Page 9 of Bean

“Is this seat taken?”

I was startled and looked up into a pair of blue eyes. He was cute, with that same silver-fox vibe Nash was developing, though he was much more of a bear than Nash. Some silver streaks in his dark hair and plenty of wrinkles around his eyes. He had to be Nash’s age. Early forties, if I had to guess. Which was my type, apparently. I hadn’t even known I had a type in men, but here we were.

Dagnabbit, he’d asked me a question. “Yes. I mean, no. Yes, you can sit there. No, it’s not taken. Sorry.”

The guy chuckled lowly. “I was going to take the chair and sit at the next table over since it’s empty but doesn’t have chairs, but if you’re up for company, I’m not gonna say no to that.”

Oh boy, had I read that wrong. Suave. Very suave. Not. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Are you rescinding your invitation?”

Oh man, I was messing this up badly. Stupid brain. “I’m not. I would love it if you’d join me.”

Aaaand that had sounded weirdly formal, but too late now. Judging by the smile on his face, he didn’t mind too much. “I’m Jarek,” he said, extending his hand.

I almost knocked over my Coke as I took it. “Bean.”

“Your name is Bean?”

“My name is Merrill, but everyone calls me Bean.”

“Ah, okay. And you prefer Bean over Merrill?”

Huh, no one had ever asked me that. “I do, but thanks for checking.”

Fiddlesticks, I’d already forgotten his name. Something with a J, right? Jack, maybe? If I played it cool and avoided using his name, I’d be fine.

“What brings you here, Bean?”

Should I tell him about my new job? Probably not smart until I’d signed all the paperwork and made it official. “I was in the neighborhood and needed a break.”

“Same.” He sighed. “It’s been a shitty week, and I needed to get out of my house.”

“Tell me about it.”

He leaned forward. “What do you do for a living?”

“I’m a cook.” I was allowed to say that, right?

“A cook or a chef?”

I chuckled. “A cook. I’m nowhere near a chef. Just a guy who was able to make his hobby into a job. And you?”

His face tightened. “Don’t ask. Long story, but I was fired, so I’m still figuring out the next step.”

“I’m sorry. I know what that’s like.” I tapped my dog tags. “Been there, done that.”

“Army?”

“Yeah. Ten years.”

He slowly nodded, his face softening again. “That’s a long time. Transition can’t have been easy.”

“It wasn’t. Still isn’t. But I’ll get there.”

“I’m sure you will.” He leaned forward, his eyes searching mine in a way that made my stomach swoop. “At the risk of you kicking me out, is there a possibility here? Between us, I mean?”

My mouth was suddenly drier than the sandbox I’d spent too much time in. “Possibility?”