If he’d learned anything in his thirty years on this earth, it was that he didn’t do well without some sort of limits.
A strand of her hair fell forward, and he lifted his hand to tuck it back behind her ear. Her lips parted and she caught her breath. He couldn’t help rubbing his finger down the side of her neck—her skin was so soft—before he dropped his hand.
“Ethan...”
“Yes?”
“Mr. Caruthers,” the hostess called. “Your table is ready.”
Crissanne swallowed hard and then nodded and stepped around him to follow the hostess into the dining room. The dynamic had changed between the two of them.
He had changed it. He’d tried to be casual about touching her, but there was no way he could continue to hide the way he felt, especially now that Mason was out of the picture.
And while a part of him knew that caution would be the noble route, another part of him didn’t care about that, the selfish part that could only see the woman he’d always wanted walking in front of him to a table set for two. Her hips swayed gently with each step, her blond hair swinging back and forth as he watched.
But they were friends.
At least that much was true. He thought about his brother Derek and his best friend, Bianca, and how they’d somehow managed to turn friendship into love. But that wasn’t him and Crissanne. It had never been the two of them in their friendship; it had always been three of them. And it would be ridiculous to think that Mason wasn’t going to come to his senses and return for her.
Ethan knew that was what he’d do.
So tonight had to be two old friends catching up...nothing more.
* * *
Crissanne fell back as Ethan engaged in a conversation with one of the many people in Cole’s Hill who knew him as they walked out of the restaurant. It was safe to say he was a favored son here. She saw in the bones of the streets and its charming historic district that it had been a smallish town but was growing quickly. In fact, the man who was talking to Ethan was discussing a development going in just south of the town limits.
Her fingers itched for her camera. She used the one on her smartphone at times, but she preferred to have the lens at her eye, fiddling with the focus until she could capture whatever it was about her subject that fascinated her.
Maybe if she did that, then she’d be able to understand this attraction to Ethan she was feeling. But she wasn’t holding out hope that it would help. The light from the storefront of the Peace Creek Mercantile was throwing shadows on his features, bringing that strong jaw of his into focus. What the heck. She took her phone from her pocket and opened the camera app.
The light played over his hair, drawing her eye to the fact that he had some light blond highlights. She tuned out everything, watching Ethan through her camera app and moving to get the right angle for the photo. She zoomed in closer, and saw he had a scar on his left eyebrow...she’d never noticed that before.
His expression was earnest and confident as he focused on the man he was talking to. That was one of the things she really liked about Ethan. He gave his attention 100 percent to whomever he was engaged with. She snapped a few photos, but when she moved around to change her angle, she bumped into someone.
“Sorry.”
She glanced up to see a cowboy. Like a legit, thought-they-only-existed-in-the-movies cowboy. He had a leonine mane of brownish-blond hair streaked through with gray, his eyes had sun lines around them, and his skin was tanned. Leathery, she’d say, but he wore his years well. There was something familiar about the set of his eyes and his nose. She knew it would be rude to snap a picture of him, but that face told a story.
“That’s okay. I’m sure you could find something prettier to photograph, though.”
“Than what?” Crissanne asked.
“That shark over there. You know he’s the type to argue,” the cowboy said. “He’s a lawyer.”
“I know,” she said. “He’s a champion at debating just about anything. One time we spent forty-five minutes arguing the merits of fresh salsa versus that stuff they serve at the fast-food chains.”
“Surely there was no competition,” the cowboy said.
“Believe it or not, he thought that the fast-food salsa had its place on the salsa scale.”
“That boy always was ornerier than a mule,” the cowboy said.
“Only someone who knows Ethan well would say that,” she replied. “Who are you?”
“Hello, Pa,” Ethan said, joining them. Then he turned to Crissanne. “I told you my family could be a pain.”
“You did,” she admitted.
“Winston Caruthers,” the cowboy said, holding out his hand. “You can call me Pa—everyone does.”
Crissanne knew it was a casual offer, probably one he made a dozen times a day, but she’d never had a father figure. No man had ever offered for her to call him Pa. And it meant more than she knew it should.
“Thank you,” she said, taking his hand. “I’m Crissanne Moss.”
“Pleased to meet you, Crissanne,” Pa Caruthers said. “Ethan, you’ll have to bring your girl out to the house one night soon to meet your ma.”
“Pa, uh, we’re not a couple. She’s Mason’s—”
“Ex. I’m Mason’s ex and I’m here for a job, so Ethan is letting me stay with him for a few days. We were friends in college,” she said, taking control of the conversation. She had no idea what Ethan had been about to say, but Crissanne knew she wasn’t Mason’s anything anymore.
“Your ma would still like to meet her,” Pa Caruthers said in a firm tone.
Ethan’s jaw tightened. “Of course.”
“As I said, Pa,” Crissanne interjected, and it gave her a little thrill to say it, “I’m working here so I’m not sure what my schedule is, but we’ll try to get out there.”
Winston nodded and put his hat back on. “See you on Saturday, Ethan.”
“Yes, sir,” Ethan said. His father nodded at Crissanne and then moved on down the sidewalk.
“He still thinks I’m a teenager,” Ethan said.
“I think it’s sweet,” she said.
Ethan arched an eyebrow at her. “Sweet? He’s ornery as hell. Everyone says that.”
“Do they also say you’re just like him?” Crissanne asked, because he sounded just like his father had when he’d been talking about Ethan.
Ethan chuckled. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean they’re right.”
“Did you get some good pictures of the town?” he asked.
She flushed. She was pretty sure all she’d photographed was Ethan. “I did. Sort of scene shots with the street and the people on it.”
“Good.”
They continued walking in silence back toward Ethan’s Ferrari, which he’d parked at the far end of the historic district on the other side of the Grand Hotel. She thought about how nice this town was, how lovely Ethan’s family was and how she really had to be careful about her emotions. This was a stopgap. Cole’s Hill was meant to be a place for her to breathe and then figure out her next move.
She couldn’t fall for the town or the Carutherses. And she knew that was a distinct possibility. Ethan held her attention—Lord knew, he always had—but seeing him here and not in Los Angeles was bringing him into focus.
And she wished she could say that she