Page 14 of Matchmaking On The Menu

He looks up and just… stops. His hazel eyes hold mine, like I’ve said something he didn’t see coming. Then he blinks, like he’s been flash-banged.

I let the moment stretch just a second longer than necessary before tilting my head.

“No rush,” I add smoothly. “The burgers aren’t going anywhere. They’ve been here longer than me.”

“Oh… uh… coffee will be fine. And…” He glances at the menu again. “A cheeseburger.”

His voice is… damn… it’s deep, rich and smooth like warm bourbon. It does something to me. Something I’m not unpacking right now. My stomach tightens, low and sudden and wildly inappropriate for late afternoon. And my brain? It has fully checked out.

“Coffee and a burger?” he repeats.

Goddamn it, Dannica, wake up.

“Yes. Sure. Coffee. And… a cheeseburger. We do that here.” I pause. “Obviously.”

Heat flashes up my neck to my cheeks. Oh my god. Why am I like this? I need to stop talking.

He gives me the faintest hint of a smile. I turn too fast and nearly clip a chair. At the pass, it takes me an unnecessary amount of time to slide the order into the slot.

Pull yourself together.

He’s probably arrogant. Most gorgeous men are. I bet he fucks and chucks girls because he can’t deal with anything deeper than his next coffee order. Yeah, that’s it.

When I return with his coffee, he looks up and smiles. Damn, his teeth could blind a girl.

Something in my chest relaxes. His smile is friendly, not cocky, and I feel bad for judging him.

“Thanks. Smells great.”

The way I beam at him, you’d assume he told me I’ve got pretty eyes. I scramble to think of something witty to say, something I’d say to any of my other customers to keep them feeling welcome, but I’ve literally got nothing. Not even a headline comes to mind, so I stick with a cliché.

“One burger coming right up.”

On my way back with his burger, I notice he’s still studying the place like it’s an exhibit, his gaze moving in slow, deliberate sweeps like he’s framing it piece by piece.

CUTE STRANGER BECOMES DEVASTATING WHEN FOCUSED.

“Here we go,” I say, setting the plate down. “The pride of Boudica Springs. Or at least the pride of Llewellen’s griddle.”

He smiles, slow and warm. Not smirk-warm. Not I-know-I’m-handsome warm. Just… warm.

“It looks perfect, thank you.”

“I haven’t had a complaint yet. It’s a rule.”

He glances around again. “How long has this place been here?”

“Since before I was born. Since before my mom was born. My grandma says the building used to be a feed store, then someone realized people prefer pancakes to livestock.”

“That’s a good pivot.”

“You’d be surprised how many businesses don’t make it.”

He nods with genuine interest, not the distracted politeness of someone making small talk, which is new.

“And you?” he asks. “Have you worked here long?”

“My whole life. Practically learned to walk between booths.”