He’s cute. Light brown hair, a nice smile—friendly and inviting. Everything someone in customer service should be. And I love the blue apron. It makes his gray eyes stand out.
“I’m meeting a date, but he’s running late. Or ghosting me. Either way, shouldn’t you want me to buy coffee? You work in a…” I lean forward just a bit with a smirk, “…in a coffee shop.”
Chuckling, he nods, his eyes scanning me in the least creepy way I’ve encountered lately. God, am I really that desperate?
“That’s fair. Your date didn’t message you?”
“No,” I admit, glancing at my phone again.
Talk about embarrassing. Better a stranger than Mona, though.
“I’m Ken,” he says, handing me a biscotti. “On the house.”
I smile, accepting it. “Thank you. I’m Holly.”
“Well, if he’s got you waiting for him, he’s a lucky guy.”
“You’re just bored,” I joke.
Handing me a cup, Ken winks. “No, I don’t think that’s it. You’re beautiful. And I love your hair.”
Take that, Thomas!“Thank you. You have a nice smile. It’s good you’re in the business you are. You know, face-to-face customers. That smile would be wasted on a call center.”
“That’s a very specific compliment,” he says and chuckles. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. How late are you working tonight?”
“Until close. You’re not going to wait that long for this guy, are you?”
Am I? What’s an appropriate amount of time to wait for a man? “Probably not.”
“Sounds definitive,” he jokes. “If he doesn’t show up in the next half hour, I’ll be your date.”
“What if customers come in?”
“I’ll close.” He shrugs and gives me that smile again. Damn, he really does have a nice smile.
“You won’t get in trouble?”
“It’d be worth it to go on a date with a pretty girl like you.”
This guy has game. “Now, I have a feeling you say that to all the single girls who’ve possibly been ghosted by their dates.”
“To be honest, you’re the first woman I’ve met who got stood up for coffee. But even if you weren’t, I wouldn’t say that to anyone else.”
“And why should I believe that?”
The door opens, the bell above it ringing, and I turn, surprised at how disappointed I am to see Preston. Dirty ball cap, tight jeans, cowboy boots. The boots are covered in something dark that smells far worse than mud.
“Guessing your date’s here,” Ken mutters, and I swear there’s disappointment in his voice.
“Coffee. Black,” Preston says. “Sorry for being late. One of our cows went into labor. Oh, can I get a water cup with no water, my man?”
The bulge in his lower lip explains the need for the cup. Dip.
My stomach churns. I can only imagine what the mix of black coffee and chewing tobacco tastes like, and whatever slim chance there was of a goodnight kiss later just flew out the window.
But hey, he showed up. Credit where it’s due. “Did you deliver a calf?” I ask.
