Page 5 of Sugar & Ink
I scooped mint chocolate chip into a cup and slid it across the counter to a little girl wearing pink overalls. “Extra sprinkles?” I asked.
Her eyes widened. “Really?”
I leaned in conspiratorially. “Don’t tell your mom.”
The girl grinned.
Her mom laughed. “I heard that.”
I shrugged. “No proof.”
A few minutes later, the shop finally cleared out.
I braced my hands on the counter and let out a breath. The silence felt strange after hours of nonstop noise. I glanced at the clock and saw it was three thirty.
I hadn’t eaten lunch. Or sat down or gone to the bathroom.
I snorted. Apparently, business ownership was glamorous.
The bell over the door rang and I looked up automatically. And froze.
The man from across the street walked in. The sunglasses he’d worn yesterday hung from the collar of his shirt, giving me my first unobstructed look at his face.
Dark eyes. Strong jaw. A short beard that looked intentionally scruffy. He was unfairly attractive.
I hated that I noticed that.
His gaze swept the shop before landing on me.
I straightened instinctively, which was ridiculous. I was thirty-six years old and divorced. I should not suddenly care what a younger-than-me tattooed stranger thought about me.
Yet here we were.
He walked up to the counter with an easy confidence that made me think he was comfortable anywhere he went. “Looks like opening day went okay,” he said. His voice was deep. Not growly. Not sexy in some over-the-top movie way. Just deep enough for me to notice it. Boy, did I notice.
I looked toward the empty tables. “Depends on your definition of okay.”
One corner of his mouth lifted.
I gestured to myself. “I’ve been here for five and a half hours. I’ve spilled caramel on myself twice, chocolate syrup once, and I still haven’t eaten lunch.”
His eyes flicked to the stain on my apron. “Looks like you’ve got some room for some strawberry sauce right there.”
I looked down. “Yeah, I’m sure I’ll make that happen by the time I close up for the night.”
“Always good to have goals,” he chuckled.
I was done making a fool of myself in front of this handsome man. I shook my head, smiling despite myself. “So, Mr. Motorcycle, what can I get you?”
He glanced up at the menu, then back at me. “What’s your favorite?”
I blinked. “You want me to decide?”
“You’re the expert.”
“That’s a lot of pressure.”
“I believe in you.”
