She hadn’t even glanced at the menu yet. “Hamburger and fries.”
“Cheese? Bacon? Avocado?”
“Yes, yes and dear God no. Pack it to go, though, would you please?”
“You bet.” He slid the menu away from her and headed away again. While she waited for the food, she sent her daily reassurance to her mom—which necessitated several follow-up texts that yes, she was taking her daily vitamins, yes, she was getting enough sleep despite what Brady must have said, and no, just because she was delivering flowers these days didn’t mean she’d stopped looking for a “proper” job.
Proper in her mother’s vernacular meant nine-to-five with insurance benefits and a retirement plan.
By the time Catherine Fortune’s questions were finally spent, Arabella had received her order of food. She gave Evan enough cash for his tip before she left.
The sun was no longer blazing, but it was still a long way from setting. On the way back to her car, she passed a bus stop and sat on the pretty wooden bench in the shade where she ate her fries and hamburger, and dialed Brady’s number—twice.
She hung up both times before it could ring, though, and finally tossed her phone inside her book bag. Calling any one of her brothers would be her last resort.
According to the bus schedule posted on a sign next to the bench, the next bus wasn’t due for another hour. She could eat at her leisure, enjoy the shady spot and pretend that she hadn’t foolishly given it all up in New York.
The hamburger was enormous.
She still managed to polish it off. Then she slowly dredged french fry after french fry through her mustard and contemplated whether she could stand the humiliation of returning to Buffalo so soon after coming to Rambling Rose.
On the plus side, her dad would get over his apoplectic anger that she’d defected to the “other side,” which was how he viewed the rest of the Fortunes of the world.
“Need a lift?”
She looked beyond her mustard and fries to the street.
A bus hadn’t stopped in front of her bench, but a dusty blue pickup truck had.
The french fry stuck in her throat as she looked through the opened window to see Jay Cross sitting behind the steering wheel.
She coughed slightly and sucked iced tea through her straw, forcing the fry down. “Not from you,” she croaked.
His lips compressed and she thought he’d drive off.
But instead, he leaned over and pushed open the passenger-side door a few inches.
It was embarrassing the way her heart skittered around so easily.
She stiffened her spine and said nothing. Just raised her eyebrow. She’d perfected the motion when she’d been a teenager—a baby sister’s defense against so many protective older brothers—though she figured the effort right now was pretty well lost under the brim of her baseball cap.
“Come on, Arabella.” Jay pushed the door open a little wider. Wide enough now that she could see the way his shoulder stretched the fabric of his gray T-shirt. Not so stretched out that it was in danger of splitting, but definitely stretched enough to be...interesting. “At least let me apologize.”
“For what?” She was rather pleased with the bored tone.
“For not saying...more...earlier at the, uh...” He looked pained. “You know. At the municipal building.”
She gathered up the long strap of her book bag and tossed the rest of her french fries in the cement trash bin next to the bench before she stood.
Maybe it was childish, but she enjoyed the look of relief on his handsome face when she smiled.
Enjoyed even more the glimpse of his frustration when she turned aside and walked away.
Chapter Three
Jay swore as Arabella marched off along the sidewalk. The tail of her red ponytail bounced against her spine and a giant olive-green bag banged against her jean-clad hip with every step she took.
She looked a lot different than she had all those months ago at Hotel Fortune. But whether she was in a clinging green halter dress or jeans and T-shirt, there was still no mistaking her beauty.
He nearly strangled himself with his safety belt when he reached over to pull the passenger door closed again. He was able to troll along behind her only because there were no other vehicles parked alongside the curb, and he saw the way she angled half a look over her shoulder at him before her ponytail bounced with even more pronounced vigor.
He followed alongside her that way for two blocks before she about-faced and propped her fists on her narrow hips, giving him a glare.
He had the random thought that having her glare at him with those incredible eyes for the rest of his life would be better than having a dozen others looking at him with adoration.
Then he thought that there was probably a song in there somewhere.
He shook off both thoughts and rolled to a stop at the curb.
“I don’t know why you’re bothering to follow me,” she said testily.
“Because I want to—” What? Apologize? Explain? “You surprised me,” he said and cringed at his own lameness.
Her eyebrows disappeared from view beneath the ball cap. It was blue. Not quite as blue as her eyes. And it didn’t sport the name of a sports team. Instead, it just sported an emblem of an open book.
“I didn’t expect to see you,” he tried again. “There.”
“Where?” She lifted her arms at her sides. “In Rambling Rose?”
When the universe tosses you a nugget, you run with it. At least that’s what his manager claimed.
Former manager. If Michael Devane hadn’t already cut him loose, Jay would have done it himself.
“Right,” he said to Arabella. “In Rambling Rose. I know I came off—”
“—rude?”
“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. I never intended to be rude. I just—” Couldn’t explain. He switched course. “Are you visiting?”
She shrugged noncommittally and folded her arms across her chest. Obviously not going to make things easy for him. But then again, she hadn’t started walking away from him again, either.
“I hope your visit is longer
