Page 135 of Wallflower

“How’d you know?”

“Just a hunch, lead the way.”

I steer us to the booth at the far side of the restaurant. The one with a perfect, unobstructed view of the beach, while keeping you out of the direct line of blinding sunlight. Rose slides in, shimmying across the vinyl, but I’m reluctant to release her hand to sit across from her.

“Are you going to sit?”

“Are you going to scooch over so I can?”

“You want to sit with me? On this side?”

“I’m waiting.”

“Isn’t that weird?”

“Do you think I care?”

Her face flushes the most perfect shade of bashful, as she slides farther in, making room for me. “You’re ridiculous,” she murmurs.

“No, I’m hungry.” Picking up the menu laid on the table, I pass it to her, already knowing what I want.

“Me too,” she replies. Relief swims through me. Thank fuck she’s eating. Rose plucks the breakfast menu from my fingers, opening it slowly. “What’s good here?” she asks.

“Everything.”

“What’s your favourite?”

A devilish smile threatens to appear, but I manage to suppress it. “The Big Island Breakfast.”

Her eyes scan the pamphlet, widening to saucers when they land on the description. “That sounds delicious, but I’d never finish it all.”

“If you want it, get it. Whatever you don’t eat we’ll take home for later. I don’t always finish either.”

“Are you sure?”

“Rose, get whatever you want.”

She flushes again, nibbling the skin of her lower lip. “Okay.”

Maple, the co-owner, approaches the table, face alight with curiosity when she clocks Rose next to me. “Beautiful morning, isn’t it, Mr. Morgan?”

“Yes, the view’s quite striking at the moment.” I cast a side-eye to Rose, who looks hot under the collar. She simultaneously wants to jump my bones and crawl under the table from embarrassment.

“Can we get?—“

“Don’t you even think about ordering without introducing me to the first person you’ve ever brought in here.”

Rose leans forward, extending her slightly shaking hand. Mine slips from the table, landing on her thigh. The touch ismeant to infuse comfort, but the hitch in her breath drags my mind to filthy fucking places. “I’m Rose,” she says clearly.

“Maple,” she replies, gripping Rose’s hand in a firm shake. “Where’s Ripley been hiding you?”

“Uhh…” Rose stammers.

“In my bed,” I interject, hoping to sidestep Rose’s nervousness.

Maple barks a laugh. “What’s so funny out there?” her husband’s voice calls out from the kitchen, head poking through the service window.

“Ripley!” He beams with his gap-tooth smile. “How ya been?”