“You’re back,” he said. “I hope this means you’ve decided to stay?”
I studied him—his deep brown eyes framed with thick black lashes, heavy brow, and prominent jaw. He had a bit of stubble growing that I thought suited him and softened the severity of his sharp features. Standing there staring at him, I found myself wondering who he’d been before his business took off.
“I have,” I said, realizing I’d been staring a little too long. I averted my gaze. “I’m willing to do a trial month and see how things go now that everything is out in the open. Then we can reassess, if we have to.”
He held out his hand for me to shake. I clasped it, and his fingers enclosed my entire hand. His grip was strong and warm, and I noticed he didn’t have the sort of hands most businessmen had. His had little scars across the knuckles, old calluses on the palm, and a warped thumbnail, as if it had been struck by a hammer a long time ago and never grew back right.
More curiosity sparked inside of me. I knew he wasn’t a San Francisco local. He had a southern accent, and I’d pegged him as either from Texas or Georgia or something. He’d lost the slower southern cadence, but every now and then, his drawl came back.
Right now, it sounded more prominent than ever.
He released my hand. “If you’re open to it, I’d like to start over with a clean slate. Does your offer for drinks still stand?”
I blinked. “Um, yes, of course.”
“I know a good place not far from here with a nice shaded patio. They have good food too, if you’re hungry.”
I grinned. “I’m always hungry.”