Cookie saw him, too. “Holy mother of all things sexy,” she said, her eyes drinking him in.

“Right there with ya.”

“Will I ever get used to that sight?” she asked me, not daring to take her eyes off him.

“The adorable sight of Reyes Farrow in an apron?”

“The adorable sight of Reyes Farrow period.”

A giggle escaped me before I said, “Well, you know what they say: Practice makes perfect.”

“Exactly. I’ll need lots of practice.”

“Me, too.”

A table of women old enough to be his grandmothers waved him down before he got to us. He stopped and listened to them gush over his cooking but kept his sparkling gaze on me. It stole my breath. Everything about him stole my breath. From the way he dried his hands on that towel to the way he lowered his lashes shyly when they propositioned him.

They propositioned him!

What the bloody—!

“We’re very limber,” one of them said, pulling on the apron string Reyes had wrapped around his waist and tied in front.

Cookie was in the middle of taking a much-needed drink of cold water and burst into a fit of coughs at the woman’s brazenness.

When Reyes looked back at me, he caught me with my mouth open in astonishment. I slammed it shut, hoping I hadn’t in any way resembled a cow. But he turned back to the women as though suddenly interested in the wares they were peddling. As if.

Cookie wheezed beside me, trying to get air through her abused esophagus, but I couldn’t worry about that now. I had to win my man back from these silver foxes. One of them had a walker, for goodness’ sake. How limber could she be?

“Excuse me, busboy,” I said, snapping my fingers in the air to get his attention.

He ignored me, but I caught the grin he was wearing. I also felt the pleasure my attention gave him. It radiated from his essence and brushed over my skin like hot silk.

“Busboy,” I repeated, snapping more loudly. “Over here.”

He finally apologized to the flirty foxes, explaining that his heart belonged to another before he strolled to our table. “Busboy?” he asked, stopping in front of us and leveling a look of concern on a red-faced Cookie.

She took another sip and waved a hello.

I gestured to his apron. “You look like a busboy.”

“In that case, can I clean anything for you?”

“You can clean your dirty mind,” I said, teasing him. “Having fun?” I indicated the table with a nod.

“They were complimenting my cooking.” He leaned in very close. “According to consensus, I’m really good at scrambling things.”

They’d nailed that one. He was really good at scrambling my insides. My emotions. My girlie bits. “That’s wonderful,” I said, pretending not to care, “but we need lunch.”

“Didn’t you hear? I’ve been demoted to busboy, so you’ll have to ask your server about lunch. I don’t think busboys can take orders.”

I pulled the apron string in much the same way as the flirt did. “You’ll take my order, and you’ll like it.”

A soft, deep laugh reverberated out of him. “Yes, ma’am. Can I suggest the Santa Fe chicken with Spanish rice?”

“You can, but I’ll have the margarita chicken with fries smothered in red chile.”

“I’ll have the Santa Fe chicken,” Cookie said quickly, so falling for his ploy. He’d probably ordered too many chickens from Santa Fe and now had to hand-sell them to get rid of them. How different could chickens raised in Santa Fe be?

He flashed her a grin that was so beautiful, my heart skipped several pertinent beats. “Santa Fe chicken, it is. Would you like iced tea with that?” he asked me. When I hesitated, trying to decide between tea and an extra-large nonfat mocha macchiato with caramel sauce on the bottom and a dollop of whipped cream, he said, “It’s a yes/no question.”

I almost burst out laughing. Ever since he proposed to me on a sticky note, he’d been asking me a lot of yes/no questions to reiterate the fact that his proposal was also a yes/no question.

I shrugged. “Sometimes it’s not that black-and-white.”

“Sure it is.”

Cookie, knowing where this was headed, decided to study her menu again.

“Then my answer is yes.”

He stilled, waiting for the punch line. He knew me very well.

“Yes, I’ll have tea with my lunch and an extra-large nonfat mocha macchiato with caramel sauce on the bottom and a dollop of whipped cream after.”

Without missing a beat, he said, “Tea, it is.”

He started to turn, but I stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“Are you okay?” I asked. “You seem—” I lowered my voice. “—warmer than usual.”

“I’m always okay,” he said, mimicking what I’d said to Cookie earlier. He caught my hand in his and brought the back of it to his lips, kissing it softly. The heat from his mouth was searing.

It wasn’t until Reyes walked away that I realized the room had grown silent. Every eye was on us. Well, every female eye was on us. I glanced at Jessica and our gazes locked for an uncomfortable moment. She was jealous, and that fact didn’t make me happy. Why was she jealous when she didn’t have any claim to Reyes? Then again, jealousy was in a whole category by itself. One that sat right between instability and insecurity. But her jealously raked across my skin like fingernails.