“Well, he can look all he likes. I’m not looking for romance.”
“Honey,” Ashley said with a smirk before sauntering away with her broom and trash, “we’re always lookin’ for romance.”
When Carson approached the table the dark-haired man turned from the window to her. This time Carson looked into his eyes. They were a deep chocolate color that had the power to melt when he locked gazes with someone, as he did now. He was taking her measure, she could tell, as though he were surprised that she’d finally taken notice of him.
“Well hey,” she said with an engaging smile. She’d had a lot of luck with this smile over the years and expected results. “Nice to see you’re back.”
He arched a brow, amused. “Yeah, well, I like it here,” he said, withholding a smile. “Good food. Nice atmosphere.”
“Uh-huh,” she replied. “What’ll it be? Wait, let me guess. The black-’n’-blue burger.”
He glanced up to look at her from over the top of the menu. “You noticed?”
“Well, you do order the same thing every day.”
“Why change a good thing?” he replied, closing the menu and handing it to her.
“Do you want a beer with that?”
“Sweet tea,” they both said at the same time, and laughed.
“Coming right up.”
Looking over her shoulder, she smiled, then chuckled quietly, noting that Ashley had been right. His dreamy gaze was following her. He was indeed Mr. Predictable.
A short while later she carried the pub’s signature burger to the table. He looked up from his sheaf of papers and smiled too brightly when she approached. Not wanting to encourage him, she didn’t smile in return and placed the food down without ceremony.
“Sure you don’t want a beer?” she asked, all business. “We have Guinness on tap.”
“No, thanks. I don’t drink.”
“Oh,” she said. She felt awkward for pushing the beer if the guy was an alcoholic. “A refill then?” The ice clanked loudly in the pitcher as she poured his tea.
“Did I say something to offend you?” he asked.
“No,” she replied, shifting her weight. “Not at all. I’m just preoccupied.”
“Anything I can do to help?”
“Not unless you know someone looking for a stills photographer.”
“So, you’re a photographer?”
“Yes. But not like for portraits or weddings. Though I’d freelance those now, if you know anyone who’s looking. I work out of L.A. In the entertainment business.”
Understanding flickered in his eyes. He leaned back against his chair. “So you take all those publicity shots we see in magazines and online?”
“No,” she replied slowly, realizing she’d have to explain for the thousandth time what a stills photographer did. “I do anything to do with photos for marketing a film. I shoot episodes, backdrops, behind the scenes—whatever, to promote the show. It’s complicated,” she said, cutting the conversation off. She was reminded to check her messages to see if any of her contacts might’ve come through with a job possibility. “I’ve got to get back to work.”
“Oh. Right,” he said in a rush, realizing he was taking up her time.
She swirled away, stopping at tables to refill glasses, take orders, bring food in the dance of waitresses. Half an hour later he was still sitting at his table reading. Carson stopped back to check on him.
“Refill on that sweet tea?” Southerners always rolled the two words together so it sounded like sweetie.
He looked up from his papers and smiled. “I’m good,” he replied in his easy drawl. “Just a check.”
She was about to turn and fetch it, but, thinking of her tip, paused to say, “Sorry I had to run off like that before.”
“I’m sorry I kept you from your job.”
He really did have a nice smile, she thought. When his lips slid halfway up in that sweet teasing grin, his dark brown eyes sparked with what she knew was flirtation.
“What’s your name, anyway?” she asked him. It seemed wrong to think of him as Mr. Predictable.
His grin widened to reveal white teeth. “It’s Blake. Blake Legare.”
Recognition clicked. “Are you one of the Legares from Johns Island?”
“Guilty as charged.”
“No kidding? Do you know Ethan Legare?”
“Which one? We’re a big family and there are a few Ethans.”
“The one who works at the aquarium. Married to Toy, who’s in charge of the sea turtle hospital.”
“Sure do. That Ethan’s my first cousin.”
“Really?” She’d forgotten how living in Charleston was like living in a small town. Mamaw had always impressed upon her the importance of dressing well and speaking politely, because there were no strangers in Charleston. “Ethan and I used to surf together back in the day. I haven’t seen him for . . . well, years.”
“I don’t figure he’s got much time for surfing nowadays, what with two kids.”
“Ethan has two children?” She chuckled, remembering the skinny kid who was as fearless on the water as she had been. “That’s hard to believe.”
“It happens,” he drawled.
“What about you?” she asked him. “Are you married with kids in tow?”
“Me?” he asked, amused at the idea. “God, no. I mean—” He faltered, seeing her shocked reaction at the emphasis. “Not that I’m against marriage or anything, it’s just, well . . . No. I’m not.”
He was blushing slightly and Carson thought it was mildly beguiling.
“Do you surf?” she asked Blake, steering them into a different topic.
“Used to in high school. Don’t anymore.”
That was typical of a lot of men who grew up along the coast. Most boys she knew tried surfing at least once, but few really took up the sport. Too bad, she thought.
Blake added, “I’ve taken to kiting.”
Carson’s mind did a U-turn. “As in kiteboarding?”
He nodded. “Yeah. I like it better. I go out whenever I get a free moment and some good wind.”
Carson looked at his long, lanky body, seeing him in a new light. He wasn’t muscle-bound, which was never a look she found sexy. But in his dark brown T-shirt she could see that his muscles were hard and sinewy, typical for swimmers. Who knew? she thought with renewed interest. Mr. Predictable wasn’t so predictable after all.