Pennsylvania has vineyards? “That would be great, thanks.”
“Preferences?”
“Surprise me.”
As the hostess walked away, Bree sipped her water and looked around. The majority of the tables were occupied despite being midweek. Some families, a few couples. Some old, some young. It was a nice mix.
The hostess returned with thick, crusty bread and a bowl of herbed oil with roasted garlic for dipping, then recited the dinner specials as Bree sipped the wine samples. The woman was right; they were surprisingly good.
“What do you recommend?”
“Personally, I’m partial to the garlic-butter shrimp pasta, but the chicken Marsala is a local favorite.”
“Garlic-butter shrimp pasta it is and a glass of the house white, please.”
“You got it.” The woman paused. “Are you visiting someone in town or just passing through?”
“Is it that obvious?”
“Sumneyville is a small town.”
“I guess so.” Bree laughed, trying to wrap her mind around a place where everyone knew everyone else and could so quickly spot an outsider. Bree wouldn’t recognize half the people who lived in her six-unit apartment building, let alone random people in the town. “I’m here for the week.”
“Mel’s Motel or Martha’s B & B?”
“The B & B.”
The woman nodded in approval. “Good choice. Not that Mel’s isn’t nice,” she was quick to add, “but Martha’s is homier. I’m Carmella, by the way. My husband and I own this place.”
“Bree.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Bree, and welcome. Enjoy your dinner, and if you need anything while you’re in town, please don’t hesitate to ask.”
“Thanks. I will.”
Carmella walked away, leaving Bree wondering if everyone in Sumneyville was as friendly and welcoming as Martha and Carmella or if it was just an act put on for outsiders.
Bree dipped the bread into the herbed oil with roasted garlic. The first bite was nearly orgasmic. She closed her eyes and savored the richness. She decided right then and there that if the rest of the meal was even half as good, it wouldn’t be a hardship to have dinner there for the rest of the week.
While she nibbled, Bree pulled out her journal and jotted down a few thoughts and impressions as well as some ideas for her interview. There would be the standard obligatory questions, of course, covering the basic what, where, who, and why, but anything beyond would depend on what she found when she got there—how she was received, their willingness to share, that sort of thing.
A tingling awareness ghosted over her skin, causing her to pause mid-scribble. She looked up to find the hostess escorting a group of four men and two women to a large table in the back. One of the men in particular caught her attention. She recognized him as the same guy who’d stopped along the road earlier that morning to offer assistance.
He cleans up nice. The white button-down, open at the collar, accentuated the dusky tone of his sun-kissed skin, as did the sleeves rolled up to mid-forearm. His jaw was baby smooth, as if he’d just shaved; his wavy auburn hair looked slightly damp, curling at the ends where it met his broad shoulders.
Two of the men pulled out seats for the women and then sat beside them, suggesting they were together. Her would-be road-rescuer and a good-looking blond guy sat across from each other.
Are they a couple too? she wondered, stifling an odd pang of disappointment at the thought.
A young server with red-tipped hair and kohl-lined eyes brought her meal and caught Bree staring. “Scenic view, right?” she said with a smirk.
Very, Bree thought. “Do you know them?”
The young woman turned to her in disbelief. “Those are the Sanctuary guys—well, some of them anyway. They come in a lot—or at least, they used to.” The server’s lips turned down, suggesting she wasn’t too happy about that. “Do you need anything else?”
Before Bree could ask for another glass of water, the server was gone, smoothing her apron and hair on her way over to the newcomers’ table with an exaggerated sway.
Those are the Sanctuary guys? Nothing at all like the grizzled, middle-aged men she’d pictured.
As if he sensed her gaze, the auburn-haired do-gooder looked up and right at her. His eyes widened briefly, and then his lips curled upward in recognition.
Bree’s assignment just became a whole lot more interesting.
Chapter Eight
Cage
“Yo.” Doc snapped his fingers in front of Cage’s face to get his attention.
“What?”
“You’re up, man.”
Cage realized the server, Marietta, was staring at him, waiting for him to place his order. He quickly scanned the specials without taking the time to analyze the choices. There was no wrong answer. Over the last couple years, he’d tried everything on Franco’s menu, and it was all good. “I’ll have the pasta special.”
Marietta smiled, reaching over him to retrieve his menu and brushing her breasts against him in the process. He stiffened, the contact decidedly unwelcome but not unexpected. Marietta made a habit of flirting shamelessly with all of them, even the ones clearly spoken for. However, with Sandy and Kate glaring warnings at her with their eyes, Marietta was concentrating her efforts on his and Doc’s end of the table. If he’d been paying attention, he could have handed her the menu, preemptively avoiding the awkward moment.
He looked back over to the pretty brunette, the woman he now knew was the reporter intent on interviewing them. Her eyes were no longer on him but on whatever she was scratching into her notebook.
Doc followed his gaze, casting a look over his shoulder. “Well, hello there.”
Of course, that made the others look, too.
“Friend of yours?” Mad Dog asked Cage.
“Not exactly.”
Had it just been the guys, he might have received some ribbing for that vague nonanswer, and that would have been the end of it. Men respected each other that way. It wasn’t just the guys at the table, however, and the women weren’t as apt to move on without further interrogation.
“I don’t know her,” Sandy commented, turning to Kate. “Do you?”
Kate shook her head. “No. She’s definitely not from around here.”
Gazes expectantly turned back
