“Speaking of your coffee creations,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady despite how much I want to kiss him right now, “what do you say we get out of here? I’d love to see how the shop’s coming along.”
His eyes meet mine, and the heat I see there tells me he’s thinking about more than just showing me the shop. “Yeah,” he says, voice a little rough. “Yeah, let’s do that.”
CHAPTER 24
CASPIAN
The bell above the door chimes as we enter Special Blend, our arms loaded with boxes of maple syrup samples from Moon Meadows. The familiar scent of coffee and wood welcomes me home, mixing with the sweet maple aroma from our delivery.
“Just set those on the counter,” I tell Nate, heading behind it to store the bottles in the cabinet underneath. I keep one bottle out, placing it next to my main coffee maker. Already, my mind is racing with flavor combinations I want to try.
When I straighten, I find Nate wandering around the space, taking in all the changes I’ve made since he was last here. His eyes linger on the exposed brick wall I spent days cleaning and restoring, then move to the new signs I’ve hung—simple wooden plaques with hand-painted coffee quotes.
“This place is really coming together,” he says, running his fingers along the polished counter. “It feels completely different from when Mac owned it.”
“Different good?” I ask, though his appreciative expression already tells me the answer.
He nods, making his way toward the back of the shop where I’ve set up the book corner. “Definitely good. It feels…warmer somehow. More inviting.”
I follow him to the space that will soon house my small bookstore. Right now, there’s just a table piled with sorted books waiting for their permanent home.
“I wish I’d finished the bookcase already,” Nate says, running a hand through his hair, “but since the storm, I’ve been swamped with work. The damage assessments are keeping me busier than usual.”
“Hey, don’t worry about it,” I assure him. “I’ll love having the bookcase when it’s ready, but my temporary setup works fine for now.” Nate picks up one of the books, his eyebrows rising as he reads the back cover. “These are…detailed descriptions.”
Heat creeps up my neck as I realize he’s holding one of the spicier romance novels. “They’re, uh, pretty popular in the genre.”
He sets that one down and picks up another, flipping through it with growing amusement. “Do you actually read these?”
“I do,” I admit, lifting my chin slightly. “I love them, actually. Not as much as my mom did. She could devour three books in a day. But there’s something magical about getting lost in a good romance.” I step closer, plucking the book from his hands. “And if it’s spicy? Even better.”
His eyes darken at my words, and suddenly, the air between us feels charged with electricity. He takes a step closer, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his body.
“Is that so?” His voice is low, sending shivers down my spine. “And what exactly do you like about the spicy parts?”
I swallow hard, very aware of how alone we are in the shop. “I like…the anticipation,” I say, my voice coming out breathier than intended. “The slow build of tension. The way two people can get completely lost in each other.”
Nate’s hand cups my cheek, his thumb brushing my bottom lip. “Sounds familiar,” he murmurs.
Before I can respond, his mouth is on mine, and I’m being backed up against the brick wall. The book falls forgotten from my hands as I grab his shoulders, pulling him closer. His kiss is hungry, demanding, making my knees weak.
Nate’s lips leave mine, and a trail of featherlight kisses moves down my neck. My breath catches as a shiver of anticipation runs through me. God, how does he always know exactly where to touch me?
“Caspian,” Nate murmurs against my skin, his breath warm.
Nate’s kisses travel lower, and my heart races. Every touch sends sparks through my body, building a delicious tension. I bite my lip, trying to stay quiet even though the shop is closed and empty. The last thing I need is someone passing by on the street to hear us.
When Nate sinks to his knees in front of me, looking up with those piercing blue eyes, I nearly combust on the spot. He hooks his fingers in the hem of my sweater, pushing it up slightly.
“Is this okay?” he asks softly, his hand hovering at the button of my jeans.
My voice comes out breathy as I nod. “More than okay. Please, Nate.”
He smiles, a mix of tenderness and hunger in his expression that makes my knees weak. As he slowly unbuttons my jeans, I can’t tear my eyes away from his deft fingers. The anticipation is delicious torture.
“You know,” I manage to quip, my voice only slightly shaky, “when I pictured my first winter in Vermont, I didn’t imagine it would involve quite so much stripping.”
Nate chuckles, the sound sending vibrations through me. “Just trying to keep you warm, baby.”
