He’s never in a zipped-up coat.

Either he’s sick, or it’s colder out there than I thought it was.

His dark hair, which still glitters a little when he turns his head the right way, looks like he’s been running his fingers through it, and his jaw looks extra chiseled, like he’s clenching it since he knows he has to see me if he walks into my dad’s restaurant, and he doesn’t know what to do about that.

I don’t know if he’s been actively avoiding me or if I’ve been actively avoiding him, but we haven’t crossed paths since I vaulted out of Thorny Rock’s garden behind Anchovies after he gave me the fully-clothed orgasm of my life.

And here I go, getting wet in the panties just from looking at him.

But I keep it as normal as I can despite my pulse picking up and my nipples asking if he’d like to play with them a little more back behind the restaurant. “Sweet tea, banana pudding, and a chaser of pirate swords, right?”

He doesn’t give me the usual brow twitch of irritation, but instead, flashes a small smile before glancing down and settling at the bar across from me. “Yeah. You guessed it. All the crap food. Great for training.”

Despite sitting, he’s towering high on the seat. My brothers are both right at six feet, and I’m somewhere between average and tall for a woman, but it’s remarkable what Max’s few extra inches do to make him even larger.

“Want me to add on a milkshake, cheesy pirate boats, and a double whiskey sour too?”

Finally, he shudders. “Alright. I’ll call uncle. None of the junk. How’s your butt?”

Dad leans out of the kitchen, eyebrows furrowed at me. “Something wrong with your bottom, sweetie?”

Twenty-six years old, and my father still asks about my bottom. Given the way his eyes are twinkling, though, he probably both knows why Max is asking and he’s also trying to get my goat.

So to speak.

He better not know about what happened in the gardens though.

“I had a run-in with a rodent,” I tell Dad. “Startled me. I fell. I’m fine.”

He frowns. “You’re falling an awful lot these days. Might want to see Doc Adamson and have him check your ears. Make sure it’s not a balance issue.”

It’s a balance issue.

It’s an I lose my balance around Max Cole issue, and I thought that was just mentally, but apparently it’s physically too.

Probably a good thing I didn’t trip and fall on my way over the fence the other night. “It’s almost four. School’s out soon.”

“Yep. Back to chopping onions. Don’t mind the old crying guy back here. Better me than my daughter being tortured.” He disappears into the kitchen.

I turn back to Max. “Unsweet tea?”

He nods. No yes, please. No thank you, Tillie Jean. Just a regular old nod while he watches me with those fascinating brown eyes.

That sort of response annoyed the crap out of me a week ago.

Today?

Today, I want to know why he works so hard to stay aloof. And I can’t figure out if I’m irritated with him, or if I’m intrigued at whatever it is that he’s holding onto to make him go so far out of his way to act like he doesn’t like me.

After all of our encounters since he arrived, you can’t tell me he doesn’t like me.

And after the few personal details he’s let slip, I’m starting to get a picture of him that I very much want to fill in.

Does he avoid me only because of Cooper?

Or does he avoid me because he has some kind of inferiority complex?

“Tillie Jean?” Dad calls. “Have you seen my favorite skillet?”

“Drying rack,” I call back.

“Ah, got it. Thank you.”

I dump ice in a tall glass, then reach for the pitcher of tea.

Max leans forward and snags me by the wrist.

My skin reacts like I’m a lightning rod and he’s a thunderstorm. Everything’s electric. Humming. Buzzing. Eager.

Did he jerk off in the shower after I left him in the garden the other night?

Would I have liked to watch?

Or help?

Sweet baby Thorny Rock, it is hot in here.

“Unsweet.” His voice penetrates the haze of lust making my breasts heavy and my lady bits ache, and it takes me a minute to realize what he’s saying.

I force a smile when what I’d really like to do is lean across the bar and kiss him. “Relax, Growly Bear. Unless my brother’s next to you in a magic invisible suit, you’re safe here. We like to keep paying customers happy. It’s unsweet.” I wink. “But I can’t promise I won’t replace the tea in your fridge at home while you’re not looking.”

He looks down, seems to realize he’s still holding me, and snatches his hand back like my wrist is burning him.

But I don’t think I’m his problem.

Not exactly.

“How’s training?” I ask as I hand him the tea.

He takes a hesitant sip, then a bigger gulp before answering me. “Fine.”

“Phew. For a minute there, I was worried it might’ve been good. Or even great. Fine is so much better.”

His eye twitches.

I should ask if he wants his usual, but as soon as I take his order, I’ll have to make sure Dad gets it, and then I’ll need to get the dining room prepped for the after-school crowd, and then it’ll be drink orders and the pre-dinner rush, and it’s Tuesday, which means Pirate Festival committee meeting, which means Pop will be having a pre-meeting in the corner with Aunt Glory and a few other people before I know it, and then Max will be gone.

I don’t want him to leave, so I lean on the bar, pushing my boobs together. Not like I’m showing cleavage—there was a huge dust-up a few years back when Dad announced he was going to have his staff wear wench and pirate costumes, since that’s The Grog’s thing and we’re already pushing limits for family peace by also having a bar—and yes, family peace is different from welcoming outsiders peace—so we updated Crusty Nut’s uniform to branded blouses and jeans instead.

I just want to get a little closer to Max. “You want some lit cannons? Also known as jalapeño poppers. Our appetizer menu is pirate-themed, which you probably would’ve picked up on by now if you ever looked at the menu instead of ordering the same thing every time. And really, the gold nuggets—aka fried pickle chips—are where it’s at.”

“Grilled chicken salad.”

I arch a brow, and not because I didn’t know that’s what he’d want.

“Vinaigrette on the side,” he adds.

“Walk on the wild side, Max. Get a few oars to go with it.”

I’d bet you a thousand dollars he won’t take the breadsticks, but that wouldn’t be very kind of me to take your money on a sucker’s bet.

“Just the salad,” he says.

“Okay, okay, just the salad. But maybe next time you put a little please on the side, hm?”

I turn away without waiting for him to answer, because the door bells are jingling. “Hey, Aunt Bea. Pick a seat anywhere. Margarita time? Or you want a Diet Coke today?”

My dad’s sister-in-law smiles at me. “Lay that margarita on me, sweetheart.”

“Rough day?”