His Ten-Year-Old Secret. Donna Clayton
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The feathery-yet-intense inflection the waitress placed on the last short sentence clearly conveyed that she was sure that the man Tess awaited was no less than a lover. In any other circumstance, Tess was sure she’d have blushed. But the chaos reigning in her brain had her thoughts, her emotional responses, fragmented, splintered.
Dylan was an important man, she realized. Not because of any close relationship she shared with him, but because of what they had created. A precious child. A daughter. Erin.
The beautiful name whispered across her mind, and Tess latched onto it, focused on it and enjoyed a small moment of calm.
But the mere idea that her daughter was alive and well soon had her head churning all over again. However, she knew getting lost in the questions wouldn’t help her one bit, so shoving the roiling thoughts aside, she looked up at the waitress.
“He is important,” Tess admitted, although she didn’t feel up to straightening out the woman’s erroneous thinking by clarifying all that her statement meant.
“Well, you wait as long as you like,” Sue told her. “We don’t close till eleven.”
The front door opened then, and Tess and the waitress were turning their heads to look before the small bells attached to the door’s hinge barely had time to tinkle.
He looked good, Tess mused, her pulse pumping to life through veins that suddenly felt too small. Even though trouble clouded his eyes, the intense green of them had her breath catching in her throat. She remembered years ago how the long, wavy hair at the back of his neck would curl in silky tresses around her finger. But his chestnut hair was cut shorter now. In a more respectable fashion.
“Dylan! What brings you out at this time of night?” Sue greeted. “You’re usually home with Erin, doing homework and housework, playing Daddy.”
Tess didn’t know why she was so taken aback that the waitress knew Dylan—his shop was just up the block from the coffeehouse—but startled she was. However, maybe it wasn’t so much that the waitress knew him, but the familiarity with which Sue greeted him that had Tess feeling so...odd.
Jealousy.
When she put a name to the emotion that was constricting her chest, she nearly gasped. Impossible! It was completely out of the question.
Then what was it?
Despite the anxiety shadowing his gaze, Dylan smiled at the waitress—and it was then that Tess correctly identified what she was feeling.
Envy. She was pea green with it. Before she could analyze the feeling further, though, Dylan’s intense gaze was once again focused on her, silently demanding her attention.
“Let’s go,” he said, keeping the door propped open with one hand.
Tess felt as if she moved in slow motion as she made to rise. A small exhalation of shock erupted from the waitress. Looking up at the woman, Tess saw questions in Sue’s eyes.
You’ve been waiting for Dylan? her gaze seemed to ask.
As if she were in a sleep-fogged dream, Tess decided she simply couldn’t concern herself with the woman’s curiosity. Tossing some bills on the table, she turned toward the door.
“I’ve got a fresh apple pie in the back,” the waitress said to Dylan. “You sure I can’t talk you into having a slice?”
“Some other time, Sue,” Dylan said. “Erin’s with a sitter, and she won’t go to bed until I get home and put my foot down. Thanks anyway.” Then his gaze darted to Tess and he curtly repeated, “Let’s go,” his tone urging her to hurry.
The waitress softly called, “Bye.”
And Tess was surprised to realize she was the one being spoken to. She nodded to the woman and offered her a distracted smile as she moved toward Dylan.
He was holding the door open and she was forced to brush the broad expanse of his chest with her shoulder as she passed between him and the doorjamb. The woodsy aroma of his cologne struck her full force and her instinct urged her to hesitate, to savor his heated scent. But luckily, he planted his hand firmly on the small of her back and propelled her out onto the sidewalk. Normally she’d have been incensed by such overbearing behavior, but she was relieved to follow his lead at the moment. How idiotic would she have looked if she’d paused to sniff the man’s cologne?
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