Page 18 of The Way We Touch
“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “Most of the big-time jocks I’ve met wouldn’t be so understanding about eating a ghost pepper… And I’m not sure they’d comfort a five-year-old who’s scared of American Girl dolls.”
“I don’t like those dolls either.”
A smile curls her full lips. “You’re nice.”
“I’m glad somebody thinks so.”
“Garrett thinks so, or he wouldn’t have brought you here. And Kimmie Joy thinks so, or she wouldn’t have let you hold her.”
“She’s a cute kid.”
“She’s a good judge of character.”
I reach up, hooking my fingers on the top of the door, not really wanting to say goodbye. Her eyes flicker to my biceps, and she blinks down at the doll in her hands. I’m standing here in my jeans and a short-sleeved tee still damp from the milk intended to put out the fire. Only a different fire is smoldering, and I don’t think milk’s going to extinguish it.
Her cheeks are that pretty shade of pink again, and I’m starting to like what it could mean.
Lowering my arms, I cross them over my chest, leaning against the door jamb. “What will you do today?”
“Manage the restaurant.” She holds up one of the dolls. “After I find a place to put these.”
“Got any critters you need to scare away?”
She ducks with a silent laugh. “That’s not a bad idea, actually. I might.”
“Aunt Deedeeeeee!” The little girl yells from the front of the house. “Uncle Craig said stop flirting with Mr. Logan and come back to the restaurant!”
Dylan’s eyes widen. “I am not… That man is so spoiled. I can’t be gone for five minutes before he starts acting up.”
“It’s okay.” I grin, taking a step back. “I don’t mind a pretty girl flirting with me.”
At that her face turns as red as one of her hot peppers, and she spins on her heel, leaving me at the door. It makes me laugh, and I call a goodbye after her.
“Have a good rest, Logan.” She calls over her shoulder, and I watch her round ass sway in those cutoffs as she goes.
Yeah, this is going to be an interesting trip.
4
Dylan
“Put more fries on the plates.” I stop Salina Duck on her way out, heaping French fries around the burgers on her tray.
“I just grab ‘em the way they’re served!” She shakes her brown ponytail before heading into the packed dining area.
I step into the kitchen, going to where Thomas is working at the grill, flipping fresh burgers while he monitors the frier.
“Why are you skimping on the fries, Thomas? Are we running out?”
“Nope.” His full lips tighten with a frown as he shakes his head, flipping a line of Angus beef burgers on the grill. “Craig said we’re cutting back on the fries for heart health.”
His tone is disapproving, and my head snaps to Craig, who’s standing at the refrigerator drinking Red Bull.
“What?” He glances from me to our cook.
“You told Thomas to put less fries on the plates?”
“I read an article about saturated fats and how bad they are for us. I think it’s our responsibility to look out for the customers.”