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The restaurant had been refurbished with a contemporary feel, but the wooden floors, brick walls, and lighting gave it a warm edge.
Sarah’s.
An apt name for the restaurant and a brilliant way to honour an amazing woman.
A loud rumble of thunder reverberated above them, followed by Ethan’s laugh, which drifted across the room. Two women were draped around him at the far end of the bar. One distributed shots of Tequila.
Mr. Popular himself. Always the first of the brothers the women flocked to – even more so now that Archer and Declan were no longer single. Beneath his easy-going personality were layers of a mysterious, quiet confidence the women adored.
Jenna wondered how many of them actually made it back to his bed. She knew he avoided a relationship the same way he avoided asparagus. Didn’t like it, wouldn’t try it. His encounters were brief and fun.
Hell, the thought of Ethan doing a naked monkey dance with any of these women added a spark of annoyance straight to her gut.
And she refused to decode why. Nope.
He’d shaved, the subtle scent of his aftershave knocking at her senses every time he came close. He wore a white shirt and blue jeans, the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. Black leather bracelets covered each wrist, along with his Keeper ring on his finger. Despite everything, he looked relaxed. Happy.
She envied the way he was able to flip the switch that instantly turned off the worry in front of others. A perfect mask. If she hadn’t known better, known him …
Almost as though he sensed her quiet scrutiny, he turned, his gaze connecting with hers across the room.
Jenna’s stomach flipped in response and she began toying with the box of matches on the counter. It had the name Sarah’s scrawled on one side.
Ethan downed another shot, disentangled himself from the women – despite their protests – and joined her at the opposite end of the bar.
Pocketing the matches, she lifted a brow. “Needing a break from their flattery?”
“Trust me, flattery was too mild a word for what that was.” He slid into the vacant seat beside her, giving an exaggerated shudder that made her laugh.
“Too much for you to handle?”
“No. I can handle them. But I don’t want to. Besides, they’re both married.”
“They are?”
“I have no idea where their husbands are tonight, but I got a taste of what it feels like to be a burger and beer at a health clinic.”
She laughed and nodded in the direction of the kitchen. “How’s it going in there?”
“There were a few hiccups and I’m in need of a new pastry chef, but overall the opening’s been a hit.” He scanned the full restaurant. “Sarah would be proud.”
“We should drink to her.”
He leaned forward, a teasing grin easing his expression. “And I believe I owe you a beer.”
She smiled. “Shirtless?”
“I’ve never backed down from a bet,” he said, fiddling with the top button of his shirt.
Something niggled inside, a mild objection at the thought of his beautiful body on display to everyone here. “Really?”
“It’s my restaurant. My party.”
“And it’s my win, right?”
“Which is why I’m about to lose my shirt in a full restaurant.”
Niggle, niggle.
“No,” she said softly, covering his hand with hers, surprising herself.
Electric-blue eyes found hers. A small grin hitched the corner of his lips, triggering a familiar stirring in her belly. “You’re backing out?”
“It’s my win, so I say keep the shirt. The women here don’t need the distraction.”
Leaning closer, he brushed his lips against her ear. “They don’t or you don’t?” When she inhaled sharply and pushed him away, he chuckled and walked around the bar. “I still owe you that beer.”
“If I’m letting you off the hook, stud muffin, you owe me several.”
“You’re relinquishing your win?”
“Only the shirt. The rest of our deal still stands.” But something about his expression told her he already knew that.
He leaned forward, his elbows on the counter. “You insist that searching for Hazel alone is dangerous. How’s that different from your midnight cruises?”
“Because I wasn’t searching for Hazel.”
“So why the sneaking out at night?”
“Why are you keeping tabs on me?”
“Answer my question.”
Sighing, Jenna looked away. “I’ve been struggling to sleep.”
“Bad dreams?”
An understatement. Bad dreams had plagued her for years – fragments of the night she’d lost her family and the time she’d spent with Hazel. Lately, her dreams had escalated to horrific nightmares, so vivid and real that she dreaded going to sleep. Broken images of screaming women tied to each other, locked in a burning building as a group of people stood by and watched.
Jenna knew the nightmares were about the witch massacre that had occurred many years ago, when a group of witches had exposed their magic to a few ordinary folk in hope of living in harmony. The backlash had been tragic. Whilst their Keepers had stood by and watched, dozens of witches were rounded up and burned, proving how essential it was to keep the existence of their kind a secret.
Something they still fought for, everything their enemies despised. As for the Keepers who’d betrayed their witches …
“What are the dreams about?” he asked, the soft words spearing her thoughts.
She looked back at him, caught by the urge to tell him. She’d never shared them with anyone, never dared. Because admitting to the massacre nightmares would spark several unwanted questions, all of which led straight to her family.
He deserved to know the truth – and she’d tell him. Soon.
The thought made her heart skip a beat. Not surprising. The Bennett brothers lived and breathed to protect witches. She’d been born into a lineage of Keepers exiled to live in Ameera as punishment for harming them. It wasn’t a conversation she looked forward to.
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