He quirks his pierced eyebrow. “Most tourists come in the summer. Bayside isn’t your typical winter destination.”
“I’m from Chicago. I don’t mind the cold, and I love the water.”
“I’m the same, but I tend to hibernate in the winter with my music. When it warms up, I hit the lake—fishing and kayaking. How about you?”
“Oh, I haven’t tried any aquatic activities,” I admit. “I’m not much of a swimmer.”
“What do you like about the water then?”
“The peacefulness. The quiet. I have a wonderful view from the place I’m renting across from the beach.”
“Ah.” He grins, spinning my insides again. “You must be Lexie Monroe.”
“How do you know that?”
“You’re renting my Airbnb.”
My mouth drops. “You’reChaz Delgado?”
“Why does that surprise you?”
“I just pictured you differently.”
“How so?”
I can’t tell him I envisioned a kindly old gentleman, not someone who would literally make it hard to swallow. “You’re just different than I imagined.”
“Hm,” he hums, amused by my cryptic answer.
“The cottage is lovely, by the way,” I quickly add.
“I’m glad you like it. Have everything you need?”
“So far, so good.” I catch myself tapping my index finger against my thumb, one of several calming habits, and switch to cradling the mug between my palms.
“Try the mocha,” he encourages. “The chocolate ganache is made in-house. Let me know what you think.”
I glance down at the delicate foam art. “It’s almost too beautiful to drink.”
“Beauty is meant to be enjoyed and experienced.”
Was this guy for real?I’ve never met anyone quite like him. The men in my circle are staid and serious, obsessed with their status. They don’t write love songs, have tattoos, or ooze sexiness from every pore.
Unsettled, I lift the mug and take a sip, praying my throat won’t betray me again. The silky latte hits my tongue, perfectly balanced with roasted espresso, semi-sweet ganache, and creamy milk. “It’s delicious.”
“I’ll let you in on a little secret.” He leans down for a conspiratorial whisper, his breath warm against my ear. “It’s even better with Kahlúa. But since I don’t have a liquor license, that’s part of the after-hours menu.”
Thank goodness I wasn’t mid-sip.
Straightening, he gives me space to form coherent thoughts again.
“Latte artist, singer-songwriter, café owner—seems you’re a jack of all trades.”
“And a master of a few.” He winks, continuing to flirt with me when I’m not a woman accustomed to being flirted with. “I hope to see you again soon, Lexie.”
He drags out my name in a slow, deliberate drawl.
I scoff at myself for the chaotic tingles taking over my body. I’m here for my health and to figure out my future—not to get distracted by a too-smooth man I wouldn’t even know what to do with.
