“Hey, let me in!” her cousin, Olivia Lewis, called through the door.
“I’m sorry,” Briar apologized, springing up. She unbolted the screen and pushed it open with a creak so Olivia could breeze through. “I was distracted.”
“Yeah?” Olivia said in her characteristically lurid voice. “You looked it.” She held up a large crate. “The wine you ordered.”
“Oh,” Briar said, remembering. “Right.” She took a knife from a drawer to pry the lid open, glad for the activity as Olivia made herself cozy at the table. “Staying for breakfast?”
“Yeah. I thought I’d check up on this new guest of yours.”
Briar’s hands fumbled at the mere mention of Cole. The bottles in her arms clinked together as she elbowed the door to the liquor cabinet open. “Why?”
“He seems like an interesting character,” Olivia mused, picking a ripe purple plum out of the bowl at the center of the table.
“What could you possibly know about him?” Briar asked. “You haven’t even met him.”
“I’m not deaf. You’ve got a biker living under your roof. I just want to make sure he’s not eyeing the family silver.”
“You’re terrible! He’s not like that,” Briar blurted. Instantly, she wanted to clap her hand over her mouth. Instead, she broke down the crate and tossed it into the disposal behind the pantry door.
“What do you mean?” Olivia raised a knowing brow. “He’s hot, isn’t he?”
“Would you lower your voice?” Briar said. “He’s right upstairs!”
“I knew it,” Olivia said. “One look at those crimson cheeks of yours could only mean one thing. Come clean.”
“Let’s not do this now,” Briar begged as she tucked cinnamon rolls into a bread basket and set them on the table beside a small stack of plates. “Please.”
Olivia smirked. “Well, I guess if you’re not interested, I might as well take a whack at him.”
Briar’s cheeks were on fire. She turned to the sink. “Do what you want,” she muttered and began to scrub furiously at a cooking pan. “You always do. And I’m not interested.”
“Yeah, sure.” Olivia knew Briar better than anyone. They weren’t just cousins. They’d grown up together, Briar’s mother managing Hanna’s and Olivia’s parents turning Tavern of the Graces into a runaway success.
Olivia had long, blond hair that hung halfway down her back in flyaway curls and her sharp green eyes didn’t miss a trick. She stood nearly a head shorter than Briar but made up for it with her boisterous personality, an uproarious, booming laugh and an unchecked streak of righteousness.
Despite their differences, they’d grown as close as sisters over the years. Guilt riddled Briar over the tinge of envy. Olivia could bait the opposite sex with a mere sidelong glance and, by extension, make Briar feel completely inadequate in the men department.
The swinging kitchen door opened behind her and her fingers stiffened around her scrub brush when she got a strong whiff of soap and shampoo. Not quite steady enough to look, she continued to buffer the oven pan.
“Good morning, ladies.”
“Hi,” Olivia greeted, rising from her chair with a flirty smile.
“Are you staying here, too?” Cole asked.
“Hell, no,” Olivia said with a loud cackle. “I couldn’t afford a room here if I sold my tavern.”
“Tavern?”
“Briar didn’t tell you about me? She’s certainly forgotten her manners. Olivia Lewis. I own Tavern of the Graces right next door.”
“Cole Savitt. You don’t look like a bartender.”
“Let me tell you something, mister,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “I make a margarita Jimmy Buffet would weep over.”
He laughed. Briar’s insides trembled over the deep sound. She certainly hadn’t made him laugh, had she? “I might have to find out for myself,” he replied.
“Then come on by later, if you’re not busy. Not much to do around this place.”
Briar’s back stiffened as Cole hesitated. “I might,” he repeated. “Are you joining us for breakfast, Olivia?”
“I wouldn’t miss the cinnamon rolls for anything,” Olivia drawled. “Tell me about yourself, Mr. Savitt. What brings you to Hanna’s?”
He settled on one of the seats at the table. “It’s personal.”
“Hmm. Well, you can’t leave us dangling like that. Can he, Briar?”
Briar lifted a shoulder, drying a coffee mug and setting it in the open cupboard over the counter. “It’s his business.”
Olivia let out an exasperated huff. “Enough with the Sandra Lee. Would you sit down?”
Briar sighed, drying her hands. She turned to the oven. “I’m waiting for the quiche.”
“Quiche, too?” Cole asked, brow quirked in interest. “I think I’ve died and gone to heaven.”
“You better believe it,” Olivia advised.
Briar took a pot holder off a hook on the wall and opened the door. “Close enough.” She pulled the quiche out and set it on the waiting trivet on the table, moving the bowl of fruit to the counter and replacing it with a server of fruit salad. “What would you like to drink, Cole?”
“Coffee’s fine,” he said, lifting his mug.
“Liv?”
“OJ for me. So did you bring a wife along, Cole?”
“No,” he replied with an edge to his voice. “I don’t have a wife.”
Olivia pursed her lips, curious. “I’ve never been married, either.”
As Briar brought Olivia’s juice to the table and settled into a chair, her eyes met his. “What about you?” he asked.
She paused. “Erm...me?”
“Process of elimination, cuz,” Olivia quipped, watching her with a sly grin.
“No. I’ve never been married,” she stammered before dropping her face to hide another flush and piled fruit salad onto her plate.
“Briar hasn’t been on a date in years,” Olivia blurted. “Needless to say, we all think she seriously needs to get laid.”
“Olivia! Honestly, that’s enough,” Briar squealed as Cole choked on a cinnamon roll.
“What?” Olivia asked. “We’re all family. No need to hide the truth. Especially when he might be able to help you out with that. Would you mind loosening her up for us, Cole?”
Briar groaned, pressing a hand over her eyes to ward off Olivia’s scheming expression.
“I’d love to.”
Briar’s hand and jaw dropped simultaneously. Her eyes widened, her heart leaping with surprise and...something else. Delight? She saw his playful grin then Olivia’s. “Oh!” she shrieked, embarrassment trawling through her.
“I’m sorry, Briar,” Cole said sincerely. “Couldn’t resist.”
“You’ll fit right in around here,” Olivia decided, slapping him companionably on the back.
“I hope so.” He smiled as he scooped a forkful of quiche into his mouth. His eyes flared, softened. “Whoa. Holy smokes.”
Olivia’s conspiratorial twinkle was back, suggestive as ever.