style="font-size:15px;"> A gray-haired woman wearing an apron headed their way, then stopped to yell over her shoulder. “God-dammit, Rosalva, we’re going deaf.”
Smiling at them, she spoke in a normal tone. “Sit toward the back, Mike, would you? Esther’s still swole up from that abscess, so I’m running my stumps off.”
“Sure thing, Suze.” Mike led Autumn down the aisle, greeting everyone he passed, asking questions and answering the ones he was asked. He introduced Autumn as Lydia’s fill-in. Autumn felt curious looks follow them to the back booth.
“Tongues are wagging now,” Mike said, shaking his head.
“Why is that?”
“Because you’re gorgeous and I’m not married.”
“These people need to get lives.”
But he looked suddenly serious. “Listen, Autumn, if I made you uncomfortable today in any way, I apologize.” Color shot up his neck and he looked utterly shame-faced.
“You didn’t,” she said, not ready to point out the fact that she’d taken advantage of his weakness.
“I’m not usually like that.”
“It’s okay. Really.” The man was apologizing for the one thing she completely understood—he was a male animal with a sex drive. There was nothing wrong with that at all.
In fact, her body was celebrating his masculinity this very instant. Her skin felt hot, her nerves jumpy and she crossed her legs against the swelling ache in her sex.
Not helpful at all. She was supposed to pick her boss’s brains, not jump his bones.
“I’m glad to hear that.” Mike handed her a laminated menu. “Look this over, but you’ll want the chiles rellenos, medium spice and a nopalitos-and-goat-cheese salad.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“I just know.” He winked as though he’d figured her out right down to her taste in Mexican food. Attraction zipped between them, making the candle flicker. Or maybe that was how unnaturally hard she was breathing.
Settle down.
“How about because it’s the next best thing to our machaca burros, which we’re usually out of this time of night?” Suze said in a raspy voice, talking around a cigarette, which wagged as she talked.
“There’s that.” Mike grinned.
“We only offer the one salad,” she added. “It’s a good one but it’s all she wrote.”
“Guess that’s what I’ll have then,” Autumn said.
“Double it,” Mike said. “And two Tecates.” He looked at Autumn. “Goes great.”
“Is he right, Suze?” Autumn asked, getting into the down-home attitude.
Suze winked. “Comin’ right up.” She left and their gazes collided, then bounced away. Hers landed on the art on the wall behind him. It was a velvet painting of Elvis as a bullfighter, smart and ironic. She smiled. “I like the art in here.”
Mike turned to see what she was looking at. “We may only have two streetlights, but we know our velvet paintings.”
“Evidently. They’re all around.” She looked around the place. “You’ve possibly cornered the market.”
“We should put that on our Web site. Could bring us some art lovers.”
“You’re always thinking about your job, huh?”
“I’m the official town worrier.”
“Is there a lot to worry about?”
“Enough. We need business growth badly. Our bank is losing customers to the big chains. The grocery and hardware stores struggle. People tend to shop in Tucson. The idea is to give people reasons to spend their money in town, churn it back into our pockets.”
As he talked, he fiddled with his silverware and she couldn’t take her eyes off his round-tipped fingers. He shifted his weight on the bench, moving with an athlete’s restlessness. He was well-built, so what did he do for exercise?
Stop staring at the man.
“That’s easy enough to understand,” she said, focusing in.
“But people don’t think like that. They think about saving money or buying what they want, or getting a good selection.”
She nodded, conceding his point about human nature.
Suze arrived with their beers and Mike asked the woman about her son, who’d recently left town. She seemed to miss him and Mike’s expression was full of compassion. When Suze left, Mike looked out around the place, checking on everyone, as if to see that all was well.
Which turned out to be kind of sexy.
Like everything else about the man.
“So, enough about my headaches,” he said. “Tell me about yourself. You’re in school to become a CPA?” He caught her gaze. Again he really looked at her. Like a shrink or a father confessor or a man who knew her more intimately than any man ever had.
He made her feel soft and he made her feel wanted. She longed to reach out to touch his tan cheek, brush the fan of crinkles at the corners of his eyes.
“That’s the plan,” she said instead, drinking some beer to distract herself.
“Have you always loved numbers?” He leaned forward, his expression earnest, as though he really wanted to know.
“I guess.” It had taken an embarrassingly long time for her to see how her gift with figures could become a profession.
“And…?”
“Nothing. I just…I guess I love the orderliness of numbers, knowing that the formulas always work and if you don’t make mistakes, it all comes out right.”
“Makes sense.” He tilted his head at her, as if figuring her out. “So, after you get your degree, what’s the plan then?”
“Then I get a job with a big firm, get some solid experience, network like crazy until I make enough contacts and save enough to open my own business.”
“You’d rather work for yourself?”
“Oh, yeah. I want my own clients, you know? People who depend on me. I want to help them maximize their income, minimize their taxes, get them where they want to be financially, all that. I want them to count on me, you know?”
She was surprised how easy it was to blurt the ideas she’d always kept in her head, thinking them over and over when school got hard or she got worried and lost sleep.
“So it’s not just the numbers,” he said slowly. “It’s also helping people.”
“Yeah.
