"Which do you recommend?" His teeth were startling white, and his hair a light blonde color, wavy and cut just below his ears. Stop it, Iva ordered herself. It was ridiculous to get burned at the altar, only to start admiring every male within a hundred yards.
"Um, I prefer seasoned," Iva answered, beginning to babble nervously. "But it's up to you-if you like a little extra saucy flavor to your French fries,"
The corners of his green eyes crinkled.
"Saucy French fries, eh? Does that mean they're impertinent or merely cheeky?"
"I mean spicy---kind of like barbecue---but not hot. Just---" Iva broke off. She was stumbling over her words like a teenager who'd never had a boyfriend.
"Sorry," he said, pushing a twenty toward her, that crooked smile crossing his lips again.
"I couldn't resist." Iva deliberately looked away and punched the buttons on the cash register, then pushed his change back across the counter.
He reached out and slid it back again.
"Keep the change.
"What are you talking about? A twenty could have bought you three trays of fries, "
He gazed at her, and then finally she got it.
The change was a tip. Feeling stupid, Iva felt heat rise up her face again. "Oh, right. It's, um, been awhile" Her voice petered out, as if she'd just forgotten her vocabulary.
"First bus of the day done," Mom announced, loosening her apron and pushing back her damp hair. "I've got cold lemonade when you're ready, Iva."
"Iva," the stranger repeated and Iva cursed her mother.
Was this guy flirting, or just being annoying?
"You'd better gobble down those fries and get to the busses before they leave," Iva told him pointedly.
"How do you know I'm headed to the bridge?"
Iva wondered if he was daft. "You arrived on the Alex Fraser Bridge Tour bus, correct? And your camera is a dead giveaway that you came here to take pictures."
He patted his outrageously expensive camera. Was he really a photographer, or an amateur with too much money?
"Right. I'll go shoot some pictures now. As soon as I finish these delicious seasoned French fries."
"Saucy," Iva said, not letting him get away with flirting, or being obtuse.
"Touché." He quirked an eyebrow and then added, "See you around, Iva."
"Cheeky dude." Iva tried not to scrutinize him while he walked across the grass toward the bridge. Tried not to stare at his physique, mentally comparing him to Noah---while guilt washed over her as if she was cheating on her husband. Which totally didn't make sense.
Noah Graham was not her husband. He wasn't even her fiancé any longer. Iva's shoulders slumped over the cash register. What an outrageously depressing week this had been already, and it was only Tuesday.