#TeaserTuesday - Infatuated

 

Timber turned to look at her as she started the jeep. He studied her for a moment. Typical Ambrosia style, she had her hair pulled back in a ponytail. She wasn’t one for nail polish and makeup. She was the plain Jane, small town girl who liked things he liked – things men liked in general: watching football, tossing back a beer, hiking, fishing, hanging out at bars and just being one of the guys. He remembered how, one day, he’d pulled up to her house to find her swinging an ax, chopping firewood. He smiled when he remembered how upset it made him to see her doing something so dangerous. He reprimanded her on the spot. At the end of the day, she was still a woman, and she had him at her disposal to do those kinds of chores for her. He didn’t want her to injure herself. He cared about her too much.

He always thought Ambrosia had a sweet innocence about her. While she tried her best to come across as tomboyish, he knew there was a more feminine side to her that she rarely showed anyone – not even to him. That left him bewildered. Why did she heavily guard that part of herself? What made her tick? Why was she one of the guys and not just a beautiful woman who exuded femininity? Everything about her was beautiful, from the luscious black hair she kept pulled back down to her toes that she kept hidden most times in sneakers. And her facial features were second to no woman. Many times, he caught himself staring at her lips. Her nose. Her ears. He often wondered what it would feel like to drown his hands in that thick head of hair, bring her mouth to his and—

“Tim?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you good?” she asked, then smiled, alternating between looking at him and the road.

“Yeah. I’m good.”

“Why are you staring at me?”

“No reason,” he said, then turned away from her, looking straight ahead as they approached a red light. Yeah, there was something about her that even years of being close to her couldn’t reveal. He wasn’t the type of man to pressure someone to be open with him. He was always under the assumption that the right man could bring the femininity out of any woman. Apparently, he wasn’t the right man. The one date they went on proved that. It was like he was hanging with Maverick or Ervan because that’s the way she wanted it to be. And so, that’s what it was. In fact, Ambrosia had gone above and beyond to show him that’s all they were. Friends. Whenever he tried to have a serious conversation about relationships, she blew it off or changed the subject. It aggravated his soul, but he didn’t want to cause a rift between them, so he pretended it hadn’t bothered him.

The truth was, he wanted more then, and he wanted more now. Badly. So bad that he obsessed over it. He dreamed about her. He imagined what life with her would be like if Ambrosia moved in with him. If they were married. He could foresee what their children would look like – all three of them. Their lives together would be filled with love, gratitude, and appreciation.

“I must have something on my face,” Ambrosia said, lifting from the seat to look in the rearview mirror as she drove.

Timber grinned. “Besides that dimple, there’s nothing on your face, Brosia.”

Ambrosia smiled and switched lanes, making that dimple he loved even more noticeable and prominent. His thumb would fit perfectly in that beauty mark on her face. He’d imagined that, too.

He gazed upon her more, appreciating the warmth of her skin tone. Her even, medium-brown complexion radiated a soft glow that spoke to her meticulous self-care routine. Her hair was natural black. She didn’t play around with highlights or styles. It was just there. And long. And kept at bay. She treated her hair like it was an annoyance. Several times she threatened to cut it, but she never did, much to his great pleasure.

Timber snapped out of his trance with her again because he would have no explanation to give this time if she caught him staring again. He asked, “Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

“I’m taking you to dinner.”

“I don’t believe you,” he deadpanned.

That dimple of hers went deeper. “You wouldn’t.”

He placed his left hand on her right thigh and squeezed. “Tell me.”

Her body jerked out of the seat. “Tim, stop! You’re going to make me wreck.”

“Tell me,” he said, squeezing again, amused at how ticklish she was while also enjoying her thick thigh beneath his hand.

Tickled, she said, “I just told you. I’m taking you to dinner. I thought you trusted me.”

“I do trust you.”

“Then just sit back and relax. And stop squeezing my leg before you make me wreck,” she said, pushing his hand away.

When they pulled up at Ida’s on Main, the beloved town restaurant, Ambrosia got out, took the balloons from the back, and walked around the side of the jeep where he was standing. They walked to the entrance where he opened the door to the place and allowed her to enter ahead of him. Then he stepped inside and looked around. Nothing looked out of the ordinary, and he didn’t see anyone he knew, so maybe this was a legit dinner with him and her.

That’s what he wanted most – time alone with her. To talk to her. To be in her presence and enjoy her aura.

The manager walked up and said, “Well, hello there, Mr. Timber Lennox.” Everyone in town knew Timber. His staunch reputation preceded him, and he was proud of that.

“Good evening, Maria.”

“Hey Maria,” Ambrosia chimed in to say.

“Hey, hun. How are y’all doing this evening?”

“We’re good,” Timber said, answering for them both.

With raised brows, Maria said, “I heard it’s a special day for somebody. And you know what? I got a special table for you, sir.”

“Ooh…you hear that, Tim?” Ambrosia said, looking up at her six-feet-four friend. “She has a special table for you.”

“Yeah. I heard her,” Timber replied unenthused. “I’m still trying to figure out what it means.”

The place was packed to the brim. That’s typically how it was on Saturday nights. There wasn’t a special table in sight. Laughter, the noise of many people talking at once, and the smell of the delicious food this place served is what he witnessed. But a special table? No. There were no more tables, unless some were set up in the back room where the restaurant hosted parties. That’s where they seemed to be heading.

The manager opened the door, and when Timber stepped inside the dark room, the lights blinked on and a shout of surprise rang out.

Timber dropped his head and smiled. Yeah, he saw it coming. When he looked up, he saw his old employees were here. His friend Ervan. His brother Maverick. There were also a few more business owners he knew – people who came to support him on his new journey. Giving up a business that you birthed from infancy was tough. They all knew it, even if he didn’t.

Timber turned to look at Ambrosia, watching her smile even though her eyes brimmed with tears. He wondered about the emotions those tears carried. Were they tears for what she thought he was feeling at the moment? Or were they for something else? That’s what he never understood about her.

Ambrosia had feelings for him. Real feelings. He concluded that because he’d always had them for her, and a man knows when a woman is feeling him. Instead of embracing those feelings, she ignored them and pretended she wasn’t aware. But why? That date they went on eight years ago should’ve been the beginning of their love story because, well, they just worked well together. You rarely saw Timber without Ambrosia. Ambrosia without Timber. It was unheard of. Everyone in their circle thought they’d be good together, and they made no qualms about telling them that. But Ambrosia was in denial, and that left Timber confused.

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For the full story, read One Day You'll Be Mine, book eight in the Lennox series, available here on Amazon! For more information on the Lennox in Love series books, visit the series book page.