Page 8 of The Talk Around Town
Gabe’s grin as he joked with the men at the bar sent heat spiralling in her blood and burning its way through her body. His eyes caught hers, and his grin faded slightly. Ryan raised an eyebrow and turned to look at what had caught Gabe’s attention, raising his beer to her in salute, a cheeky grin widening his full mouth.
Emma dropped her eyes to her drink and wrapped her hands around the half-empty glass.
Stop it, girl. He’s most definitely not available.
She almost laughed at the irony of that. The first man she was attracted to in what seemed like forever—an unwanted attraction at that—and he was as far from available as possible.
“He’s not in on it, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Emma blinked. “Who?”
“Gabe. He’s not on the list,” Darby clarified.
Of course he isn’t.Emma’s reply didn’t make it past her lips as her eyes caught on a lone figure sitting on the other side of the wide dance floor, in the last booth, far to the back in the shadows.
“Who’s that?” She was sure she hadn’t seen him sitting there when Darby had taken her around for introductions.
Darby spun in her seat and followed Emma’s gaze. “Oh, that’s Old Pete. His wife died about ten years ago. He comes here every night for dinner. He doesn’t say much. Keeps to himself. He eats, listens to the band or the jukebox for a while, then disappears again. Same time every night.”
Emma’s heart constricted and clenched tight. The poor man. She glanced around at the other tables. No one took any notice of him. No one even looked in his direction. Tears for the loneliness this man must be feeling—to come and spend time at the busiest time of day in acrowded bar—welled up.
She bit down hard on her rampant emotions and picked up her glass, scooting to the end of the bench seat. “I’ll be back soon.”
Taking in their surprised expressions, Emma stood and walked across the dance floor. Every eye in the place followed her progress. The strength of their stares impaled her. She forced herself to ignore it, but by the time she stopped in front of Old Pete’s booth she was trembling.
Pete looked up from his half-eaten meal and stared at her. A sudden stab of pain and affection spiked through her.
Wow. He looks so much like Pop.
Even after five years, Emma’s grandfather’s death was still an aching wound. She cleared her tight throat.
“Is this seat taken? Would you mind if I sat down for a moment?” she asked, holding her breath. He appeared to be in his eighties. Clean, but rumpled, and obviously not in close acquaintance with an iron.
He shook his head. “Not at all.”
Emma sat and held out her hand. He stared at it for a moment in confusion. “I’m Emma. I’m new here. I just wanted to say hello.”
Faded brown eyes looked back up at her face. His expression softened and he nodded, holding out his own hand. “Folks hereabouts call me Old Pete.”
Emma sent him a huge smile, relieved beyond measure. He hadn’t asked her to leave.
“Would you mind if I just call you Pete?”
*
“She’s pretty, isn’tshe?” Max asked as Gabe placed his stacks of glasses on the bar before him. Max took them and set them down onto the counter behind the bar, out of sight. “The guys are certainly having fun trying to impress her. It’s funny watching them try and outdo each other.”
“Emma? She’s way beyond pretty. I don’t think I know a word to describe her,” Gabe replied. He glanced up at his brother when he didn’t receive an answer. “What?”
Max’s face pinched, like he was in some sort of pain. “What can I getfor you, Emma?”
Oh crap.
Gabe turned and gazed straight into Emma’s come-get-me eyes.
Double crap.
A faint blush fanned across her cheeks, proving she’d heard his comment.