Opal – Gems of Wolfe Island Read Online Helen Hardt

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Romance Tags Authors: Helen Hardt Advertisement1

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“Diet Coke chaser?” I say.

“Yeah. You want to try it?”

I shake my head. “No, thank you.”

So many questions I want to ask Leif. He knows so much about my life—at least those five years I was on the island—but I know absolutely nothing about his.

All I know is that he was a Navy SEAL.

But how do I talk to this man when he so obviously hates me? I can’t even blame him for hating me. I’m not nice to people.

Or, as Macy says… I’m not nice to people who get too close.

I was perfectly cordial to Linda Parker at The Glass House, and I ended up with a job.

But try to get close to me? Get into my inner circle?

My claws come out.

Macy says it’s because of my childhood. Because of my mother. A mother is supposed to love her child more than anyone else, but all mine did was hurt me, so I’m scared to get close to anyone else. I come out fighting instead of letting them in.

She’s right, of course.

I need to try harder.

So I attempt a smile. “Why do you like a Reuben sandwich so much?”

“You’re asking this time?” He raises his eyebrows, which makes him look… I don’t know. “Because I do. Why do you like turkey and avocado?”

I sigh. I suppose I had that coming. I’ve been nothing but nasty to him for the last twenty-four hours.

So I decide to answer his question. “I’ve always loved turkey. I didn’t get it much as a kid. My mom was always working on Thanksgiving, but sometimes I got invited to a friend’s house. They always sent me home with some turkey leftovers.”

Which my mother always threw away, but I leave that part of the story out.

Leif lifts his eyebrows. “Did you truly just answer a question without being snotty or sarcastic?”

I scoff. “First time for everything, right?”

He lets out a breath. “Clearly you’re back to your old self.”

I open my mouth to respond when Terry brings our sandwiches, giving Leif her brightest smile. She slides the Reuben in front of him before she serves me.

“What ever happened to ladies first?” I ask, my tone laced with acid.

“God, Kelly…” Leif shakes his head.

Terry reddens. “Goodness, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you’d be offended. His plate was a little bit heavier so I set it down first.”

Is she telling me the truth? I want to disbelieve her. Assume she was flirting with Leif and treating me with disdain.

But in my heart I know she wasn’t. As Macy is fond of saying, “Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.” She doesn’t quote Sigmund Freud a lot, but that’s one of her favorites.

Leif is glaring at me as Terry turns and walks away.

“You owe her an apology,” he says.

“I don’t apologize.”

“Maybe you should. You just hurt her feelings for no reason. She set our plates down within a microsecond of each other. And she said herself that my plate was heavier, which it is. My sandwich is twice the size of yours, and I have fries.”

I open my mouth, but again, nothing comes out.

Until— “I apologize,” I squeak out.

“Don’t bother apologizing to me. I’m used to you. You should apologize to Terry when she returns.”

He’s right. I absolutely should.

I also know that I absolutely won’t.

I’ll just never come back here again. I’ll never see Terry again.

So why do I have this nagging feeling in my gut? Will apologizing to Terry help it go away?

I’m tired of always feeling this way. I wonder if this is how drug addicts or cigarette smokers feel, when they’re cut off and need that next hit.

Like something pecking at the back of your neck.

Because that’s what it is for me.

Something pecks at me, and it just never stops. Like an addiction.

I take a bite of my salad and then wipe the drip of dressing from my lips with my napkin.

The Italian dressing is too sweet, which drives me crazy. Why do restaurants like to put sugar in everything? Italian dressing is supposed to be savory, not sweet. I bet Buck would hate this.

Of course, the Tollhouse Café is not a tiny restaurant. It’s a brewpub, and it caters to the masses.

Leif takes a big bite of his sandwich, and one strand of sauerkraut hangs out over his lower lip. He slurps it up quickly and then dabs at his lips with his napkin.

“How’s your sandwich?” he asks.

“I haven’t tried it yet.”

If he cared, he would know that. He would’ve seen that I only took a bite of my salad.

Funny, after that kiss last night, I thought he was attracted to me.

I must’ve completely misread that. Why else would he kiss me? Because he’s a man and he was horny and I was there. It’s what men do.

I finish my salad, all the while lamenting over the sweetness of the dressing, and I finally take a bite of my sandwich.


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