Travis

Gage Buchanan is the best. The best, I thought dreamily, watching as he raised one perfectly muscled arm, his honed body taut as he paused long enough for me to engrave the picture into my brain, forever available to bring forth when I was in the mood to fantasize.

“He’s perfect,” someone sighed just as Gage shot into action, delivering a serve that whizzed toward the player on the opposite side of the tennis court. A perfect serve, of course, because well, he was perfect. His opponent dove for the ball, swung wildly, and missed.

I pulled myself straight from the counter where I’d been resting my face on my palm as I’d gazed at Gage playing singles across from the smoothie bar at the club where I worked.

“Sorry,” I said, heading toward the two girls I hadn’t notice sit down at the bar, hearing another whack as the game continued.

“No problem,” the blonde said, turning her head from the tennis court to me.

The other girl, a brunette, didn’t bother to look my way, her head going back and forth, obviously following the tennis ball from Gage and the good-looking blond guy he was playing against. “Peach mango flax seed,” she said distractedly.

I gave the back of her head a charming smile. “Of course. My pleasure. And for you?” I asked, turning my attention to the blonde.

“An açaí bowl. But make sure to leave the strawberries off. They make me break out in hives.” She lowered her Chanel sunglasses, eyeing me over the top of the tortoise frames. “Last time I think you missed one. I felt itchy later.”

Sounds like a personal problem, likely unrelated to strawberries, I didn’t say.

She glared at me accusingly as if I’d deliberately planted said strawberry in the middle of her açaí bowl in a calculated effort to sabotage her flawless skin with an unsightly rash. My smile tightened as I worked to hold on to it. “I am so sorry,” I said sweetly. “I’ll double-, triple-check that there are no strawberries on or near your order.”

“Good,” she said, turning away as Gage shook his perfect dark hair, sweat flying out around him as he ran toward the net to shake his partner’s hand. He’d won. Of course he’d won.

He was the best.

I sighed, turning away, and began gathering the ingredients for the two orders. I heard the girls whispering animatedly to each other, the inflection in their tones telling me they were gossiping. I didn’t bother to attempt to listen in. I didn’t care what they were talking about. This club was filled with a hundred more just like them. Rich, entitled brats who thought those who worked here were solely valuable for their ability to meet their every demand.

That was the thing about Gage Buchanan. He was different. He wasn’t only gorgeous. Perfect. The best. He was kind. He had impeccable manners, his smile was sincere. He looked everyone in the eye when they spoke to him, and didn’t talk down to anyone. Even me, the out-of-towner working at the smoothie bar. I didn’t know too much else about him—other than he was a member of the exclusive golf and tennis club where I was working for the summer—but that was enough.

I set the smoothie and strawberry-free açaí bowl in front of the girls, added the orders to their tabs, and began wiping down the counter I’d just used, when the brunette said, “This summer is going to be awesome. Especially since Gage is single.”

Okay, now this I wanted to hear. My heart fluttered. Single. I moved the cleaning cloth slowly along the counter, craning my ears to listen in. Gage was single. Hmm. I paused in my cleaning. Even if he noticed me, it wasn’t like he and I could be anything long-term—I was only passing through this lake town—but what was wrong with a summer fling? What was wrong with finding happiness—even temporarily—with a gorgeous, kind, single man?

Nothing, that’s what.

Being on the road wasn’t always conducive to flings. Or maybe it’d been my state of mind. In any case, it’d been a long, dry spell.

“I heard Travis is single suddenly too.”

Ugh, Gage. Keep talking about Gage.

“Really?” the other girl practically breathed. “I thought for sure he was off the market permanently.”

“No, I don’t know what happened, but the rumor is someone cheated.”

The other girl snorted inelegantly. “We don’t have to wonder who cheated. Phoebe worships him even if he did fall about ten slots socially when he lost Pelion.”

“Yup. Apparently Phoebe left town to visit her sister in Florida. My guess is she’s completely brokenhearted and there to recover. At least she’ll come back with a killer tan.”

“Megs! Chelsea!” a girl in a tiny black bikini across the way called, raising her hand and waving wildly to the two at my counter.

They grinned and waved back, the blonde named Megs muttering under her breath, “God, she’s such a bitch. And she’s gained at least twenty pounds since last summer.” After a small snicker, she called, “Hey sweetie! Look at you! You look amazing, doll. Be right over.”

God, I strongly disliked other girls who made me strongly dislike other girls. The two gathered their things, got up, and pranced toward their “friend.”

I sighed, turning back to the prep station and picking up the blender I’d just used. I took it to the small sink at the end of the counter.

“Water, please.”

I turned around, my gaze landing on a dark-haired man just sitting down, his head turned, eyes somewhere in the distance, fingers snapping in the air.

Fingers . . .

. . . snapping in the air.

At me.

To fetch him a water.

I growled softly under my breath, plastering a smile on my face and heading his way.

My, but this club was chock full of charmers.

“How may I serve you, sir?”

Apparently, he wasn’t so dense that he didn’t recognize the sarcasm in my tone, because he drew his gaze away from whatever he’d been staring at, and familiar whiskey-colored eyes met my own.

For a moment my confusion—and the impact of those eyes—rendered me speechless. When had I looked into those eyes before?

“Chief Hale,” I said, memory dawning.

“Haven from California.”

“Fancy seeing you here.”

He used his forearm to swipe the perspiration dotting his forehead. He was wearing gym shorts and a loose gray tank that swooped low under both arms, the material darker with sweat in several spots, obviously having just worked out. He set a lanyard with his VIP club pass on the counter.

I’d pegged him as a power-tripping cop.

But apparently, he was a snobby rich guy.

Could one be both?

Unlikely. The two identities didn’t exactly overlap in many areas. But perhaps this person was about to prove me wrong. Interesting.

Not everyone can be put into a box, Haven.

I reached behind me and grabbed a water out of the glass-doored mini-fridge and set it on the counter in front of him. “In addition to the water, might I interest you in something designed to help build muscle?” I asked sweetly.

His eyes narrowed ever so slightly as his head tipped minutely, the same look he’d given me on the side of the road after he’d all but murdered the plants I’d been rescuing. He glanced down at his left arm as though considering it. His tanned, beautifully muscled arm I had to concede, but only to myself, as I worked to keep my expression unimpressed. “Are my muscles not adequate?” He moved his arms forward, leaning on the counter and flexing very slightly as though the movement hadn’t been designed to do just that.

“Oh no, no. They are”—I paused—“adequate.” I laced the word with a heavy dose of disappointment.

His lip gave the smallest quirk. He sat back slowly, assessing me. “Sideswipe any drivers today?”

“Not today, no.”

“How are your plants?”

“I don’t know. When I went back, they weren’t there.”

He pressed his lips together, nodding. “This is serious. You should file a kidnapping report. The Feds will want to get involved.”

“Joke if you want, but those plants could very well be in the hands of a madman—or woman—facing untold hardships even as we speak.”

“My God, I almost think you’re serious.”

I was serious. But I wasn’t going to let this person mock me over my love of living things.

“I’m sorry your plants were stolen. Let us cling to the hope that whoever took them is providing a loving home filled with fertilizer and whispered words of encouragement to . . . grow and . . . make leaves and whatnot.”

Really? I resisted an eye roll, crossing my arms. “About that drink . . . since your muscles are clearly . . . adequate, maybe you’d like my avocado banana smoothie with leafy greens and turmeric? It aids cognitive function.”

Chief Hale paused and then grinned, a slow smile that blossomed from bemused to blinding. Wow. It was unfair that God sometimes gave grins like that to power-tripping snobs. Because it gave them more power. And self-justification to act snobby.

As a general rule.

That grin had probably been getting him cookies from the cookie jar, literally and figuratively, since he was big enough to reach for them.

His gaze moved behind where I stood to the place several pots of grasses and herbs lined a shelf. Those had been my contribution, and the woman who’d hired me had seemed enthusiastic about the additional offerings, especially after I told her she might consider raising the prices for fresh supplements.

He then stared at the basket of nutrition bars near where he sat at the counter, grimacing. “Let me explain something to you, Haven from California. Real men don’t eat grass and”—he gave the bars another hostile glance—“birdseed.”

I laughed. “No? What do real men eat?”

“Burgers. Things with bones.” He unscrewed the water bottle cap and tipped it to his lips.

I sighed. “Men and their obsession with boners.”

He choked on the sip he’d just taken, using his forearm to wipe his mouth. “Boners? I said bones.”

I widened my eyes in feigned embarrassment. “I know. So did I.”

He put his arm over the back of the stool next to him and chuckled softly. He gave me a slight nod, taking another sip of water, his eyes trained on me over the bottle. “I apologize for being rude. I was . . . distracted.” He looked off to the side to the place he’d been staring at before, somewhere around the corner of the covered smoothie bar out of my line of vision, the amusement that had just been clear in his expression suddenly gone.

“Ah. Well, I understand. You were focused on scantily clad women. They’re difficult to miss.”

“No.” His head turned slightly as though following someone’s movement. “I was focused on revenge.”

“Revenge?” I laughed but he did not. “Revenge?” I repeated.

He tapped his fingers on the counter as he looked back at me. “Yes. What’s wrong with exacting revenge when a wrong is done to you?”

I considered that. “Well, it depends on the circumstances I suppose. It just sounds so . . . melodramatic. But if it’s vengeance you seek, I have faith you’ll achieve it.”

His fingers stopped drumming. “Do you? Why?”

“Because as someone who works for the Pelion Police Department, you certainly yield considerable power . . . have weapons of mass destruction at your disposal, friends willing to assist you in making others disappear. Your enemy doesn’t stand a chance.”

He grinned that brilliant grin again. And again, it didn’t affect me whatsoever. This man was gorgeous, yes, but he was obviously petty, prone to rudeness, definitely on a power trip, and God help the person who had wronged him, whoever that was. “I’m the chief of police, not a mob boss.” He paused. “But you obviously recognize importance when you see it. You’re very observant.” The corners of his eyes crinkled very subtly, and I resisted a laugh.

“I have to be. It’s part of the job description—knowing just what combination of grass and birdseed will benefit my clients the most.”

“Sounds tricky.”

“It can be. Some cases are harder than others.”

“I bet. In that case, I would like to order one of your blended concoctions. Surprise me.” He held his hand out. “We met on unfortunate terms the first time. I’m Travis Hale.”

Travis. I wondered if he was the Travis the two women at my bar had just gossiped about. What had they said? He’d broken up with—and likely cheated on—his girlfriend and that, shamed and heartbroken, she’d hurried off to Florida to . . . tan?

I wondered at the combination of fact and fiction that might be contained in their casual remarks. He wasn’t one of those smarmy, cringe-invoking flirts I’d seen here more than once. Although he was clearly self-assured. He was more difficult to peg than most, I’d give him that. Eventually, though, one side or the other would assert dominance. Time would tell. Although I only had a finite amount of that, so perhaps I’d never know.

Whatever.

I wiped my hand on my apron and gripped his. “Haven. From California. As you know. And I think I have just the thing for you, Chief Travis.” I walked over to my blender and began adding ingredients. “Protein powder with collagen for those . . . bones you’re so fond of.” I was rewarded with his soft chuckle from behind me. I added some fruit and almond milk and then I used my scissors to snip one of the plants. “Wheatgrass for stealth so that your enemy may never see you coming. Spirulina to give fortitude for when the fight grows difficult, and carrot juice for clear vision so that you might see when this revenge you speak of is no longer worth your while.”

I pushed blend, poured the smoothie into a glass, stuck a straw in it, and turned and placed it on the counter in front of Travis. I was rewarded with an amused smile. But his expression dropped when he eyed the—admittedly—murky-green smoothie. “Looks can be deceiving,” I reassured. “Try it.”

He screwed up his face as he lowered his lips to the straw, squinting one eye as if bracing for the possibility that he might be about to sample sewer runoff. He sucked in the barest amount, his eyebrows shooting up, and his lips tipping. He took a bigger swallow. “That’s good.”

“You feel stronger already, don’t you?”

He raised a brow. “Strangely enough, I do.”