The Sweetness of Honey (A Hope Springs Novel) by Alison Kent Read Free Book Online

He’d suggested Malina’s, rather than waiting for her to do so. He’d offered his services in regards to her hiring a PI. He understood the challenges she faced with her brothers because of all he’d been through with Oscar.
    On the shallow side of the spectrum, she also liked his car, a lot, and the way he drove, a whole lot. It wasn’t but a five-mile trip from the arts center to the diner, but while the same five miles didn’t allow for much in the way of deep conversation, she had no trouble using the time to appreciate his hands on the wheel, the cushy leather of the seats, his shifting gears.
    Strange how much she enjoyed watching him when he was doing something so simple: clutching and braking, accelerating into a turn, steering the BMW effortlessly. He seemed to be one of those men for whom things just worked. She doubted he was often disappointed. Or stood up. Or put off. And it wasn’t just about his name, though she wondered if growing up Gatlin had instilled this level of confidence, or if he’d been born with the trait.
    She wondered, too, if Oscar Gatlin had been equally sure of himself. Then she wondered what, besides her assault and the aftermath, she and her brothers might still have in common. They’d all three been athletic—volleyball, baseball—and they’d all been big fans of the food groups their parents abhorred: pizza, ice cream, sodas, burgers, and fries. They’d all been good students, her grades coming easier than Dakota’s, his easier than Tennessee’s. And they’d loved their pets. That was one thing she couldn’t fault her parents for; they’d had big hearts when it came to rescuing and fostering both dogs and cats.
    “Still hungry?” Oliver asked, and she blinked, realizing he’d parked, and was waiting for her to respond before he got out.
    “Oh, yes. Sorry,” she said, and stayed where she was while he exited the car and circled to open her door. She wasn’t used to chivalry, or gallantry, or being the passenger in a car, for that matter. She drove herself everywhere. But sitting and watching him, in his navy Dockers and a yellow crew-neck sweater she was certain was cashmere—she couldn’t imagine him wearing anything else—was a rather elegant sort of pleasure.
    And when he reached her door and pulled it open, she wished she were wearing something a little less humdrum than her worn cowboy boots and faded dress and comfy cotton underwear that left her feeling anything but elegant. She, who had cared very little about her appearance for the whole of her adult life, was suddenly caring very much.
    “Great,” she found herself mumbling, Oliver asking, “Excuse me?” in response. She shook her head. “Nothing. Talking to myself. Ignore me.”
    He laughed at that, a deep husky sound she wasn’t certain she’d been meant to hear, but one that had her wishing again for silk and lace close to her skin. Skimpy pieces of both. Solely for her own benefit. She didn’t need Oliver to know, or to see, but if he laughed like that again, oh, she wouldn’t mind hearing that at all.
    He held the diner’s door and waited for her to step inside, his hand finding its way to the small of her back, and she wanted to wiggle against it, to squirm as he settled it more heavily. But her inelegant underthings had her stepping away, and leading him through Malina’s long, rectangular dining room to a window booth. The high back offered more privacy than a table in the open, and even if that was an illusion, it was one Indiana seized.
    Moments after they were seated, their waitress arrived bearing two glasses of water. “Morning, folks,” she said, placing the drinks on coasters and giving them both knives, forks, and spoons wrapped in double paper napkins. “Can I get you some coffee? Juice? Tea?”
    “Do you have Earl Grey?” Oliver asked.
    “Sure do, sweetie,” she said, turning to Indiana and smoothing the back of her upswept hair. “How ’bout you, sugar?”
    Sweetie.