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Heff sat down at the table and discreetly looked around the restaurant. Coming into town, coming here, was a bad idea.
He’d made a mistake in sleeping with her, and no matter how okay she’d seemed about it in the heat of the moment, things often looked different the morning after. Misunderstandings crept in—or worse, feelings—and subsequent encounters were awkward.
That was exactly why he had been such a good boy, keeping away from the town and the temptation it held, particularly in the form of one lovely brunette who made his eyes cross and made him want more.
He shook those thoughts away and continued to scan the dining room, hoping-slash-dreading he’d see her again. Would she play it cool and act as if nothing had happened? Or would she get pissed when he did?
It was dangerous territory and exactly what he’d been trying to avoid.
But their old SEAL buddy, Steve “Smoke” Tannen, had signed on, and they’d all come into town to move him into his new place. Heff couldn’t not join them for dinner. Church would have known something was up, especially since, up until a few days ago, Franco’s had been his favorite local place to eat.
The server who approached their table, however, wasn’t Sandy, but a younger woman with voluminous raven black hair tipped in red, pulled haphazardly into the clip at the back of her neck. Her eyes lit up when she saw them. Heff felt an irrational pang of disappointment along with a telltale prickle of warning.
“Where’s Sandy?” Brian “Mad Dog” Sheppard asked.
The guy was built like a tank, and he was always hungry. Mad Dog liked Sandy, probably because she doubled the portion sizes when they came in but somehow neglected to factor that into their bill. Church had called her on it, but she’d simply shrugged and said it was a thank you for your service discount. Mad Dog had had the puppy eyes for her ever since.
“She’s not here,” the young woman purred, her gaze raking over everyone and stopping at Heff. She blinked and then smiled. “But I’ll take good care of you.”
Heff had a gift for knowing when a woman wanted him. It happened often enough that he’d developed a sixth sense for it. He could see it in their eyes, feel the vibes. But he didn’t need any special senses for this one. Her intent was written all over her face.
His inner voice spoke loud and clear, Do not—I repeat, do not—engage.
He felt the penetrating stares of his teammates. The new waitress continued to focus on him, and he stubbornly pretended not to notice by focusing on the menu. “Start with them.”
They placed their orders, having to repeat their selections several times as she wrote them down. After she left, an awkward silence fell over their table.
Church cleared his throat meaningfully, and then Heff felt his gaze, too, as if any of that were his fault.
“Want to tell me what that was all about?” Church asked.
Heff frowned. “How the hell should I know?”
Cole “Doc” Watson laughed; his hazel eyes filled with amusement. “Christ, Heff. We can’t take you anywhere.”
Mad Dog grunted. “Didn’t you ever hear the saying about not fucking where you eat?”
“It’s don’t shit where you eat,” Nick “Cage” Fumanti corrected helpfully.
“I like my version better.”
Church exhaled. “Heff ...”
“Relax,” Heff said easily, irritation masked beneath his smile. “I have not, nor do I intend to, accept anything she is so eagerly offering.”
“Good.” Some of the tension left Church’s face. “Remember what we talked about. We’re having enough trouble getting shit done without pissing off the locals, and that one’s daddy is one of the township supervisors.”
“Sounds like you’re talking from experience,” Heff taunted, earning himself another glare.
“Yeah, what’s up with that?” Doc asked. “I know shit happens, but it almost seems as if someone’s got it out for this project or something. Or you. Is there some bad blood between you and the locals that we should know about?”
Church grimaced. “Not on my end.”
The server, Marietta—if the name badge on the chest thrust just inches from Heff’s face was correct—put a pin in that conversation by placing two pitchers of beer on the table in front of him.
“Glasses?” Church asked.
She turned her eyes away from Heff and gave Church an irritated glance. “What?”
“Glasses. For the beer.” Church waved his hand toward the pitchers.
“What? Oh, right.” She giggled, and with one last smile at Heff, she walked away, presumably to get some glasses.
“She must be new,” Doc commented.
Cage grinned. “Nah. Heff just has that effect on women. He’s too pretty. They take one look at him, and it fries their brain cells or something.”
“Not Sandy,” Mad Dog pointed out as he looked toward the kitchen. “And she remembers to bring glasses.”
“And brings the right fucking beer,” Cage added, narrowing his eyes at the pale yellow liquid filling the pitchers. “There’s no way that’s a lager.”
Heff refrained from commenting on any of it. Not the taunt, not the beer. And he definitely didn’t set the record straight about just how Sandy had responded to him. The memory of her soft moans was on a frequent loop in the back of his mind these days, an erotic form of background music that had been ending in cold showers and a higher than normal frequency of DIY.
Thankfully, Cage changed the subject back to the Sanctuary. “So, let me get this straight. We’ve got the state’s okay to run the new lines where we want to, but we’re dead in the water?”
Church nodded.
“Why? What’s the holdup?”
“The excavator says he’s overbooked, and he can’t get any guys out right now.”
“So? Just rent the equipment, and we can do it ourselves,” Steve suggested.
“Anyone here know how to operate a backhoe?” Cage asked.
Doc grinned. “No, but we’ve been trained to operate multimillion-dollar, high-tech toys on the government’s dime. I’m sure we can figure it out.”
Church nodded, but he looked doubtful. “I’ll think about it.”
“Hopefully, we’ll get the public meeting approved. and it’ll change some attitudes for the better,” Heff offered.
“Speaking of, why haven’t we heard anything about that? I thought you were supposed to work your magic on the township secretary.”
Heff snapped his eyes up to find Doc grinning at him with amusement. With no food—and still no mugs—to distract them, the others cast curious glances his way too.
“Ah, hell,” Cage said. “You did, didn’t you?”
Hell yes, there had been some magic involved, but he hadn’t been the one working it. They didn’t know that, however, and he wasn’t about to tell them.
“Fucktard. I talked to Sandy. She said she’d push the paperwork through.”
Mad Dog perked up at the name. “Sandy ... you mean, our usual waitress Sandy?”
Heff nodded. “Apparently, she works days at the township building.”
“Doing what?”
“How the fuck should I know?” Heff answered defensively. “I told her what I was there for. She did the paperwork. End of story.”
Church narrowed his eyes. Heff could see the question there, a question he wasn’t about to answer.
After a moment or two, Church sat back and exhaled. “If Sandy handled it, it’ll get done. She’s good people.”
“You know her?” Doc asked.
“I knew her brother, Trace,” Church answered evenly. His expression went neutral. “We went to school together. He enlisted in the Army about the same time I went into the Navy.”
“Yeah? Maybe he’d be interested in helping out with the Sanctuary. We can use all the strong backs we can get.” That from Mad Dog.
“He’s not,” Church said firmly. When they continued to look at him, he added, “He took his own life about five years ago.”
“Fuck.”
Heavy silence fell over the table. Unsurprisingly, Heff immediately thought of Sandy. No wonder she’d been so supportive of the project and adamant about ensuring the paperwork went through. She had a personal interest and knew firsthand how badly the need existed.
“Here you are,” their server said brightly, returning with a large plate of nachos and setting it down on the table. “Anything else I can get for you?”
“Yeah,” grumbled Mad Dog. “How about the stuff we actually ordered?”
Her face went blank, and then she pulled her notepad out of her apron pocket and scowled down at it.
“Miss?” a guy called out and waved from a few tables over. “This is not what we ordered.” Two heaping plates of wings sat on the table in front of them.
“I must have mixed up the orders,” she said unnecessarily. “Sorry about that.”
“No problem,” Church told her. “But can we please get some mugs?”
She blinked.
“Glasses?”
She blinked again.
“For the beer?” Doc clarified.
“Oh, right.”
She took off again, changing course halfway across the room when another patron flagged her down. Five minutes later, she returned with a tray of mugs—and gave them to an elderly couple a few tables over, ignoring their protests and beelining it toward a table of college jocks who’d just come in.
“I got this,” Cage said, smoothly rising and grabbing the plate of nachos. He exchanged the nachos for the wings and then spoke quietly to the elderly couple, returning with the tray of mugs.
“I miss Sandy,” Mad Dog lamented.
Heff exhaled and grabbed a wing. He did too.