“Uh-oh,” she murmured as her stomach did a funny nosedive when he gave her a sinful once-over. She felt like she had as a flat-chested ninth grader when dreamy senior Javier Cooper winked at her in the hall between classes.

But if teenage Javier had been dreamy, adult Silas was downright edible.

His jeans were worn and fitted so perfectly to his body that she guessed it had to be from years of wear. The long-sleeve T-shirt hugged his broad chest and shoulders. He looked as good in clothes as he did out of them.

No hat tonight. His hair was…ugh. Damn delicious. Those golden curls should have made him look boyish, but there was nothing immature about the delectable man in front of her.

Okay. Clearly she was hungry. She’d raged her way through lunch and now needed finger steaks—whatever the hell they were—stat.

“Hey, Mags,” he said with a warm kind of familiarity. He didn’t touch her when she stopped in front of him, but she felt the sparks ping-ponging back and forth between them.

“Silas.” She wasn’t feeling mad or pissed or scared anymore, she realized. She was feeling…interested. Maybe there was something to that whole “talking about your feelings” crap?

“Did I ever tell you that my heart skips a beat every time you walk toward me?” Silas said, flashing her a slow, panty-melting grin.

“You should probably get that checked,” she said lightly. “Could be something serious.”

“Oh, I sure hope so,” he drawled.

Oh. My. God. “Feed me, Wright,” she ordered.

He opened the door and ushered her inside. Rough and rustic was how she’d describe the place. There was wood everywhere. Gray-washed oak on the floor and U-shaped bar. A more natural finish on the rafters and beams. The back wall of the restaurant was all glass with doors and windows that opened onto the multitiered deck bigger than the restaurant itself. Beyond the tables and umbrellas with their handful of patrons was the sparkling waters of Payette Lake.

“Hey there, Sy,” the bartender called out as they passed.

“Hey, Pete. You got my five bucks?” Silas asked.

“How about first round’s on me?” Pete offered.

“Even better,” Silas told him. “Come on, Mags.”

“Do you have a gambling problem?” she asked. “You sure seem to make a lot of bets.”

“Life’s more interesting when there’s something at stake,” he said, leading her to one of the deck doors at the back and opening it for her. The smell of lake water and citronella hit her, and for just a second, she was twelve years old all over again. Memories, short but sweet, swirled around her like a favorite sweater.