She swatted his hand off her back, hating that she immediately missed the feel of him touching her. “Stop that.”

His mild look only made her want to spit nails. “I’m being polite.”

“Your version leaves a few things to be desired.” Mainly the “polite” part.

They followed the perky redheaded hostess back to a corner of the restaurant. Bri couldn’t help wondering if he’d purposely picked the restaurant on the farthest edge of town and called ahead and requested a spot where they were guaranteed to melt into the background and avoid every other customer in the place. He must really not want anyone to see them together.

Ryan held her chair out for her, and the suspicion that he was having one over on her only solidified. He’d spent their short time together insulting both her looks and her profession, and now he was being courteous?

It didn’t help that her body responded to him in a way she hadn’t anticipated. She wanted to blame it on the candlelight glinting off his strong jaw and those wonderful shoulders, wanted to believe the lie of intimacy created by the shadows and the way he rested his perfectly muscled forearms on the small table between them.

Because she wanted to believe it so desperately, she clung to the only ammo she had against him. “I might be a mousy librarian, but we can’t all be juvenile delinquents with firebug tendencies.”

His jaw hardened, sending a ripple of something through her lower stomach. “Too much excitement for you? Playing it safe is just another way of hiding.”

The barb struck too close to home. So what if she liked to play it safe? There was nothing wrong with wanting her adult life to have the security and roots her childhood had lacked. Maybe she’d missed a few opportunities for excitement as a result, but she regretted nothing. For him to sit there and judge her for that… “Better that than running away the first opportunity you had. Frankly, I’m surprised you didn’t up and join the circus and cement the cliché.”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“I’ve heard enough.” As soon as she’d moved to Wellingford, she’d been entertained with stories of past events, many of which Ryan starred in. Most of those came from Drew himself, but there always seemed to be someone nearby to chip in with more when he got going.

“You and every other person in town. You’re all old maids, sitting around and telling tales of the glory days.”

Bri flinched. She’d grown up dreaming about a town like Wellingford, a place where family meant more than blood and it was finally safe to let down her guard. To have him so blatantly dismissing it—and dismissing her—stuck in her throat. “Just because you’ve seen a bit more of the world doesn’t mean you can look down on the people who live here.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “I’m not the only one looking down on someone here.”

“Yes, well, your opinion is pretty clear, don’t you think?”

Ryan glared. “No, I don’t think. You’ve been here about a year, am I right?”

“Fourteen months.” Not very long in the grand scheme of things, but she’d managed to put down small roots, to instate a successful children’s program in her library, and to finally start to feel like she’d found somewhere to belong.

“Exactly.” Then he lifted his menu, obviously done with the conversation.

Well, that was too damn bad. She wasn’t. “Explain, please.”

“It means Wellingford is still a novelty for you. It’s new and cute and you’ve got stars in your eyes. I don’t. I see a place where everyone is in their neighbors’ business, and you can’t make a stop at Chilly’s without everyone in town knowing about it and speculating if you have an alcohol problem.”

What? Bri made a conscious effort to close her mouth before she spoke without thinking. Why would anyone assume that he’d have an alcohol problem? She knew for a fact Drew stopped by the local bar most days after work to have a beer, and there had never been a whisper of anything like that.

The waiter approached, all smiles and cheer, giving her the much-needed break to figure out how she was supposed to respond. She ordered a red wine while she considered, while Ryan ordered Drew’s favorite locally made beer. For all his negativity toward this town and its people, he’d obviously maintained a few roots of his own.

As soon as the waiter walked away, the charm he’d conjured up fled from Ryan’s face. Before she could say anything, he charged on, “And that’s not even getting started on how every single person here is so integrated in the past that they can’t step into the future.”

“There’s nothing wrong with having an appreciation of the past. It defines us.”

“Some of us don’t want to be defined by a drunk asshole of a father, or things we did when we were snot-nosed kids.”

He said it so matter-of-factly, it took her half a second to process his words. A drunk father? She’d known Drew for nearly a year and he’d never once mentioned anything like that. All she knew was that both his parents were gone, just like hers, but he never went into the details.

She unfolded her napkin, moving slower than normal as she processed the information and held it up to what she knew of Drew and Ryan. Maybe his leaving Wellingford had more to do with leaving his father behind than leaving the town? “I’m sorry.”

He frowned, as if waiting for her to say something else. But what else could she say? She hadn’t had the easiest of childhoods, either.

The line between his brows deepened when she didn’t jump in. “Whatever you’re thinking, knock it off.”

She laid her napkin in her lap. “I was just thinking that you and I aren’t that different.”

“Get that thought right out of your head, Bri. You’re wrong. You and I are nothing alike.”

Funny, but she wasn’t so sure anymore.

Chapter Two

For all her talk of their being alike, she pitied him. Ryan could see it on her face. This was why he never came home. It didn’t matter that he’d moved on with his life and made something of himself, or that he was part of one of the most elite professions within the Air Force. They’d never see him as anything other than Ryan Flannery, Drunk Billy’s youngest boy, and the Boy Who Burned Down the High School.

The people here had no desire to know the real Ryan. The woman sitting across from him was no different. Hell, she fit in here better than he ever had.

As much as it pained him to admit, there was something about her that got under his skin. He shouldn’t care what this near stranger thought of him. She was no one.

Except he did care. It didn’t make any sense. She wasn’t flashy or oozing sex appeal like some of his exes, but she had an understated look that made him sit up and take notice.

She smiled as the waiter brought their food, and even thanked him as if she really was the sweet woman Ryan had been promised. As the man walked away, she took a bite of her spaghetti, closed her eyes, and made a sound that he’d remember to his dying day. It was a cross between a whimper and a moan and it brought to mind all sorts of thoughts he had no business entertaining.

He shifted, unable to take his gaze off her face, and equally unable to stifle his body’s reaction to her. Holy shit. She looked even softer with her eyes closed and a small smile on her face. His body went on high alert, his instincts demanding he reach across the table and touch her. He must have let some of that desire through, because when she opened her eyes, she blushed.

“Stop staring at me.”

“We’re on a date. Staring goes with the territory.” He let himself look his fill, coasting over the mass of dark hair, the blue eyes her glasses couldn’t quite hide, and those lips, rosy and too damn kissable for his frame of mind. He leaned forward, ignoring his plate. She bit her lip, looking uncomfortable with his attention. This, at least, fit with how his brother had described her. Shy. Needing to be taken out and shown a good time. Which left the question of why. “So tell me. What are you hiding from?”

Bri went rigid. “I’m not hiding from anything.”

He’d struck a sore spot, one he couldn’t help poking at again with how irritated he was by his reaction to her. “Sure you are. Look at the way you dress—”

“I am not mousy.”

“—and the way you wear your hair.” He reached across the table and twined his finger through the lock closest to her face, enjoying the way she blushed harder. He would have enjoyed it a lot more if her hair wasn’t just as soft and thick as it looked. After giving it a tug, he released her and sat back. “All signs point to you hiding. From what?”

She set her fork down and took a sip of her wine with shaking fingers. It was nice knowing he wasn’t the only one with frayed nerves. But by the time she set the glass down, her calm mask was back in place. “I have nothing to hide from.”

She was lying, which only made him more curious to know what made a woman like Bri tick. While it was obvious he wasn’t getting answers tonight, he couldn’t resist one last dig. “In that case, you’re really trying too damn hard to fit the picture of what a librarian should be. Because, seriously, you’re wearing cat-eye glasses and frumpy clothes.”

She glanced at him from under her fringe of bangs, those eyes like a kick to the gut he didn’t want to deal with. “How would you know? I doubt you’ve spent much time around books, let alone in a library full of them.”

Well, hell, that stung. “You don’t have a damn clue what you’re talking about.”

“Then why are you so angry?” She pushed her plate away. “I’m not really hungry, and I think we’ve put in enough time for this favor to be considered successful. I’m ready to go home.”