“So, not some classical dominatrix then?”
She snorted laughter, covering her mouth with her delicate hand. “No. Not some classical dominatrix. Although, I’ve had one or two Ballet Mistresses who fit that description.” Giggles consumed the rest of her statement.
And then it happened again.
Willow placed her hand on his arm.
How many times had a woman touched him that way? For that matter, how many times had she touched someone else in that same way? Such a simple gesture…
Except nothing about what happened between them was simple. From the moment he saw her, she’d consumed him. He’d been drawn to her. He couldn’t drag his eyes off her or his mind around her.
His mission had been Willow Tamran from the second he stepped into the kitchen.
Chapter Seven
Harry
The wind blew Willow’s hair across her face again.
Tentatively, Harry lifted a hand, and, using only the tips of his fingers, slid it off her forehead, and tucked it behind her ear.
She sighed into his touch, her eyes sliding closed for a fraction of a second before she pulled back and swallowed, nervously turning away. “So...” She cleared her throat. “You’re a chef, huh?”
The question was a bucket of cold water dropped right over his head. Despite the chemistry sizzling between them, Willow was a stranger from New York, and he was dedicated to his job in Bliss. Whatever it was that just happened needed to stop happening.
He put some careful distance between them.
“Kind of.” He leaned both elbows on the deck and looked away from her beautiful blues. “I went to culinary school, but the reality of life in the kitchen wasn’t as glamorous as it sounded.”
“How so?”
“Oh, lord. On your feet all day long. Dealing with overly sensitive and dramatic personalities. Climbing up the ranks and kowtowing to the almighty Head Chef. Rush, rush, rush, work, work, work, and nothing is ever good enough.”
“Boy, that sounds familiar. Just like trying to survive in the ballet world.” As she spoke, a shadow of regret darkened her eyes again and had Harry wondering what put it there. “Sounds like you did the smart thing and skipped all that by opening up your own business?”
“Basically, yeah. I started out working for a restaurant a few towns over. Two things happened. I learned making a living off my passion wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. And then, I realized Bliss didn’t have any nice places to eat. It was a no-brainer at that point. I opened my restaurant and never looked back.”
The conversation moved on, covering more topics than Harry could count. All of it felt natural…and that was saying a lot because small talk had never been his thing.
After a break in a discussion on the merits of sustainable gardening, Willow turned to him, gnawing at her lip and studying him intently. “This might sound totally strange and out of the blue,” she said, scrunching up her nose. “But when’s your birthday?”
“My birthday?” Of all the questions in the world, that was the last thing Harry expected her to ask. He sounded as incredulous as he felt.
“Told you it was out of the blue.” She laughed lightly and shrugged, the bones in her chest shifting as she lifted her shoulders. “I know it’s weird. But I’m into astrology and all that. I’m just curious.”
Harry shot her a skeptical look. “Astrology?”
“Humor me?”
The lilt to her voice said she knew she’d get what she wanted, but Harry wasn’t one to give up easily. He might have been a quiet man, but he was still a Moore—the bossy gene hadn’t skipped him. Not by a long shot. “My birthday is in July. But you’re gonna have to guess the date.”
Her face went slack. “The twenty-eighth. You were born on July twenty-eighth, weren’t you?”
Harry’s breath rushed past his open jaw and goose bumps threatened. “How did you know?” For a split second, he was seriously weirded out, but then, understanding dawned on him. “Juliet told you, didn’t she? That’s how you knew I opened a restaurant, and that’s how you know my birthday.”
He laughed, disappointed in himself for believing she plucked that number out of the air. He must have looked like an idiot there for a second.
But Willow just shook her head. “No. I swear to you, she didn’t.”
“Sure.” He drew out the word as he winked and flashed her the OK sign.
“I swear I’m telling you the truth. All Juliet told me was your name, and not even your full name.” She looked pretty damn convincing, even a little weirded out herself.
“If she didn’t tell you, how the hell did you guess?” The whole thing was strange, and Harry was still fifty percent sure Juliet spilled the beans.
“That means I was right? Your birthday is July twenty-eighth?”
“Yep,” he said. “Now. Out with it. How did you know?”
“My grandfather’s birthday was July twenty-eighth.” It looked like there was more to the story, but Willow clamped her mouth shut and ran a hand through her hair instead of continuing. “That makes you a Leo,” she added, and Harry got the feeling she was leaving a lot unsaid. “I love Leos.”
He didn’t know what to say. He never paid much attention to astrology, preferring to anchor himself in the real world with facts and certainties. Still, it felt really fucking good to be something Willow loved, even if it was an abstract idea of his personality she thought she understood because of the day he was born.
Footsteps thumped across the deck and he looked up to find Ian and Juliet heading his way.
“Sorry to interrupt, little brother, but Julz and I are heading to bed.” Ian shoved his hands into his back pockets. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you want, but we just wanted to say goodnight.”
To bed?
Hadn’t the sun just set?
Harry looked around and found the moon suspended amongst a field of stars, outlining the water in streaks of silver. The deck was
