“Thank you. Why don’t you go ahead and use our story for your website?”
After taking a steadying breath—okay, more like five—I turn to him with his Americano in hand. When he takes it from me, our fingers brush, as they have a gazillion times in the past.
But this time, the heat from the coffee cup somehow spreads into my chest.
“That’s a great idea.” I paste a smile on my face as I stare at the man who admittedly becomes more handsome each time I see him. His beard is full and trimmed. Hair styled back effortlessly. Don’t get me started on the way he fills out that cream, collared shirt. And there’s a faint mark remaining on his bottom lip where my tooth stuck him two weeks ago.
Does he look at it and think of me?
Oh, dear good and glorious things above, Emma Jane. Why are you thinking that? He probably sees it and hopes I never get that close to him again.
Age gap. He's the mayor of a whole town. He’s practically family. He likes Mallory. Thinks she’s pretty. Wants to make things official with her.
Brunette and brown-eyed. Tall. Slim.
Whereas I’m short. Platinum blonde and gray-eyed. Have man-shoulders and thick thighs. I can even grow a mustache! Thanks again, PCOS.
“I’ll ask her to email you her statement tonight after our date.” And with that, he takes his coffee, and I watch his fine butt—it’s those navy dress pants, friend—walk out of the building as if hedidn’t just pull the pin from a grenade and set it on the counter to detonate.
The urge to go to battle consumes me, and I stop myself from marching out that door with trumpets blaring and drums beating to get him to turn around and see me.
See me as more than what I am.
More than I believe myself to be.
I like him. It’s worse now that I realize I like him.
But he’s unattainable.
And now he’s unavailable.
Did I lose my chance by not laying all my cards on the table?
“Emma Jane, dear. Is everything okay?” Mr. Sam, the elderly owner of Books and Beans, hobbles to the counter. I zoned so far out I didn’t hear him come in. He looks at me with concern in his light brown eyes, his bushy gray eyebrows raised.
“Of course, Mr. Sam. What brings you in today? Can I make you some tea?”
“Yes, dear.” He slowly makes his way over to sit down in one of the comfy chairs by the bookstacks. I make his typical herbal green tea then walk it over to him, sitting down in the chair beside him since no one is in the cafe at the moment.
“How have you been? It’s been a couple of weeks since I’ve seen you.”
He blows softly on his tea. “My daughter came down for a visit and is insisting I move down south with her. Says I can’t get along by myself.” He harrumphs. “Told her I can’t up and leavethis place.”
I nod along as he talks, trying not to let my brain entertain the idea of owning this place. I have countless ideas on how to make this place even better than it is, and Mr. Sam has allowed me to implement some of them, like the incandescent lights and replacing the walls with floor-to-ceiling windows. But I don’t ever want to overstep my position as manager. His soul is connected to this place through his deceased wife.
“Have you thought about selling, Mr. Sam?”
He grunts, but it’s not an angry grunt. More of an “I don’t want to face that thought” grunt. He finally says, “I want to make sure I have the right person to sell to.”
A spark of excitement forms within me. “What if you sold it to me?”
He eyes me warily. “You can afford to buy it?”
“Yes,” I say confidently. I know Papa would think this is a good investment and would help me out. “And I would continue the great work you’ve accomplished here.”
“Eh, I don’t know, Emma Jane. I don’t know if my heart is ready to let it go.”
“I understand, Mr. Sam. Until you are ready, just know I’ll continue taking care of Books and Beans with my whole heart, okay? I love this place. Friends, families, strangers, and lovers connect here. It’s a beautiful and magical place in our town.”
