Sheltering Dunes by Radclyffe Page B

small talk. Her white short-sleeved shirt was tucked into tapered black jeans that emphasized her narrow waist and curvaceous hips. A tattoo, indistinct from so far away, adorned her right upper arm. Her hair was down, the heavy black waves blowing in the harbor breeze. Flynn’s mouth went dry. Mica was all kinds of sexy.
    Mica looked over, her lips pursing as her smile disappeared. Flynn nodded and Mica set the tray on one of the empty tables and threaded her way between the chairs over to Flynn. “What gives?”
    Flynn smiled. “I was hoping for breakfast?”
    “That’s what we do here.” Mica crossed her arms. The top two buttons of her shirt were undone, and her bronze skin glistened. Her jeans were cut so low the arch of each hipbone slanted beneath the waistband, bold curves inviting the caress of hands.
    Flynn almost told Mica she looked amazing, but caught herself just in time. Mica had made it very clear that she didn’t trust compliments. Flynn couldn’t ask her how she was feeling, even though she wanted to know. Mica didn’t like to reveal personal information and didn’t like being asked. Short of commenting on the weather, Flynn couldn’t think of anything else to say except the truth. “I was thinking about you this morning and I ended up here.”
    “Yeah, right. Your breakfast order?”
    “Poached eggs, wheat toast, chicken sausage.”
    “Got it. You want juice?”
    “Orange would be good.”
    “Be a few minutes.”
    “That’s okay. I don’t start my shift until nine.”
    Mica turned away and Flynn settled back in her chair to watch the boats. She had nothing on her mind, and the pressure she always felt to be doing, moving, was strangely absent. Strange but not unpleasant. She was waiting for Mica, nothing else, and that was okay.
     
    *
     
    While Mica waited for her orders to come up, she leaned against a post in the main section of the restaurant and watched Flynn. She’d pushed her chair back from the small table, extended her legs underneath, and tilted her head against the back of the chair. Couldn’t be a very comfortable position, but she looked good all the same. She must’ve been out running. Her navy blue T-shirt with the paramedic emblem on the chest had a dark diamond-shaped pattern down the center of her chest. Sweat. Her hair lay in damp tendrils on her neck. Her bare arms, still holding a summer tan, were sleek and lined with prominent veins coursing over her wrists and the tops of her hands. She looked strong. She looked damn good.
    “Orders up,” the fry cook called and Mica went to fill her tray. She served everyone else before Flynn, and by the time she reached her, it looked like Flynn was asleep.
    She almost didn’t want to disturb her. The tightness around Flynn’s eyes and mouth, that she hadn’t realized was there until now, had disappeared. Her face had relaxed, and she looked…younger. She was always hot-looking, but now she was just beautiful.
    “Hey,” Mica murmured close to Flynn’s ear, “wake up, your breakfast is ready.”
    Flynn shot upright, her eyes scanning rapidly. “What?”
    “Yo,” Mica said. “Take it easy.”
    Flynn scrubbed her face. “Sorry. I can’t believe I fell asleep.”
    “Late-night action?” Mica grinned.
    “Not exactly. I just didn’t sleep much.”
    Mica almost said she hadn’t either. She rarely slept a night through—waking up, heart racing, wondering if every sound in the hall was someone on their way to her door. No way was she sharing that, but she almost wanted to. Flynn had a way of catching her off guard, simply because Flynn was never on guard herself. If Mica didn’t know better, she’d think Flynn always told the truth. But that couldn’t possibly be, because no one ever did. She slid the plate onto the table in front of Flynn and set down her orange juice. She placed a cup of coffee next to it. “Thought you could use this.”
    Flynn grasped the mug, raised it up, and breathed deeply. “You are