“It wouldn’t . . . it isn’t . . .” It wouldn’t work. She lived in Texas. And more importantly, she’d walked away. Yeah, they’d both been young. Too young to be talking about forever, but he hadn’t ever truly gotten over her. He’d wanted to . . . God knew he wanted to, but every damn time he saw her it was as if time sucked him into some kind of vortex he was unable to avoid, and he was right back in the summer of his senior year in high school, planning his future with the girl of his dreams.
Only his teenage dreams were just that. Adolescent, hormone driven desires for the sexiest girl in school. As much as he wanted to convince her to stay and make their life work, she left, and he realized how powerless he was. He mourned her leaving for a season and then drove her memory away with every girl he could. It wasn’t long before that didn’t work and the trips out of town became less and less frequent.
He watched the recorded episodes of Warring Chef, the show where Zoe had won the second-place spot, the show that had given her a zillion opportunities. As his eyes caught her tucking her long hair behind her ear on the screen, he’d remember capturing her hair and pulling it back to kiss her neck.
When the culinary show played out in a sensual series of images in his head . . . he turned off his recordings and drove to Eugene for the night.
“Can I tell you something?” Wyatt pulled him out of his thoughts.
“Free world.”
“I think you owe it to yourself to give that a second chance.”
Luke twisted in his bar stool. “What about ‘she’s in Texas’ did you not understand?”
Wyatt closed his eyes and shook his head.
“Perrier with lime? I would never have thought that would work if I hadn’t seen it.”
He was tall, thinly built, wearing a business suit. The slight twang to his voice said he lived in Texas, but his lack of boots and a hat told her he wasn’t a native.
Zoe lifted her vodka tonic and took a drink. “It could be sparkling water.”
“Could would be the key word.”
She liked his smile. “Zoe,” she said, extending her hand.
“Raymond.” He shook her hand and waved his left in the air. “Married.”
“Not married.” Zoe waved back.
“I’m guessing you’re not a missionary either.”
“Nowhere close.”
“I would imagine a woman as beautiful as you has to come up with new lines to derail men all the time.”
“Quick wit isn’t needed when they’re drunk . . . but yeah.” She looked beyond him and noticed another couple talking. “Where’s your wife?”
“At home.” His smile left his eyes. “And no, I’m not hitting on you.”
She didn’t feel like he was. Still, she had to ask . . .
“You’re in a bar on a Friday night while your wife is at home . . . what, with the kids? Highly suspicious, Raymond.”
He didn’t elaborate. “You’re in a bar, drinking . . .” He picked up her drink, sniffed it, and set it back down. “. . . vodka, and lying about it to avoid getting picked up. Highly suspicious, Zoe.”
Zoe picked up on Jo’s laugh from across the room.
Her BFF was getting her groove on with a man twice her size with biceps that belonged on a boxer. Ink peeked out from the sleeves of his T-shirt and desire stared down at Jo from under his well-worn cowboy hat. Go, Jo!
“So you’re babysitting your friend?”
Zoe almost choked on her drink. Laughing, she said, “Jo does not need a babysitter.”
“I don’t know. That one is a player.” Raymond nodded toward the man picking Jo up.
“So is she.” Zoe turned around and placed her attention on her drinking buddy. “You must come here a lot if you know the clientele.”
He didn’t comment. Instead, he ordered a round of drinks for the both of them.
Chapter Four
Sunlight shot pain deep inside Luke’s brain. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth and cotton sat like a deep knot in the back of his throat.
He waved the fly away from his closed eyes and attempted to roll over.
“Wake up.”
Wyatt’s voice, along with a tapping on his forehead, made him crack one eye open.
The fly was an envelope that Wyatt waved in the air.
“What the hell?” It was early . . . too early for this.
Wyatt tossed the envelope on Luke’s chest and stood. “You have two hours.”
“Two hours? For what?”
“Your flight boards in two hours.”
The sheet dropped to his waist when he sat up in bed. “Flight? What flight?”
“The one to Zoe.”
Luke rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He needed an aspirin or a shot of whiskey . . . he wasn’t sure which.
“Start from the beginning.”
“I bought you a plane ticket . . . it’s nonrefundable, so don’t even think of throwing it away.”
“I don’t remember saying I wanted to go to Texas.”
Wyatt stood and tossed Luke’s overnight bag on the bed. “C’mon.”
Luke’s heart pounded in his head with increasing speed.
He swung his feet off the side of the bed and dropped his forehead into the palms of his hands.
Zoe.
“You need to do this, Luke. Last-ditch effort. When you come back, you need a direction. This limbo isn’t working for you.”
“What about getting the car home for Mel?”
“You can drive it when you come back. Now move your ass.” Wyatt looked at his watch. “One hour, fifty-five minutes.”
Luke was buckled in and cruising at twenty-two thousand feet before he had an opportunity to process what he was doing.
What the hell was he going to say to her?
The jingle of keys and the click of her front door unlocking brought Zoe’s attention away from the paper she was reading on her tablet.
Jo tiptoed in, shoes in hand, and closed the door behind her.
Zoe stood and leaned against the door frame of the kitchen with a cup of coffee in her hand.
“Oh . . . the walk of shame never looked so devilish.”
Jo jumped and started laughing before turning her head toward Zoe.
What makeup Jo had worn the night before was all but gone, her hair was a bit disheveled, and the grin on her face spoke volumes.
“That good, huh?” Zoe was almost jealous.
“Holy shit, that man had energy.”
Zoe laughed and turned back toward the dining table she’d been sitting at. “I have coffee.”
“I love you.”
“Yeah, yeah.” She poured the coffee and sat down for the obligatory recap of the night. “Did you get his name?”
Jo nodded . . . then turned said nod into a shake of her head.
They both laughed over the brims of their cups.
Hours later, they stood on the massive porch of a colonial two-story with the Realtor, who was spouting off details of the neighborhood, the schools, the lack of a crime rate.
“There’s no such thing as a lack of crime,” Jo told the real estate agent.
He placated her with a smile.
Zoe watched as Jo tilted her steel-rimmed sunglasses that should have identified her as a cop, but had somehow managed to slip by Anton. “What are the square miles of this crimeless zip code? And what is the population?”
He blinked. “I can get that information if you need it.”
“You do that.”
Zoe stepped forward. “What do you think of the house?”
Jo moved past Anton and back inside the front doors. “Very formal.”
Yeah, Zoe wasn’t sure about all that formality. “It has an amazing kitchen.”
“I don’t think it’s you.”
Zoe sighed. “Onward.”
“You’re back?” Raymond was dressed a little more like a local on Saturday.
“So are you.”
This time Zoe really was drinking Perrier. She tilted the green bottle toward the other side of the bar, where Jo was once again flirting with Mr. No Name.