assembling a to-go order on the sleek stainless steel counter just inside the kitchen’s swinging door. “Has anything in particular put that giddy expression on your face?”
“Maybe.” Amanda bit back a smile. Best not to say anything until she was certain she could pull it off.
“Since you’re in such a chipper mood, can you take these out front while I grab a pitcher of sweet tea?” Belle offered her two white paper bags, all sealed up and ready to go.
Amanda took them. “The last of the pulled pork, I presume?”
“Yes, they go to the father and son waiting by the register. He’s already paid.” Belle focused intently on the pitcher in her hands, almost as if she were afraid of dropping it. Which was something Belle never, ever did.
Odd.
But Amanda didn’t have time to figure out what was going on with Belle. They were still in the middle of the dinner rush, plus she might have a fundraiser to plan. “When you get a chance, Doc J needs an order of the pot roast. On the house.”
“I’m on it, boss,” Belle said, again without meeting her gaze.
Amanda shook her head as she pushed her way through the swinging door, but as soon as she was on the other side, the reason for Belle’s strange behavior was clear.
Ryan Carter stood waiting at the counter, presumably for the bags in Amanda’s hands. But unlike all the previous times he’d been to the Grille, he wasn’t alone. A little boy around five or six years old stood beside him, clutching a bright red dinosaur toy with one hand and Ryan’s big palm with the other. There was a sadness in the child’s eyes that made Amanda’s heart feel like it was being squeezed in a vise, a sadness that also made her think twice about the reasons behind Ryan’s ever-present scowl.
She smiled at the boy, and his gaze dropped quickly to the ground. So she had no choice but to focus on his father, standing just a few feet away and looking like the world’s most handsome single dad, scowl notwithstanding. She wished she had something to stare at other than his strong jaw and rugged face. She wished it so hard that her hands grew sweaty and the to-go bags nearly fell to the ground.
“You again.” She set the paper bags on the counter and without thinking, wiped her damp palms on her frilly gingham apron. Definitely not the most attractive move she could have made, but he’d caught her off guard. She could hardly think straight. Belle is totally fired. “Welcome back.”
The corner of his mouth twitched, as if he was trying his best to smile but had forgotten how. “Thank you. It’s good to see you. I’m glad you haven’t suffered any permanent injuries from our earlier run-in.”
He remembered her.
Finally.
Of course he remembers. He nearly mowed you down on the sidewalk. Don’t read too much into it. “Nope. I’m still all in one piece.”
“Good to know.”
Other than their awkward sidewalk collision, this was the closest Amanda had ever been to Ryan Carter. Since he hadn’t plowed into her this time, she was free to examine him without the distraction of an aching nose. He had the nicest eyes she’d ever seen—golden brown with a ring of deep amber in the center. Rich and pure, like Carolina honey drizzled on a biscuit.
She felt woozy all of a sudden, as if she’d been sipping the whiskey she kept on hand for her special bread pudding sauce.
“Well,” she said, and gestured to the bags.
That was his cue to leave. She much preferred crushing on the swoonworthy newspaperman from afar. Up close, he was far too intense. Far too dangerous, if the sudden pounding of her heart was any indication.
She wasn’t good at the whole flirting and dating thing. The one time she’d put herself out there and asked someone on a date, she’d been so nervous that she’d vomited on the boy’s feet immediately after she’d gotten the words out. It had been mortifying, obviously. Amanda still couldn’t bring herself to talk about it, even when Belle urged her to try to move past “the Sadie Hawkins incident.” It had become part of the town lore, and according to one of Amanda’s nieces, kids at Spring Forest High still talked about it.
No matter. Amanda had no intention of flirting with Ryan. The very idea of going on a date with the man terrified her, and she definitely didn’t have time for it, especially if she was going to put together a massive fundraiser on top of her already jam-packed schedule.
Just go away, she wanted to say. Go away and let me catch my breath.
She didn’t say it, of course. And he clearly wasn’t a mind reader because he didn’t budge. He just kept looking at her while her knees went weak.
Why is this so hard?
It wasn’t as if she’d never gone on a date before. She’d dated...a little. But she’d never had a serious relationship, mainly because she liked to keep men at arm’s length. As the only biracial woman in Spring Forest—other than her sister, obviously—dating could be complicated. She’d been called striking or told that her looks were unusual more times than she could count.
Oddly enough, her brother, Josh, didn’t seem to have that problem. Or maybe he simply didn’t let it get to him. All Amanda knew was that he dated all the time, which would have been a nightmare in and of itself. She wouldn’t be able to cope with Sadie Hawkins–type nerves on such a regular basis.
No. Way.
Maybe it would have been easier if she lived in a big city like Raleigh or Charlotte—somewhere more metropolitan. But her family had roots here. The Grille itself was a reminder that the Sylvesters had been in Spring Forest for generations. Amanda was happy in her hometown.
She just found it much simpler to go it alone.
Amanda gripped the edge of the counter and smiled at the little boy, who had the same striking eyes as his father. “What’s your name, sweetie?”
He tightened his grip on his triceratops until his little knuckles went white.
“This is Dillon,” Ryan said. “Barbecue is his favorite. I usually try to pick up our dinner on my way home, but thought he could use an outing, so here we are.”
Here they were indeed.
“Is that right? Is barbecue really your favorite?” She moved around the counter and crouched down so she was on eye level with Dillon.
Her effort earned her a nod and a tiny hint of a smile.
“Of course it is.” Ryan gave his son’s hand a squeeze, and there was a new tenderness in his tone that did nothing to help the weak-in-the-knees situation. “We never lie about barbecue, do we, bud?”
He’d mirrored his words from this afternoon.
I never lie about coffee.
Cute.
Way too cute. Adorable, actually.
“Hot dogs are the only thing I cook that he’s interested in eating. Even
