Pink was too cutesy and too daytime, even though the color really flattered her skin. Teal was usually a good bet, but the color on her hair was a bright royal. Blue hair limited anything too green and anything too red, for that matter. She didn’t want to look like the Fourth of July. White would send the wrong message and she’d stay away from her silvers. Sapling wasn’t ready to see her in metallic tones. It felt a bit boring and predictable, but she decided to go with plum.
He’s not gonna care about your glasses because this isn’t a date. Why can’t you get it through your head?
It was never good when she talked to herself. Even worse was when she met talking to herself with answering herself.
Because when the chemistry’s that natural, that’s how it’s gonna feel.
The answering voice in her head wasn’t wrong. That was why Shea planned to give his sister some one-time free advice, then politely decline. She would talk about the screenplay she was writing and all she needed to accomplish while she was in Sapling. She would suggest in the kindest terms possible that his sister recruit a capable chef. And she absolutely would not in any way, shape or form be bewitched by Dev’s forest-green eyes.
“Hey, thanks for coming.” She recognized his baritone from directly behind her over the restaurant’s dull roar. Shea had yet to eat at The Big Spoon on a Friday night. There were only two tables left.
As she turned to face him, she caught a whiff of his scent—all cedar and citrus and musk. The mix of aromas was appealing all on its own. Things got real when her body completed its motion and she fully took him in. After-work Dev was absolutely gorgeous.
She’d thought it couldn’t get sexier than his uniform of aprons and fitted tees that invited her eyes to crawl over his chiseled arms. What he had on now showed her, she’d thought wrong. His slim-fitting button-up was a stylish plaid that mixed reds and browns and pinks. Its rolled-up sleeves accentuated forearms that were corded and strong. His jeans were different than the ones he usually wore—these ones had a darker wash and a tighter cut that added to his rugged appeal.
“Oh, hey…” she said, trying to sound like she didn’t want to touch his middle and run her fingers over his shirt. Something about the cut of his outfit made her really want to see his abs. Until then, she hadn’t given much thought to what his midsection might be like. Something told her his abs were magnificent.
“I really appreciate you doing this,” he said clapping his hands together and giving her a grateful, sincere look. He motioned forward, toward the busy restaurant floor. A second later, he put his hand on the small of her back and began to weave her around the tables until they came to one by the window. The evening was cool and no one was sitting outside.
“What do you like to drink?” he asked as soon as they sat down.
“Something with Bourbon and citrus and sweet.”
His lips melted into a smirk. “Shit. I’m scared of you...”
“How ‘bout you?” she returned.
He didn’t hesitate. “Pinot Noir.”
It was a perfectly good answer, but specific, and not what she was expecting. This was Colorado—most men seemed to drink neat liquor or beer. Her surprise must have showed, because he shrugged and elaborated.
“Pinot has the highest levels of resveratrol of any other wine.”
“You mean, the antioxidant?” Shea was perturbed. “That’s how you choose your wine?”
Dev smiled that shiny, healthy smile and didn’t break her gaze. “You know I own a health food store, right? Most things I eat, I eat because they’re good for you. I have a glass of Pinot every night with my dinner because experts recommend one glass a day.”
“But what if your food doesn’t pair with the Pinot?” she asked rather loudly.
Dev chuckled before he answered. “I care more about the benefits it creates for my body than how it tastes.”
Shea tried not to become so ensorcelled by his sexy smile, his emerald gaze and his truly delicious fragrance, that his witchcraft caused her to forget his culinary crime.
“What’s your favorite thing to eat here?” Shea quizzed.
“Chopped salad,” he answered easily. “Substitute the bleu cheese for the balsamic.”
“And you pair that with Pinot Noir?” she practically shouted.
“I do when I’m here for dinner,” he explained. “I have it with unsweetened tea whenever I order it at lunch.”
I knew there had to be something wrong with him, Shea’s internal voice thought even as the teeth in his healthy white smile gleamed like pearls.
“You said earlier you appreciated the coffee cake,” he remarked, unaware of her distress. “Are there any savory dishes you like?”
This was the other reason why Shea couldn’t do whatever Dev was asking. Her unfiltered opinions about the food might insult his sister.
“It’s hard to say. They’re a little inconsistent,” she confessed. “I like the pot pie, but some days it’s better than others. What I’m gonna get depends on what day I come in.”
He nodded thoughtfully, seeming to accept the answer. “Has the variation in the food ever stopped you from coming?”
Trudy was just walking up to the table.
“Trudy, what days do I always come in?” Shea asked as Trudy set down a glass of red and a bourbon drink neither of them had ordered.
“Like clockwork,” Trudy looked at Dev. “Every Tuesday.”
Trudy walked back off as quickly as she had come, expressing no surprise to see the two of them together. She also hadn’t bothered to take their order.
“My sister works on Tuesdays,” Dev supplied.
Oh, thank God.
“I think you might’ve met her already.” Something fun seeped into his features. “I hear you highly approve of her morning buns.”
Shea was glad she’d held off on taking a first sip of her drink. The surprise might have caused her to spit it out.
“Seriously? Delilah’s your sister?”
Dev let out a hearty laugh. It had a richness to it and there was something nice about his lips when he smiled so widely. He was open in that moment—free in a way he hadn’t witnessed any of the other times when she’d run into him at the store.
“Don’t worry—that’s the usual reaction. I know we look nothing alike. Blonde hair and gray eyes versus dark hair and green.”
“Older or younger?” Shea wanted to know. Delilah was so short, it was hard to tell. Both of them were incredibly well preserved.
“She’s younger, by two years.” Dev fingered the stem of his glass, spinning it slowly in place. He had yet to take a sip.
“So, wait, she’s head chef here and her other job is to run her bakery? Why not just hire a full-time chef?”
“Believe me—she’s tried. It’s not enough money for the hassle.”
Shea threw him a look that begged explanation. “The hassle of what? Doing your job?”
“I told you…” Dev shook his head. “When Jenkins ran the place, the food was really, really good. He did all the cooking himself ’til the day he died. It was an impossible act to follow.”
“Then why stay open?” Shea wanted to know. “You said it’s a magical place, but it sounds near-impossible to recreate the magic.”