“I wouldn’t be serving tacos, so it isn’t direct competition. It would benefit both, I think, because people who love good food would be drawn here.” Her hands start to move as she talks, getting more excited. “I’d strip that awful blue paint off, bring it back to an old beach-cottage look. I’m not certain about the menu, but it’s starting to take shape in my head. Comfort food, but not heavy. Quality ingredients, a mix between simple and complex—” She stops, and her lips quirk. “I’m boring you.”

“Hardly. I like hearing you talk.” I take her hand and thread our fingers. Because I can. Finally. “It’ll work, Tot.”

She shrugs but can’t hide her smile. “Well, there’s a lot of stops between an idea and reality. I don’t have the money or a backer—”

“I’ll do it. I’ll back you. Hell, I’ll buy the place if you want.”

“No. Macon, no.” She softens her rejection by leaning against me. “It’s a generous, lovely offer, but I don’t want that between us. Business has to stay business.”

“And we’re not business.” We started off that way. Until now, I didn’t truly comprehend how much I wanted that arrangement behind us. It does funny things to my insides to hear her say she’s here because she wants me, not what I could do for her, not because of that damn deal.

“No,” she says happily. “We’re not.”

“Okay.” I take another look at the restaurant. “But I can still help. I know a guy—”

Delilah bursts out laughing. “Oh my God. Please don’t say he’s in the mob.”

I tweak her earlobe. “No, smart-ass. He’s a restaurateur who happens to be looking to new expansion.”

That gets her attention. “Who?”

“Ronan Kelly.”

“You know Kelly?” She makes a sound of amusement. “What am I saying? Of course you do. Hot successful men run in packs.”

My chin rests against the top of her head. “Hold on a second. What’s this about hot?”

“Ronan Kelly is hot. Insanely hot. It would be hard not to notice that.”

I grunt. “I’m not sure I like that you notice.”

“I have eyes, don’t I?” She runs a finger along the top of my thigh. The muscle tightens in response. Her hum is pleased. “Macon Saint, jealous. Who would have thought?”

“It’s not the first time with you,” I admit in a low voice.

But she hears. And grins. Because Delilah is evil.

“North?” She huffs out a laugh. “We have zero chemistry. If you were thinking clearly, you would have seen—”

“Not North,” I cut in. “Although, yes, I was a touch irritated.”

Delilah snorts but then stops and looks up at me. “Who, then?”

It’s my turn to grin. “Matty Hayes.”

“Matty Hayes? From high school? Seriously?”