“One where Diane isn’t the waitress,” Lee said, sliding out and standing up. “Please.” He didn’t sound particularly sorry for not wanting Diane to be their server, and his plea wasn’t particularly gentle either.
“Uh, sure,” the host said. “I’ll put you over here. Damon is in this section.” His eyebrows went up, and Lee nodded. Rosalie followed them over to a table—not a booth—away from the windows and closer to the kitchen door, silent.
Once they had their menus and the host had left, she studied the options for a pasta feast. “You don’t like Diane?” she asked without looking at Lee.
“Not particularly,” Lee answered just as casually. “She was one of the strikes. I’d forgotten she worked here.” He was mumbling by the end of the sentence.