Winning Her Heart. Harmony Evans

he slowly released the counter into place.

      She set the tray on top. “Thanks for your help. I’ll take your order in a moment.”

      The southern accent he detected in her voice nestled into his senses as he watched her refill drinks and make sure customers were happy with their food.

      Then, she took a rag and wiped down the counter in front of him.

      “Sorry for the wait. Welcome to Lucy’s.”

      Her T-shirt was black, V-necked, and her cleavage was as deep as her smile. The words Ask Me if I Care were emblazoned across the front in thin silvery cursive.

      As she handed him a menu, her breasts riffed against the glossy surface of the bar.

      Though it was difficult, he managed to avert his eyes as she poured him a glass of water, but his hard-on tightened uncomfortably as though she were standing in front of him, naked.

      A customer a few bar stools down asked her a question and she turned her face away. He gave in to temptation, stealing the moment to soak up the woman’s tantalizing figure.

      She was petite and curvy. Short hair spiked in a hip style. Bangs asymmetrical, the longer side skimmed her left eyebrow. Daring him to brush them away so he could see the color of her eyes.

      She set a glass of water down in front of him. “Can I tell you about today’s specials?”

      As she rattled them off, a pang of desire hit him, confused him.

       That voice. That body.

      She was the exact opposite of the model-thin types that normally interested him, at least for a night.

      “Perhaps,” he said, wanting her to linger. “What’s looking good today?”

      Besides you, he thought, biting back the words.

      He wanted to tease her, to let her know that he found her very attractive, but it felt disrespectful to do that in a place like Lucy’s.

      “All the food is good here,” she continued. “But we’ve been real busy today and have already run out of some of the menu items. Tell me what you want, and I’ll check in with the kitchen to see if we still have it.”

      Micah set his menu aside. He already knew what he wanted, besides the luscious woman in front of him.

      “How about one of Lucy’s famous jerk chicken sandwiches?”

      She arched a perfectly curved brow. “Oh, so you’ve heard about those?”

      “I’ve had one or two in my lifetime. I grew up in Bay Point, and used to eat here frequently when I was a teenager.”

      “Hmm,” she replied, her eyes roaming his face. “You don’t look much older than that now.”

      “Thank you. I guess I age well.”

      He gave her his most disarming smile, happy that his boyish good looks had netted him another fine catch.

      “I’m Micah Langston. And you are?”

      “Jasmine Kennedy.”

      He reached out his hand, and her palm felt cool to the touch. “Pleasure to meet you.”

      “Langston.” She tilted her head. “Are you any relation to—?”

      “The mayor? He’s my older brother.”

      Jasmine’s cheeks dimpled and seemed to light up her face.

      “The rumors are true then. Good looks do run in the family.”

      He leaned back a little. Her flirtatious compliment spiraled through him, warming his insides, catching him off guard, though he suspected she didn’t mean a word of it.

      Seconds later, he chided himself. When was the last time he ever cared what any woman thought about him?

      “I like you already.”

      She smiled and laid down a napkin, followed by a knife, fork and spoon on top. “I’ll bet you’ll like me even more if we have any jerk chicken left. Let me go see. Be right back.”

      He turned his head and watched her leave. Her mini-skirt hugged her curves so tight he wished he had X-ray eyes.

      Her hip bumped against the kitchen door, causing it to swing open. When she disappeared behind it, it was like all the air had gone out of the room with her.

      Micah gulped down some water, icy cold, but not cold enough to calm the lust she had unknowingly kindled.

      To distract himself, he glanced around the restaurant.

      The decor hadn’t changed much from when he was a kid. Autographed photos of movies stars he didn’t recognize. African masks draped with Mardi Gras beads. Old porcelain signs that were likely reproductions and other so-called antique treasures cluttered the walls.

      He wrinkled his nose. So different from his taste. He favored sleek, modern designs allowing his customers to focus on what was most important—the food.

      “I thought I heard a Langston out here.”

      He got off his chair and gave Lucy Dee Diller, the owner of the diner, a peck on the cheek. The aromatic scent of incense and coffee beans wafted over him. Her raspy voice had deepened, making her southern accent even more apparent. He wondered if she still smoked unfiltered cigarettes, and hoped she didn’t.

      Moments later, Jasmine was back, plate in hand. When he saw what was on it, he wanted to kiss her.

      “Is that what I think it is?”

      Lucy took the plate from Jasmine and slid it in front of him. “My famous jerk chicken sandwich with apple chutney and hand-sliced sweet potato fries.”

      Jasmine winked. “How do you like me now?”

      “Like? I think I’m in love.” He grinned at the two women, and then pointed at the food. “With all three of you.”

      Lucy laughed. “Didn’t I tell you, Jasmine? Just like a Langston. You’re all flirts, though your brother not so much because he’s married.”

      Steam curled up from his fries. He could barely wait to dig in.

      “After all these years, I’m surprised you still recognize me.”

      Lucy nodded. “Of course, I do! And not just because you’ve been on television.”

      “You’re on television?” Jasmine asked.

      Her voice held a note of disbelief that threatened to irk his ego. Micah shrugged, as if it was no big deal, even though to him, it was. He considered being on TV one of his greatest accomplishments.

      She lifted the pass-through, and Lucy joined her behind the bar.

      “Don’t you know, honey? Micah is famous.”

      “Ever hear of High Stakes Chef?” he asked. “That’s the name of the show.”

      Jasmine shook her head defiantly. “I don’t watch television.”

      Lucy cut in, nudging the plate closer. “I remember your appetite and I don’t like to see any man starve, famous or not. I made that sandwich just how you like it.”

      “With extra pepper sauce?”

      At Lucy’s nod, he picked up the sandwich and opened his mouth to take a bite.

      “Uh-uh. Not yet. Napkin in the collar, please,” Lucy scolded, unfolding one and doing the honors. “You know the drill. I’m not paying for your laundry.”

      When she was done, Micah grinned and fought to roll his eyes as he smoothed the napkin over his clean white button-down shirt. He wasn’t a teenager anymore, but apparently Jasmine thought he looked like one, and Lucy thought he ate like one.

      “Now, you eat,”