“I play for the Hawks. Same diff.” He made a face when she glanced up at him. “Not really. I’m not out on the front lines defending our country against the bad guys. But it’s drilled in my head to eat properly. And you, my sweet little Miss Cavanaugh, do not eat properly. Skipping meals and shit.”
He sounded irritated with her, and as usual that riled her up. “You’re not my dad.”
“Thank Christ for that,” he said with a scowl. She smacked his arm, making him yelp. “What the hell was that for?”
“I know you hate my father so I don’t need the reminder.” Yeah, she so didn’t need to think about her dad tonight. Couldn’t even work up an ounce of pleasure at seeing big bad Nick rubbing his arm where she hit him.
“Can’t I ever catch a break with you?” Nick asked.
“Buy me clam chowder in a bread bowl and you’re forgiven,” she suggested, a little smile making her lips twitch. “Then you can’t get on me anymore about my lack of sleep and eating.”
Nick flashed her a wicked grin. “Oh, I’ll buy you that bread bowl. But I’ll also get on you before the night is through, if you know what I mean. I can guarantee that. And then you won’t be doing much sleeping, though that’ll be my fault so I’ll take full responsibility.”
She rolled her eyes and turned away from him, ignoring her heated cheeks as she studied the multitude of businesses they wandered past as they pushed through the crowd. There were lots of little shops filled with knickknacks and clothing for tourists to take home and prove where they’d gone, and quite a few candy shops, including a taffy place that smelled divine and one that sold a variety of flavored popcorn.
A flash of inspiration for new cotton candy flavors came to her. She should come to these sorts of places more often. Her time was consumed with the new location and she didn’t get out much. But coming to these sorts of places with the scents and the sounds and the colors—not to mention the tastes—was the perfect starting point for new ideas.
Her stomach growled again, damn it, reminding her she needed to eat before she did something horrendously humiliating. Like faint.
“So where are you taking me?” she asked, sounding way grumpier than she felt. She blamed her empty stomach.
Nick took her hand as if he needed the connection and, entwining their fingers, gave it a gentle squeeze. His palm was large, his fingers long, and he tugged her close in a protective gesture. “The place I like to go to is up ahead on the left. I think you’ll like it.”
He stopped in front of a building that had seen better days. Yellow chipped paint, a grungy looking interior, and a walk up window where they could make their order to go greeted them. “This is the place, huh?” she asked warily, wondering if the kitchen was up to code.
“Baby, they make the best clam chowder I’ve ever tasted. Even better than the chowder I’ve had in San Francisco.” He nodded at the employee who stood behind the counter, gaping at him. “How ya doing? Two clam chowders in a bread bowl, please.”
“Aren’t you…” the employee trailed off, shaking his head. “You are, aren’t you?”
“What are you talking about?” Nick schooled his expression, his face completely neutral while the kid continued to stare.
He slowly shook his head. “Never mind. Coming right up.”
“Why did you do that?” Willow asked when the teenager moved away to serve up their chowder. She was surprised. He usually reveled in the attention.
“I don’t need all that superstar shit. Tonight is about you and me and clam chowder.” Nick smiled slowly, his gaze warm as he bent down and dropped a kiss on her lips. “You look extra pretty tonight, Will. Did I mention that already?”
He might’ve when he came to pick her up but she’d let him say it again. “You look good, too,” she said reluctantly. He always looked good. It drove her crazy.
Nick shrugged those sexy broad shoulders. “Same ol’ me. Maybe I’m just growing on you.”
Well. Wasn’t that the truth? Not that she’d ever admit it.
They grabbed their bread bowls, Nick paid, and they found a bench to sit on, eating and watching people as they passed by. The breeze off the ocean became bitingly cold, and Willow shivered beneath her thin sweater.
“I’m buying you the cheesiest sweatshirt imaginable after we finish eating,” he said, pointing his plastic spoon at her.
“No way am I wearing some neon pink sweatshirt with California emblazoned across it.” She slowly shook her head, instantly coming up with a better idea. “Maybe I’ll buy you one instead.”
“Make sure it’s purple and has a sad-faced seal on the front of it,” he said, not batting an eyelash. “Purple is my favorite color.”
“It is not.” Didn’t anything faze him? She was so on edge being with him out in public, and he acted like it was no big deal.
“Maybe you should snuggle with me under my sweatshirt instead,” he suggested, his gaze heated as he stared at her.
A giggle escaped her, and she immediately clamped her lips shut. “No way.” She shook her head, despite her skin buzzing with anticipation. That sounded like an amazing idea, but she refused to do it. She couldn’t be seen with Nick like that, surrounded by strangers. It might give him ideas.
It might give her ideas. Ideas she couldn’t begin to contemplate.