Several days later, which felt like two years thanks to a surprise spring snowstorm that dumped five inches of snow, plus Miss Piggy giving birth to three piglets, Luna was just about done in. It was 6:30 p.m. before she was able to rush home with Sprout to grab a quick dinner before the crew’s regular poker night.
Her cabin was empty. No Jameson. She hadn’t made it back to the offices before calling it a day, so he could still be working. Or maybe not. She pulled out her phone, stared at her thumb hovering over his contact, then shook her head.
Sure, they’d had a great night. Okay, a few of them. But they’d also said this wasn’t going anywhere because he was leaving. Not wanting to be a stage five clinger in their non-relationship relationship, she shoved her phone back into her pocket and made herself a quick PB&J for dinner. She also fed Sprout and then tucked him into bed before leaving to head to poker night, which was at Stella’s tonight.
Even though they all worked together, most of the time they were too busy to breathe, much less hang out, so she loved that they did this. She was early, but she hadn’t gotten to see much of her grandma this week, and she missed her. Expecting Stella to be puttering around setting up, she stilled in surprise at the sight of her and Jameson sitting at the palm reading table—which was also their poker table—but instead of cards and poker chips, there were spreadsheets.
“But the tourists love the local artisan jewelry,” Stella was saying.
Jameson nodded. “I’m not suggesting eliminating it, but you’re only getting ten percent on consignment from the local jewelry makers.”
Stella shrugged. “They’re the ones who do all the work.”
“Not true. You’re displaying it, you’re handling the advertising, and you do all the sales work. Upping your percentage is not only fair, it increases your profitability in a large way. I suggest forty percent.”
Stella took this all in with unusual concentration, while Luna felt her heart swell at Jameson’s expression. He wanted her gram to succeed. And she realized she hadn’t been at all sure of his intentions to be on their side until that very moment.
“The jewelry takes up valuable real estate in here,” Jameson said. “You could be selling more apparel, which is your real moneymaker.” He showed her a different sheet of paper. “I did some analysis using previous sales numbers. If you’d used the space for more clothing racks this past month, here’s what your income could’ve been.”
“Wow.” She shook her head. “But my friends constantly tell me that out of all the places they sell their art, I sell more than the rest combined.”
“Because I guarantee you, they’re paying forty percent to their other sellers. Or more.”
“Huh.” She nodded. “Okay, I hear you.”
He smiled at her and pulled out another sheet of paper. “This is your square footage rearranged. The way it’s set up right now, you’re losing too much space. Worse, you’re also being taken advantage of on the consignment stuff, and I don’t like to see that. You deserve better, Stella.”
Luna thought so too, and that Jameson was not only looking out for someone she loved dearly, but that he’d also printed out everything because he knew Stella would prefer that to looking at a screen, actually choked her up. There he was, spending his time helping out a stranger, really, and making a difference. Something she hadn’t managed to do.
Why hadn’t she thought to check in with her people about how things were going, to see if she could help improve their profits? Watching Jameson do exactly that had the wall around her heart cracking slightly. He could’ve thrown his lot in with the coven and forced her out. But he hadn’t. In spite of it being all about numbers and math for him, he’d set that aside enough to wade in and help her try to save the farm.
“The thing is,” Stella said, “I love working and promoting local artists. I never wanted to make money off of them.”
“Do you also love eating?” He smiled. “I know it goes against the grain, but you’re a businesswoman, and you’re a hell of a good one. You can be that and their friend.”
Stella beamed. “I knew from the moment I read your palm that you were going to be a special addition to our family.”
The briefest beat of surprise crossed his face. Surprise and . . . he was moved, she realized. She wondered at what cost his cutthroat world had been that such a simple comment could touch him.
Stella looked up, caught sight of Luna, and beamed. “Darling! Right on time, as usual.”
“I’m fifteen minutes early.”
Stella smiled at Jameson. “She’s always early. If she’s not early, she panics. It’s not her fault, it’s an OCD thing. I blame my son. He’s so tight with his time and affections, not to mention his money, that he squeaks when he walks.”
Jameson met Luna’s gaze, eyes warm. “Nothing wrong with caring enough to be early.”
She drew a deep breath against the fact that her heart skipped a beat. “I don’t panic,” she said. “And it’s not OCD. It’s just a polite thing. Being late is rude.” She sent her grandma a long gaze.
“Eh, time is fluid,” Stella said on a shrug. “And in here, in this shop? We’re on the universe’s time, so no one’s late. Jameson came over to offer some suggestions on how to make more money. Isn’t he the sweetest, kindest thing?”
Jameson grimaced. Maybe he’d never been called sweet or kind before. Or maybe he was just wondering what time it was in the universe’s house.
“He’s got serious special talents,” Stella said.
No kidding. She’d been lucky enough to experience some of them firsthand.
“Tell us some more, Jameson,” Stella said, pouring him some tea.
“Wait!” Luna leaned forward and sniffed the tea.
“Honestly,” Stella said. “I hardly ever make shroom tea anymore.”
To his credit, Jameson didn’t look alarmed, but he very slightly did push the tea away.
Stella sighed. “It’s just chamomile! I hope you don’t mind, but when you put your hands on the table, I read the veins on the back of your hands. They say you’re not drinking enough, and that you’re retaining water.”
Luna choked on her own tongue.
Jameson slid her a glance.
She smirked.
He gave a rather impressive eye roll. Because Jameson was perfect, and they both knew it. Not an ounce of water retention on that bod anywhere. And she should know, as she’d had her hands and mouth on every inch of it. Repeatedly.
“And you,” Stella said to Luna. “I had Chinese food earlier and I got a fortune that was meant for you, not me.” She pulled it out of her pocket and handed it over. “Read it out loud.”
Luna unfolded it: “‘Are you the one in relationships who makes the spreadsheets, or the one who mocks the spreadsheets but still benefits from them?’”
Jameson snorted, then took a sip of tea to cover it up.
“Not funny,” Luna said.
“Let’s agree to disagree,” he said.
“Okay, well, here’s a fortune for you.” Luna looked him in the eye. “Everyone talks about how bad social media is for your mental health, but what about Excel?”
Stella grinned. “Nice one, honey.”
Jameson rolled his eyes. She was rubbing off on him. He stood. “We can finish this later. I don’t want to interfere with your poker night.”
“No worries,” Stella said. “We’ve got plenty of time. Everyone besides Luna will be at least thirty minutes late. We’d love you to stay and play. Wouldn’t we, Luna?”
Luna met Jameson’s gaze, and if she didn’t know better, she’d have thought he actually wanted to be invited. By her. Problem was, she wasn’t at all sure she wanted him to see the worst of them, and poker night definitely brought out their worst, but she knew he had no social life here in Sunrise Cove. She wasn’t sure a man like Jameson ever got lonely, but she nodded. “Do you play poker?”
“You worried?”
She smiled. “You’re bluffing, so no, I’m not even a little worried.”
Jameson returned her smile with one that held a deceptive mischievousness, and possibly trouble with a capital T. “It’s been a very long time since I played.”
Good. She wanted to beat him. Actually, when he smiled like that, she also wanted to kiss him. And, well, other things. But beating him in poker worked too.
Stella smiled at Jameson. “Thank you. I appreciate your ideas and will try every one of them. Anything to draw more people in and help the farm stay afloat. Excuse us a moment?” And then she stood up and tugged Luna along with her to the back of the barn and the teeny-tiny room that had once been for tack and other equipment but was now her office. “Okay, spill,” Stella said.
“Spill what?”
“What’s going on between you and your sexy new partner?”
She had to work to keep her expression even because her gram could read her like a book. “We’re working our butts off to figure out a way to keep this place afloat.”
“Uh-huh. And I can see you’ve got that pat little story down for whoever asks. Now tell me what’s really going on.”
Luna sighed. “I’m not really sure.”
“Okay, let’s try this. What do you think is going on?”
Oh, nothing except that she was falling for someone she had no business falling for.
Stella smiled. “Never mind. Your eyes say it all. He’s a good choice for you, honey. He’s strong, inside and out. He’s incredibly intelligent, resourceful, protective, and he’s got a sense of humor. I mean, he has to, to put up with all of us. But I think my favorite thing is the way he looks at you.”
“Like he wouldn’t mind smothering me with a pillow in my sleep?”
Stella laughed. “Honey, we all feel that way about you every now and then.”
“Thanks, Gram.”
“I’m talking about the fact that he looks at you like maybe you’re lunch. I hope you plan to do something about that. If I was thirty years younger—”
Luckily, the front door opened again, and the sounds of Milo’s and Chef’s voices came through.
“Look at that,” Luna said. “Time to get started!”
“Chicken.”
“Sticks and stones . . .” Luna headed out there and was hugged by Chef and Milo. Then she realized Willow was behind them and she sucked in a painful breath. Her BFF was wearing her usual poker night T-shirt. Actually, they all were. Luna’s said: No One Cares What You Folded!
Willow’s was: POKERologist—Bluffing Specialist.
“I’m so happy to see you,” Luna said softly.
Willow shrugged. “I’m only here because I need some new candy. I intend to bleed you dry.”
Luna felt a relieved smile split her face. “You can try.”
For a beat, Willow looked just as relieved, but then she lifted her chin. “For the record, this changes nothing.”
Luna pretended that didn’t hurt. Normally that wouldn’t be hard. She was good at pretending. But as this was Willow, her ride-or-die, she had to swallow hard. “Understood.”
Willow nodded and put on her lucky poker hat—her Mike Trout baseball cap, because he’d once thrown it to her at a game—and lifted her chin high. “May the best woman win.”
“Or, you know, man,” Chef said. His poker shirt read: Jack*King Off.
“Definitely man,” Milo said, wearing his own lucky poker shirt: I Don’t Even Fold My Laundry.
Stella pulled off her cardigan, under which was her poker shirt: Poker Is Like Sex—If You Don’t Have a Good Partner, You Better Have a Good Hand. She looked at Jameson. “You need a shirt to play. Hold, please.” She vanished into the back and returned with a pink bedazzled tee that read: I’m Just Here for the Pot. “Here. It’s a large, it should work.”
Jameson held it up and eyed it, expression blank.
Everyone looked at him with varying degrees of amusement. Luna didn’t know what they were thinking, but she was thinking that the shirt wasn’t going to be nearly long enough.
With a shrug, Jameson pulled off his shirt.
The rest of them sucked in a collective impressed breath. Even Luna, who’d rubbed herself all over that body of his just last night.
“Lucky bitch,” Chef whispered to her.
Jameson pulled on the pink bedazzled tee. It was a little snug and a lot short, so there was a gap between the waistband of his jeans and the bottom of the tee, exposing a strip of taut skin.
The room was mesmerized for a long beat as Jameson casually, and as comfortable as you please, sat at the table. “Who deals first?”
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Milo whispered to Chef, “but I think I’m in love.”
Luna rolled her own tongue back into her mouth and sat across from Jameson so she wouldn’t be tempted to lick him like a lollipop.
Poker night was always BYOB, so they each pulled out their drinks of choice. Each time they got together, they used a different currency theme, which they had voted on at the previous poker night.
Tonight’s theme was candy. Everyone had brought plenty of their personal favorites, which they took very seriously. Plus, they were all competitive and hated to lose. They had a saying here on the farm. You could leave out a pot of gold and it won’t be stolen, but don’t leave out your candy or it’ll be gone.
Obviously Jameson didn’t have any, so Luna divided her stash of Skittles in half—keeping most of the reds for herself since they were the best ones—and pushed half over to him. “Don’t make me sorry.”
He grinned. “Thanks.”
Two hands of five-card draw later, Luna was quite pleased. She’d won both hands and had a pile of candy in front of her, but better yet, everyone was miffed.
Except Jameson. He sat there in that ridiculous pink bedazzled tee, mouth serious, eyes amused. She didn’t understand why, especially when she went on to win two out of the next three hands as well.
It wasn’t until the final game of the night that she understood—right after he’d taken the entire pot in a single hand and then casually collected his loot.
Stella had to give him a bag to hold it all. “I’m so impressed. You’re a con man, and I totally missed it. We’re going to have so much fun together.”
Chef was shaking his head. “I’m good at reading people. I mean, I’m real good. And you came out of nowhere. I looked you straight in the face and your eyes told me you didn’t know what you were doing. Damn.” He fist-bumped him. “You got skills. And by skills, I mean lying skills.”
“I never lied.”
Chef grinned and clapped him on the back. “See what I mean? Good. You’re good.”
Milo was shaking his head mournfully. “My entire stash of Hershey’s Kisses . . . gone.”
Willow rolled her eyes. She was the only one who hadn’t lost anything because she’d folded early every hand. “You’ve got to know when to get out.”
“Lock up for me?” Stella asked Luna, and when they were all gone except Jameson, she watched as he separated out a pile of Skittles, making sure to give her all of his reds. “For fronting me.”
“Show-off.” She flicked off the lights, moved to the door, and paused, closing her eyes to enjoy the little shiver of the best kind when Jameson stopped right behind her, so close she could feel the delicious heat of him.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Nothing.”
“Now who’s the liar?” He sounded amused again. “If you wanted me closer, all you had to do was say so.”
“I try not to be bossy.”
“Since when?” he asked on a laugh.
She turned to face him. “Just out of curiosity, if I boss you around, you’d do what I say?”
“In bed? Absolutely.”
She laughed. “So first I get serious math whiz Jameson, then sexy Jameson, and now funny Jameson?”
“I have my moments,” he said modestly, and ran a warm finger along her temple, trailing it softly down the shell of her ear, making her shiver again. “I’d really like to kiss you,” he said. “But—”
She gave him a two-handed push to the chest and sighed. “Why is there always a but when it comes to wanting me?”
His eyes never left hers. “There is absolutely no but when it comes to me wanting you.”
As far as admissions went, that felt like a doozy. “Then what?”
“We need to talk.”
Oh boy. “Just so you know, those words are the opposite of romantic.”
“We have a meeting with the bank in two days.”
“Neither are those.”
“I’m sorry, but we’re barreling down on that balloon payment,” he said, eyes apologetic. “We need an extension.”
She got hopeful. “That’s a possibility?”
“We’re going to find out.”
“We? We’re a we?”
His fingers were playing with a loose wave that had fallen against her jaw. “We are most definitely a we.”
“In business.” Damn, was that her voice, all light and breathless?
He smiled, then opened the door and gestured her out ahead of him, taking the keys and locking up for her. They walked back to her place in the dark, both of them silent until they were in her kitchen. They’d spent a lot of time in this room together now, which meant it was filled with memories of late-night talks over quesadillas.
“Would you like one?” he asked, reading her mind.
The thing was, those usually ended with deep, drugging kisses, and a whole bunch more. Amazing as it’d all been, she was now in danger of being in so deep that there was no turning back. Because partners didn’t sleep together. And women who were broken inside, like she was, didn’t have what it took to take things to the next level anyway. “I’m not hungry.”
And because he looked far too delectable standing there, she drew a deep breath. Ah, hell, what would one more night hurt? “At least not for food.”
He gave her a slow, sexy smile and she knew she was done for.