Page 60 of Micah

Carries your trash to the dumpster without making a big deal out of it.

Calls you Princess like it's the most natural thing in the world.

Then kisses you so gently it steals every coherent thought from your head.

But after? Well, after he disappears before you can even figure out what happened.

Who even does that?

Men! Ugh.

And the maddening part?

I haven't been able to stop thinking about him since.

Every time I drive home and the air coming through the vents is clean instead of dusty, I think of Micah.

Every time I catch myself touching my lips, remembering how careful he'd been, I think of Micah.

Every time I close my eyes all I see is him.

Those pale blue eyes waiting for me.

Steady.

Intense.

Watching me like I was something precious.

Something worth protecting.

It's ridiculous.

I've barely spoken a dozen sentences to the man.

I don't know his favorite food.

Or his birthday.

Or whether he takes cream in his coffee.

But somehow...

That quiet, bearded cowboy who'd rather fix my van than flirt with me has taken up permanent residence in my thoughts.

And that's dangerous.

Because I have far too much work to do to be building castles in the sky over a man who, for all I know, kissed me once because he felt sorry for me.

Shit.

I need to get a grip.

There are customers coming.

Bills to pay.

A kitchen to open.