Page 18 of A Tempting Seduction

“You got it.” I started pulling shots while Jordan handled Florence's simple order. “You two are up and about early today.”

“Bernie picked me up at six-thirty this morning,” Florence said, leaning against the pastry case. “We figured we'd get the good seats before the morning rush.”

“Smart thinking.”

Florence watched me work with the keen interest. “Speaking of the morning rush, when do you think your admirer will come in?”

Heat flooded my cheeks. “My what?”

“Don't play coy with me, young lady. Ford Larson has been in here every morning since his spectacular tumble, asking you to make him something special. The whole town's talking about it.”

Bernie chuckled as he accepted his maple bourbon latte. “Boy's got it bad, that's for sure. I saw him yesterday afternoon, standing outside Draper's Hardware for ten minutes, staring at this building like he was working up the courage to cross the street.”

“That's ridiculous.” I finished Florence's coffee and set it on the counter harder than necessary. “Ford Larson is not interested in me.”

“Ruby Miller.” Florence's voice dropped into the tone she used when she was about to dispense wisdom whether you wanted it or not. “I've been watching men chase women in this town since I was a teenager. That’s over six decades. Trust me when I tell you that Ford Larson is definitely interested.”

“He asked for my phone number once. I said no. End of story.”

“And he's been back every day since, trying to change your mind.” Bernie took a sip of his latte and made an appreciative sound. “Dang, girl, this is good. Tastes like autumn in a cup.”

“Thank you.” I ducked my head, hoping they'd take the hint and change the subject.

“The man's been moping around town like a lost puppy,” Florence continued, clearly not ready to let it go. “Yesterday at the grocery store, Roger asked what was wrong. Ford said nothing. But Roger told me he knew heartache when he saw it.”

I tried to think that it was just the espresso machine that had me overheating. I knew my face was fire-engine red with embarrassment.

“Roger reads the same romance novels you do,” I reminded Florence. “He sees love floating in the air every time someone blows on a dandelion.”

“Roger might not have as many years on him as I do, but he’s a smart man, and you're being stubborn about it.” Florence stirred her coffee with enough force to create a small whirlpool. “What's wrong with Ford Larson, anyway? He's handsome, successful, comes from a good family. His sister, Carrie, speaks very highly of him.”

Because men like Ford Larson don't date women who look like me.

I kept that thought to myself and busied myself cleaning the espresso machine. “There's nothing wrong with Ford. We're just not compatible.”

“How do you know if you won't give him a chance?”

I turned around to put a point on my words. “I know.”

Bernie and Florence exchanged a look that spoke volumes. They'd clearly discussed this topic before coming in, probably in great detail, and they'd reached some sort of consensus about my romantic life.

Fantastic.

There was a buzz at the backdoor, which meant the pastries had arrived. Late. Again. I’d ask Jordan to take the delivery, but he never inventoried what they delivered, and we’d ended up shorted twice because of it.

“I’ve got to go. Work’s calling.” I waved at Bernie and Florence. I thought I heard Florence say something about chickens, but I ignored her. By the time I got done taking the delivery and filling the display case with pastries, a steady stream of customers began filtering in, construction workers grabbing quick coffees before heading to job sites, office workers treating themselves to fancy lattes, retirees settling in for their morning social hour.

Jordan handled the simple orders while I crafted the more complex drinks, falling into the rhythm that had become second nature over the past few months. The work kept my hands busy and my mind occupied, which was exactly what I needed.

It wasn't until nine-thirty that I heard the soft knock on the back door that I'd been waiting for.

“Jordan, I'm taking my break,” I called out, already untying my apron.

He looked up from the register with obvious annoyance. “Now? We're about to hit the mid-morning rush and Kristin isn’t here yet.”

“You’ve handled it on your own before, you can do it again.”

I didn't wait for his response. Fiona Larson stood outside the back door, shifting her weight from foot to foot with nervous energy. She looked beautiful despite her anxiety, her blonde hair falling in soft waves around her shoulders, her blue dress conservative but flattering. The only signs of her nerves were the way she kept smoothing her skirt and the tight line of her mouth.