The memory of his mother’s words drifted in the air, as if a ghost whispered in his ear.

You have a gift, my darling. Restoring something old to new brings beauty into the world. But always remember where each piece came from—its history, its legend. Only then can you make the past and present whole . . .

Goose bumps broke out over his skin. He looked around, feeling as if he’d catch her presence, but the place was empty.

The sound of Raven’s footsteps broke his daze, and he turned to gauge her reaction.

Her slight gasp told him what he wanted to know, but her face was an even bigger present. Pleasure shone in her dark eyes, and almost in reverence, she walked around the bar, examining each inch, even kneeling down to get close to the newly installed foot rails. He waited patiently as the minutes stretched by, and finally she faced him.

“It’s everything I always wanted it to be,” she said simply. “You made it beautiful again. Thank you.”

Dalton had done hundreds of jobs. He’d created customized furniture that cost a fortune for people who never looked twice and rarely thanked him. He’d done multitier decks and carved designs out of precious, rare wood shipped from Africa. He’d felt pride, irritation, resignation, and frustration. But not once had he come close to the deep satisfaction and joy he got from Raven’s words and honest gratitude.

Her face reflected a pleasure that was completely transparent. She didn’t try to play games, or barter price, or ignore him. And in that moment, he fell a bit harder for her than he had for a woman in a long, long time.

He cleared his throat, feeling a bit ridiculous from the emotion. “Thanks. I’m glad you like it.”

“I do. And I’m glad you were the one to restore it.”

Her words popped out and surprised both of them. The widening of her eyes told him she hadn’t planned on saying it aloud, so he gave her space and let her pull back. After all, he had all night. “Ready to go?”

“Sure. How far away do you live?”

“Twenty minutes, give or take.”

She locked up the bar and climbed into his Bronco. He noticed she hadn’t changed, which was probably a deliberate act on her part. Too bad she didn’t know he loved women in their natural environment, with messy hair, casual clothes, and faces scrubbed free of makeup. It made them more real, and to him, more appealing.

He’d keep that to himself, though.

She cranked down her window, which gave her more points, and they drove in comfortable silence with the hot wind tearing through their hair. When he pulled into the marina, he braced himself for the explosion.

“Where are we?”

He played dumb, but he figured it would only buy him a bit of time. “At Harry’s. I figured you liked seafood, right?”

She pulled herself up to full height in the seat and squinted those magnificent eyes at him. “Oh, you are not even pretending to act like a Twinkie, are you?”

“A what?”

“Twinkie. Hot man with no brain. Cream stuffing in his head. Because I know different, and I know this was planned.”

He grinned with delight. “I’m hot, huh?”

“Don’t even start. I agreed to come to your house and look at this item you seem to believe I need. I did not agree to dinner.”

He rubbed his head in deliberate confusion. “But we need to eat. We’re just sharing a harmless meal together before I show you the items and take you back home. No need to panic.”

Sheer feminine temper shot at him in ragged waves. His dick wept at the sensual assault she unconsciously wrapped around him. Oh, to experience that power in bed could break him with pleasure. “I’m not panicking, I’m just pissed at being manipulated.”

He threw up his hands in mock surrender. “Forgive me for wanting to feed you. It’s been a long day, it’s dinnertime, and I really wanted some oysters. Shall we leave?”

She fumed, and he knew he had the upper hand. She’d rather die than admit sharing a meal with him would be challenging, so she’d bully her way through. It was a win-win.

“No. But I’m paying my share.”

“No problem.” He’d deal with that obstacle later. She stalked out of the car and marched ahead, giving him the perfect view of her swinging hips and ass. He almost bashed into the glass door due to the distraction. The satisfied look she shot him spoke volumes.

They were seated immediately at a table out on the expansive deck, overlooking the marina. Harry’s was a staple in Harrington, known for its seafood but also crowded with tourists and people who liked to be seen eating in the center of town. Boats bobbed up and down, seagulls screeched, white umbrellas flapped in the breeze. Dalton didn’t bother to check the menu, as he was a regular.

He noticed she went straight to the cocktail menu, perusing it as if it were the Bible and she a good Catholic girl.

“Liquid dinner?” he teased.

“Hell no. I’m a woman who likes to eat. Just checking out the competition.”

The waiter stopped by their table to take their order. “Do you need a few minutes, or would you like to start with a cocktail?”

Raven smiled and tapped the menu. “I have a few questions, please. I see you’re featuring a watermelon martini.”

The waiter nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Very popular. Delicious.”

“You use fresh watermelon, right? And do you heat the sugar first or not?”

The poor man blinked. Looked behind him as if someone were going to give him the answers. Dalton sat back in his chair to watch the entertainment. “Umm, yes, we use fresh watermelon. I’m almost sure. I can check with the bartender.”

“I’d appreciate that.” Her finger jabbed the second item on the list. “The Malibu cocktail. It looks like you’re making it with peach schnapps, but would you make it with melon liqueur instead and switch out the cranberry juice to sparkling?”

The waiter swallowed, scratching notes in his pad. “Yes, of course. Umm, do you want to order any appetizers?”

“Not yet. The red berry sangria. Do you use Cabernet or Merlot? Is the base made with blackberries or currants or another berry—the menu doesn’t seem to specify?”

“I, umm, let me get the bartender to check on this.”

“Thank you, you’re being so helpful.” Raven gave him a knee-buckling smile that caused the poor guy’s brain to short-circuit. He just stared at her, happy to be basking in the compliment. “Once those questions are answered, I can make my decision on a cocktail. In the meantime, can you bring me an order of crab cakes—is the aioli sauce house-made?”