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

He always thought Ambrosia had a sweet innocence abouther. While she tried her best to come across as tomboyish, he knew there was amore feminine side to her that she rarely showed anyone – not even to him. Thatleft him bewildered. Why did she heavily guard that part of herself? What madeher tick? Why was she one of the guys and not just a beautiful woman whoexuded femininity? Everything about her was beautiful, from the luscious blackhair she kept pulled back down to her toes that she kept hidden most times insneakers. And her facial features were second to no woman. Many times, hecaught himself staring at her lips. Her nose. Her ears. He often wondered whatit would feel like to drown his hands in that thick head of hair, bring hermouth 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 wassomething about her that even years of being close to her couldn’t reveal. Hewasn’t the type of man to pressure someone to be open with him. He was alwaysunder the assumption that the right man could bring the femininity out of anywoman. Apparently, he wasn’t the right man. The one date they went onproved that. It was like he was hanging with Maverick or Ervan because that’sthe way she wanted it to be. And so, that’s what it was. In fact, Ambrosia had goneabove and beyond to show him that’s all they were. Friends. Whenever he triedto have a serious conversation about relationships, she blew it off or changedthe subject. It aggravated his soul, but he didn’t want to cause a rift betweenthem, so he pretended it hadn’t bothered him.

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

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

Timber grinned. “Besides that dimple, there’snothing on your face, Brosia.”

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

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

Timber snapped out of his trance with her againbecause he would have no explanation to give this time if she caught himstaring 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 andsqueezed. “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 athow ticklish she was while also enjoying her thick thigh beneath his hand.

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

“I do trust you.”

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

When they pulled up at Ida’s on Main, the belovedtown restaurant, Ambrosia got out, took the balloons from the back, and walkedaround the side of the jeep where he was standing. They walked to the entrancewhere 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 andher.

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, hellothere, Mr. Timber Lennox.” Everyone in town knew Timber. His staunch reputationpreceded 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 themboth.

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

“Ooh…you hear that, Tim?” Ambrosia said, lookingup 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’stypically how it was on Saturday nights. There wasn’t a special table insight. Laughter, the noise of many people talking at once, and the smell of thedelicious 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 therestaurant hosted parties. That’s where they seemed to be heading.

The manager opened the door, and when Timberstepped inside the dark room, the lights blinked on and a shout of surprise rangout.

Timber dropped his head and smiled. Yeah, he sawit 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 thatyou birthed from infancy was tough. They all knew it, even if he didn’t.

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

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