“And I thought things with my dad were bad,” Adrian muttered. He seemed to think better of what he said. He reached beside him to press her hand. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t very sympathetic of me. I don’t mean to insult your mom.”
The soloist sang softly about being so in love as Goldie slipped out of Adrian’s grasp. “It’s okay. I know you didn’t.”
“You don’t like me touching you, do you?”
Goldie shrugged. She couldn’t say she’d minded when he’d held her hand earlier. If she were being honest, she was tempted to give in again. “It isn’t that.”
“What is it, then?” He took another bite of salad.
She stared down at her lap. How could she say this? The way they were acting was how people who actually knew one another—who actually cared for one another—acted. The notion that this romantic façade between them would last forever was ridiculous, and she couldn’t bring herself to behave like it would. Like he seemed to want her to.
“I don’t want to get too carried away. I’m already getting a free room from you even though I should be paying for it. I’m playing a part with you that still makes me question everything about it. I just—I never meant to impose so much into your life when I spent the night at your family’s cabin. With you being so generous, I just don’t want to take any kind of advantage.”
He nodded. “I can understand that. But if I’m the one initiating things, you aren’t taking advantage by accepting them.”
He’d said as much, but she still couldn’t fight the feeling nagging at her. “But I feel like I am.”
“Why?”
Did he want the truth? Whether he did or not, he was going to get it. She exhaled. “Because I just met you? Because I have no way to return the favor, unless you like baked goods. Take your pick.”
“Baked goods?”
She shrugged, suddenly self-conscious. “I like to bake. I thought I could make something in exchange for room and board. I know it won’t be enough, not by a long shot, but at least it would be something.”
This amused him. “Fair enough,” he said. “I won’t touch you again, not unless you initiate the contact. Contrary to what you might think, I’m no saint, Goldie, but I do appreciate the chance to help you.”
“Why?” she asked. Before yesterday he didn’t know she existed. Why would he possibly care about helping her as much as he had?
He swallowed, displaying the tiniest bit of hesitation that made something in her stomach flutter. He’d been straightforward enough with his questions. She was only dishing it right back at him.
He lifted his chin to look directly at her. The edges of the veranda blurred. The soft acoustic guitar thinned, slipping deeper into the background. Goldie wasn’t aware of anything but Adrian’s soulful eyes and her own pulse.
“There’s just something about you, I guess.”
He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t expound on past experiences, helping people in need, or specify exactly what that something was, but in that moment it hooked straight into her as well.
Something.
Something about him. Maybe it was the brilliance of him beneath the stars. Maybe it was the bullseye of his attention on her or the way his leg brushed against hers beneath the table. Maybe it was the effect he was beginning to have over her, the way her mouth went dry, or the way her palms became clammy.
Whatever it was, she could tell Adrian Bear was becoming more to her than she ever expected him to be.
CHAPTER Fourteen
GOLDIE DIDN’T GET THE CHANCE to reply to his inquisitive, vulnerable gaze before the cowboy crooning sweet love songs finished another ballad. Again, she lifted her hands to applaud him only to be met by silence.
“Why isn’t anyone clapping for him?” she mused, deciding to be the rebel. She slapped her palms together in painstaking obviousness. Of course, her clapping was going to be noticeable. Adrian tapped his fork to his lips before setting down his utensils and joining in.
“Thank you,” the cowboy said into his mic. Several others at the surrounding tables joined in as if they only just realized the music was live. “I appreciate that, thank you.”
Gratification slipped down her spine. She was no musician, but she had an idea of the courage it must take to play in front of other people.
Adrian smirked at her.
“What?” she asked.
“Nothing,” he said as the cowboy started a new song with a livelier beat. He tapped the side of his guitar intermittently to add percussion, and Goldie was ready to settle in. This music, the lights, the company, this was butter.
Their waitress appeared with dishes of steak and steamed broccoli. The food looked amazing, and both Goldie and Adrian dug in. It was delicious.
“You were right,” she said, halfway through.
“About what?”
“This is definitely not Spaghettios.”
Adrian laughed. “I’m glad you like it.”
His hand was resting on the table beside her napkin. She wondered if he was doing it on purpose to taunt her. She had the sudden urge to reach and stroke his fingers, but she kept her free hand tightly fisted in her lap. This wasn’t a real date. He wasn’t really interested in her. It was just a ploy to keep him off his mom’s radar until he returned to Chicago.
When dinner finished, Goldie dug a few dollars from her purse and slipped them into the musician’s case. He tipped his hat in thanks, and the two of them left the way they’d come.
Adrian offered to stop by Aunt Bethany’s house again, but again she was out. Goldie swallowed her disappointment.
The urge to touch him tormented her through their entire drive back to the ranch. It was probably nothing more than the invitation he’d presented, teasing her, turning it back on her to initiate contact. It would be so easy. He was
