SEAL'd Perfection The Complete Collection: A Navy SEAL Romance (43 page)

“Shit! Winslow? Is that you?” He abandoned the cluster of bikers he’d been bullshitting with and raced over.

I nodded. “How’s life?”

He poured a tall glass of beer for me and placed it in front of me, his face split with a wide smile. “Good, man. Real good. What the hell are you doing way out here? I thought you were a city boy now.”

I laughed and took a drink off the top. “Not exactly.”

He listened—and served me three more beers—while I spilled the whole story. I told him about the show, the fights, hell, I even told him about Gina leaving without so much as a note.

“Shit, man, I’m sorry,” he said when I finished.

I shrugged. “It’s not all bad, I guess. I just don’t like the balls-in-a-vice feeling.”

Damon laughed. Before he could say anything else, a petite woman sidled up to him. She offered me a smile as Damon introduced us. “This here is Gigi, my old lady.” Gigi reached for my hand. “This is Jace Winslow. He’s an old Navy buddy of mine.”

“I’ve seen your show,” Gigi said. “Damon, why didn’t you tell me you knew him! I would’ve gone to him for my last tat.”

“I’m sure Winslow has a waiting list ten miles long,” Damon said with a shrug.

The dudes on the other side of the bar were hollering for Gigi and she raced off to get them some fresh drinks. Damon watched her go and then turned back to me. “She’s amazing.” He said it with such starry-eyed conviction that would have been comical if it weren’t so sincere.

“I’m happy for you, man. You’ve done good for yourself. This place is amazing.” My eyes swept the rustic interior. It was a fairly large space, with a dozen tables, a long bar, and a small stage in the corner.

“Yeah, come on, I’ll give you a tour,” he said. He took me up to a loft and showed me a small balcony that looked out over a green space. It was too dark to see, but he told me there was another stage space for outdoor concerts in the summer. When we wrapped up the tour, he took me back downstairs and offered me another drink.

“No. I better not. I have a long drive back to the city.”

“You’re not going back tonight, are you?” He asked, glancing up at the clock to emphasize his point. It was nearing midnight. “Come on, we have a guest room. You’ll stay with us.”

“Are you—”

Before I could get out the rest of my question, Gigi raced back over, and once Damon told her I was trying to go back to Chicago, she wouldn’t hear of it, and she also insisted I stay with them. I finally agreed, on the terms that they let me help them close up the bar for the night. I stayed till closing, helped them clean the place, and then followed them up the road a few miles to their cozy, ranch style home. Gigi set me up in the guest room, and I was out before I even reached over to turn off the bedside lamp.

Despite the late turn in, I woke up early the next morning, before anyone else was awake. Thankfully, I always kept the bare essentials in the saddle bag on my bike, so I freshened up and made a pot of coffee for the house. I sat down at the breakfast table and after checking work emails—mostly requests for quotes, pictures, or sketches—started searching on my phone for local real estate. Being at the bar the night before had sparked an idea. There was something about being out in the middle of nowhere, away from the chaos and noise of the city, that had me yearning for a change of pace in my own life.

At the meeting with Marty, he’d told me I’d have a six-week break before the second season of my show would start filming. It’d be a stretch, but I was fairly confident I could put something together in that amount of time.

A second location for my tattoo shop.

There was something appealing about the idea of setting up a new shop, in a small, podunk town, and soaking up some down time. I was flipping through business listings when Damon joined me in the kitchen. “Morning,” he said, passing on his way to the coffee pot.

“Morning.” I was about to get up and get a refill, when my eye snagged on a listing. I pulled the pictures up and smiled wider as I flipped through the rest of the listing. It was a commercial listing, 950 square feet, with an apartment above. The price was low—really low, compared to what I was used to in the Chicago market—and the terms favorable. “Hey, man, you ever heard of this place?” I asked, holding out the phone to Damon.

He leaned over and studied the listing. “Yeah, sure. It’s about an hour and a half east of here. It’s a really small town, but it’s really nice. I actually looked at a few bars over there before I found my place.”

He sat down across the table from me and took a long, slow sip of his coffee, considering me over the rim. “Why are you looking at real estate listings?”

I laughed, a little sheepishly. “You’ve inspired me!”

“To move to the middle of fuckin’ nowhere?” He asked with a laugh.

“Pretty much.”

Damon arched a brow.

“Hear me out,” I said. “I think you’d agree, after all that shit I told you about last night, that I need a change of scenery. Chicago is fun, but that’s kind of the problem. All I do is drink and party. And, I know, those are
choices
. I could do other things, but it’s hard. Last night, hanging at your bar, it just got me thinking about what I really need. I think what I need is a fresh start.”

Damon shrugged and the concern fell away. “Makes sense. You just need to make sure you’re not just running away from your problems. I’ve tried that, man, and let me tell ya, it doesn’t work. They always catch up with you in the end. You gotta get yourself straight before you can fix any of the other bullshit.”

I nodded. It was good advice, but the truth was, I had no idea where to start fixing my problems. All I could do was hope that some time away would help me untangle the mess.

Gigi walked into the kitchen—saving me from replying—and offered a bright smile. “Morning all.How about some breakfast?”

“She spoils me,” Damon said. “Pancakes, eggs, and bacon, every weekend.”

“Well, you work hard! You deserve a little pampering. What about you, Jace? Breakfast?”

“Sounds amazing. You want help?”

She shooed away my offer, and I flipped back through the real estate listing again, fanning the flame of excitement that had started burning at the idea of getting away and starting over.

After the hearty breakfast, I thanked Damon and Gigi, and promised to not be such a stranger, as I left. I rode my bike hard and fast towards the small town from the listing, not stopping until I was parked along the curb in front of it. The shop itself looked a little worse for the wear, but after doing a little inspection, I determined it was all minor cosmetic stuff. The bones of the building looked good and there was plenty of room for what I had in mind.

“Well, what do you think?” The landlord asked when I rounded back to the front doors of the shop. I’d called and made the last minute viewing appointment before leaving Damon and Gigi’s house.

“It could work. Are there any repairs in the works? Anything a prospective tenant would need to know?” I asked even though I’d already decided I’d take it.

The landlord rambled into action, listing off adjustments that could be made, and even offered a break in the lease to accommodate the work. I kept a straight face, but it was funny how evident the man’s desperation was to get the place rented out.

As he was chattering away, trying to sweeten the deal, my gaze went out the window to the small diner across the street. I could see right through the front window, far enough to see the people at those tables. A waitress approached the table, and my heart jumped at the sight of her. She was model tall, slender, but her jeans were molded in a way that showed off her amazing ass. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, but when she turned, I could see it went halfway down her back. She had high cheekbones, full lips, and a smile that made my heart thud in my chest, aching for it to be for me.

“—and we could get this all on paper if you have time to go to my office. It’s only a few blocks away,” the landlord concluded. I’d tuned out the last parts of his pitch, completely consumed by the gorgeous skirt across the street.

“Umm, not—not today.” I glanced at my phone and saw that I was already cutting it way too close if I wanted to get back to the city in time for my afternoon client—a non-negotiable. When I looked back up, the waitress was gone from the window. “I have to get back to Chicago. But I’m interested. I’ll call tomorrow and we can go over the details.”

“Very good,” the man replied, nodding. I could tell he’d hoped to close the deal, but he wasn’t pushy—and for that—I was thankful.

We shook hands and he gave me his business card as he walked me out. I walked to my bike, and gave one glance back at the diner, wishing I had time to at least stop in for a cup of coffee.

* * * *

A week later, the deal was set. The shop and apartment would be mine and available to move in within the month—pending some last minute fixes. Marty and his crew finished filming the first season, and I was officially on vacation for the next six weeks. On the last day of filming, I’d dropped the bomb on Marty that I was turning my business in Chicago over to some fellow ink artists, and would be taking some time to establish a new business. He’d gone ballistic on me, but by the end of the conversation, I’d brought him around to seeing that filming me as I built a second business from scratch, moved
and
worked to establish a new life, in a new town, would be far more interesting than the same shit we’d already covered in the first season.

On my first full day off, I took the trip back out to Damon and Gigi’s bar to give them the news that I was moving and we’d celebrated well into the night. The next day, I drove to my new shop, and this time, made no hesitation to go into the diner where I’d seen the waitress who had become my own, personal siren, haunting my dreams, both while I was awake and asleep. She was a welcome change from explosives, gun fire, and mortar flashes, but my constant thoughts of her were driving me crazy with curiosity. I tried to talk myself down, to leave room for the possibility that she was married—or taken—or maybe just not interested in a rough and tumble vet.

A friendly chime greeted me as I pushed inside the small diner, and a woman with a name tag that read Patrice, came over to seat me. I was seated by the window but all I was interested in were the faces and activity inside the diner. My heart fell after a few minutes, when Patrice came back and announced she would be my server. I placed an order, still holding out hope that the woman I’d seen before would appear, but by the time my meal arrived, I had to admit defeat. She wasn’t there.

On my way out, I stopped at the front counter to pay my check. Patrice rang me up with a smile. “Did you enjoy your meal?”

“I did. Very much. Thank you.” She nodded and punched in the ticket and gave me my change. I handed her a five dollar bill. “Listen, I know this might sound weird, but the other day, I was in here, and I didn’t get the name of my server. She’s tall, brown hair—”

“Oh, Kat!” Patrice filled in.

Kat. I let the name soak in. My mystery woman.

“Well, she was excellent.”

“She’s not here today, but I’ll be sure to let her know.”

I nodded and left before she could ask me anything else, waving as I pushed through the door, and stepped onto the sidewalk.

Kat. That’s her.

My six weeks of vacation time from filming passed by in a blur, spurred on by the busyness of getting everything set up at my new shop and making sure my existing clients were taken care of by the two artists who would be keeping my Chicago shop running while I was away. On moving day, everything that could go wrong, went wrong, and set us behind schedule several hours. When I finally was able to send the moving team away for the night, and take a minute to relax, the diner was closed, but when I fell asleep that night, Kat’s face was the last thing I saw.

The next morning, I raced out of bed, threw on some jeans, a t-shirt, and my black leather jacket, and went across the street. Patrice, the waitress that had served me before, sat me at the same window table, and I worried it was going to be a repeat of my last visit. I shrugged out of my jacket and waited, my eyes anxiously scanning the room, when Kat appeared from the kitchen. She was tying her hair back and didn’t see me before I turned around, not wanting to get caught staring at her. I tapped my fingertips on the table and waited.

“Good morning,” Kat greeted, as she came to a stop at my table. “Coffee?” She held up what was left of her pot.

I couldn’t help but smile as her eyes went wide as she took me in, assessing everything from my shoulders to the dark ink that covered the majority of each arm.

“Yeah,” I answered, smiling even more as she jolted to life, startled by my reply.

I slid my mug to the edge of the table and she filled it with the steaming contents of the carafe. “Do you need to see the menu?”

“Sure.”

She went for the front pocket of her apron, but after a moment, her cheeks flushed. “I’ll go get one, one sec.” She scurried away, and I took a deep breath. Seeing her in person was even more intoxicating than my daydreams about her. Everything about her was perfect. Her dark hair, sparkling green eyes, and the way she was so easily flustered by me. I had no idea what she was thinking, but I wanted more.

Moments later, she reappeared and handed me a menu. “Here you are, take your time, and let me know if you have any questions.”

She spun away, but I stopped her with the first—of many—questions. “All right, first question, what’s your name?”

“My name?”

“Yeah,” I smiled, loving how easy it was to throw her off. I crossed my arms, flexing my muscles as they came to rest on top of the table.

“I’m Kat—Katherine,” she answered. Her eyes raked up my arms and hitched on my biceps.

“Which do you want me to use? Kat? Or Katherine?” Her gaze snapped back to mine at my second question. “Sorry, is that a weird question?”

“No, no, it’s not.” She folded her arms. “Sorry, um, Kat works. That’s what people call me around here.”

“Kat, then. I’m Jace, it’s nice to meet you.”