He looked over his shoulder to make sure I was behind him, and did a double take. His gaze dropped to my legs and slowly traveled back upward, and I swore I saw the crests of his cheeks redden before he looked away.

Ignoring my smugness, I studied the back of him and cursed our maker for creating men with such fine asses.

You’re objectifying the farmer, I scolded myself.

It was hard not to appreciate those wide shoulders, the tapered waist, and the way he moved through the tables with an easy, loose-limbed gait. Shadow trotted behind him, and they both drew admiring gazes.

Roane stopped at the lit fireplace and pulled out a chair, gesturing me to it.

I did not swoon at the gentlemanliness. I was merely light-headed from all the food and was forced to collapse quickly into the chair. The heat from the fire caused goose bumps on my arms and legs as Shadow sprawled out in front of the fireplace as if he’d done it many times before. Roane took the seat opposite me.

We were both so tall, our knees knocked together under the table.

The corner of his lips tipped upward as if this amused him. Those dark eyes studied my face as they had earlier today. I squirmed in my seat, hoping I didn’t have crumbs at the corners of my mouth. Or that he’d look lower to where my belly rolls were visible and particularly prominent after the fish and chips.

Are you listening to yourself?

Weren’t these the thoughts I’d tried to banish over the years? Was a stupid four-week social media encounter really going to screw with my self-esteem? And hadn’t I just repeatedly told myself that Roane Robson was off-limits? So what the hell did I care what he thought about my body?

I relaxed back in my chair, and Roane’s gaze automatically flickered downward.

He never got farther than my boobs. Visibly swallowing, he looked quickly away. There was a definite flush on the tops of his cheeks. “The place will quiet down in a bit.” His voice sounded extra rumbly, maybe even a little hoarse.

Hating how charmed I was that such a sexy man was flushing like a schoolboy, I picked up a menu from the table and started to fan my heated skin. “Is it always this busy?”

Roane’s gaze moved back to mine. “It gets busy April through October because it’s heavily advertised by Visit Northumberland—the tourist board.” He gestured to the room. “It usually quiets down around nine o’clock, leaving mostly locals.”

“Is your farm in Alnster?”

“Just outside.”