Reckless by Kimberly Kincaid

shit, she was thinking about it. “And what is it we’ll be doing, exactly?”
    â€œSomething a little risky,” Alex said, his pulse quickening at her obvious shock even though he’d fully expected her reaction.
    â€œYou’re not going to tell me?”
    â€œThat would be the first risk.”
    Zoe’s titanium spine grew a matching facial expression. “I’m not going skydiving, Alex.”
    Ah hell. He wanted to challenge her, not chase her off. “And based on our earlier conversation, I wouldn’t ask you to. No skydiving,” he agreed. “But for the rest, you’re going to have to trust me.”
    Alex leaned in, close enough to breathe in the brisk citrus scent of her hair, and the combination of sweet versus tart shot straight to his gut as he said, “So what’s it going to be, Gorgeous? Are you in, or are you out?”

Chapter Seven
    Zoe traced the bright red Scarlett’s Diner logo on the menu in front of her with one finger, her eyes making an obligatory scan of the breakfast options even though she hadn’t changed her usual order in over a decade. Clacking the menu shut, she let her gaze wander through the sun-filled window at her elbow, taking in the post rush-hour bustle as she slowly gathered her resolve. These Friday morning breakfast dates with her father, where they exchanged pleasantries and danced artfully around the twin elephants in the room named Divorce and Disapproval, were really bad enough. But today she had to contend with the ridiculous arrangement she’d made with Alex, too, and honestly, all the fortitude in the galaxy might not get her through the double header.
    Who the hell had been in charge of her mouth when she’d impulsively blurted “fine” in response to his risk-reward challenge, Zoe had no idea. But the promise of Alex’s much needed help sans his reckless, who-cares attitude had been all too appealing, and one eight-hour chunk of her life had seemed like a smart trade-off for four weeks of slow and steady work that she wouldn’t have to pry out of him or worry about at every turn.
    Even if she was one million percent certain she’d spend all of her day with him regretting it.
    â€œMorning, Zoe. Can I get you some coffee?”
    Zoe straightened against the red leather banquette at her back, knocking herself back to the here and now. Sara Martin, who had been waiting tables at Scarlett’s since she and Zoe had been in high school together, held up a pot of the diner’s city-famous brew, and Zoe’s mouth watered in a way that would make Pavlov beam with pride.
    â€œOh God, yes. Please.” Zoe flipped the white ceramic mug in front of her to a right side up position, nudging it across the patterned Formica to put it in Sara’s reach. If anything could jump-start her in the right direction, Scarlett’s coffee definitely topped the list.
    â€œSo how’s it going over there at Hope House?” Sara’s brown ponytail slid over her shoulder as she leaned in to fill Zoe’s cup with just enough room to accommodate the healthy splash of cream Zoe favored. Although they’d spoken more words in the three months Zoe had been back than they had in all four years of high school combined, Zoe worked up an optimistic smile. Sara’s steel-toed crowd might’ve scared her ten years ago, and the woman might still be a little rough around the borders, but Zoe had learned a lot about judging people from the so-called wrong side of Fairview since high school.
    â€œWe’re getting there,” she said. “There’s still only enough funding for us to run five days a week, but last month we were able to add hot breakfast on a limited basis, so it’s a step in the right direction.”
    Zoe hated not being able to feed the shelter residents three square meals, seven days a week, but limited five-day service had been her only option since