Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 111096 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 555(@200wpm)___ 444(@250wpm)___ 370(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111096 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 555(@200wpm)___ 444(@250wpm)___ 370(@300wpm)
I forced my lips shut, gripping on to the counter for dear life, waiting for him to say something. Maybe something polite, or hopefully he’d just ignore me altogether, place his order, giving me something to do other than stare at him like an idiot.
“I’m Rip, so that makes you Beth?” His voice was low, throaty, but with a warmth threaded through it. A warmth that sparked fire in my belly and places much lower than that.
Holy. Fucking. Fuck.
Did he just say that?
He just said that.
I let out a burst of laughter that sounded like it came from a hysterical teenager.
“I own a few sundresses and a couple of pairs of cowboy boots because I am a Midwestern girl, but that’s as close to Beth as I’m ever going to get,” I said, going for a casual, joking tone yet failing abysmally.
I wanted greatly for the earth to swallow me up.
He kept looking at me with a warmth in his mesmerizing eyes, with a slight upturn to his plump lips.
“Would like to see those sundresses and cowboy boots,” he murmured, crystalline eyes staying on mine.
My heart was hammering away in my chest, my feet felt like they were glued to the floor, captured by his stare. I was surprised that I hadn’t melted into a puddle yet.
He’d just told me that he’d like to see me in a sundress and cowboy boots. And he’d said it in a way that made it seem like, after that, he’d liked that sundress and those cowboy boots on his bedroom floor. The words had been dripping with sexual interest.
But that was insane. A rugged, manly man like him could not be interested in an eccentric bakery owner who babbled about TV characters, was virtually afraid of her own shadow, always thought she was dying of something, and was generally just a complete dork.
No, he definitely needed a Beth type. Strong, sexual, unable to be rattled or scared by anyone or anything.
“I, um…” I cleared my throat, looking to Tina for help.
She had abandoned all pretense of making coffee and was staring at the two of us with folded arms and a wide grin I really wanted to hate her for.
Get it together, Nora.
I straightened my spine and forced myself to look at him. Or rather the general shape of his face. Getting trapped in his gaze was how I got in this situation in the first place. This situation would be ingrained into my brain for the rest of my life.
“Coffee, black and an almond croissant, right?” I asked him, tapping at the screen of the register.
I’d thought that focusing on business would extricate me from the embarrassment that was burned into my bones until I realized that I hadn’t actually asked him for his order. I’d made it obvious that I’d memorized his order. Not just memorized it, I knew that at certain times of the day, he ordered different things. A croissant first thing in the morning, a lemon poppyseed muffin if they were sold out. Croissants at this time if he hadn’t gotten one in the morning. Sometimes, he’d come for brownies if it was late in the afternoon. I’d never seen him get cookies. Once, he’d ordered a cupcake. Lemon curd. He liked lemon flavored things. Not too sweet.
I collected all the little tidbits about him, hoarded them like they were going to be useful for something. Like they were going to be mine. Like he was going to be mine.
Ridiculous... I truly was a ridiculous person.
“I mean, what do you want?” I spluttered, my chest tightening, sweat beading between my breasts.
Yes, I tended to sweat when I was really nervous. Which, of course, made me even more nervous, worrying that someone would notice aforementioned sweat, therefore making me sweat more.
So now all I could think about was the hottest guy to walk the earth seeing my boob sweat.
The edges of his body were starting to blur as I ramped myself up for a full-on panic attack for being the biggest dork on the planet.
The corner of his mouth twitched, and his eyes might’ve twinkled with amusement. But I also could’ve been hallucinating.
“I’ll have a black coffee and an almond croissant,” he said, deadpan.
“And I’ll have an almond croissant, two macadamia and white chocolate cookies, and a brownie,” the man standing behind him added, grinning ear to ear.
Kip. His business partner.
Kip was blond, almost boyish, a little more tanned, and he had a lighter energy than Rowan. They were an unlikely pair.
I was infinitely thankful to Kip for reminding me that other people existed in this world. Other people to yes, witness my break from reality, but also to focus on.
“Got it,” I told him, focusing on his friendly and attractive but not dangerous face.
“And a latte,” he continued, still beaming with glittering eyes while looking from me to Rowan. “Caramel. Oat milk. To go.”