Is he an angel?
A paranormal paramedic of some sort?
I rub my throat as I continue to draw in air, catching my bearings. I slowly raise my head. I must know who he is.
My jaw drops as he’sgorgeous.
Not just a little gorgeous, but I’ve never seen anything like him.
A steaming cup of hot cocoa hot! The narrator’s voice in my head doesn’t shut up, tracking all his most impressive features. A chiseled jaw line dominates his face in all the best ways. Dark hair with a rebellious front spike, most likely caused by an unruly cowlick, but he wears it well. Eyes a perfect hue of blue, wavering from the colors of deep-sea water all the way over to light gray.
Fascinating.
Who is he?
Unbidden goosebumps dot my spine, and I pinch my brows together as I ask the first thing that bleeps out, “Are you robbing me?”
three
Christian
My heart rate tames as I place my hand firmly on her back. My insides freeze, and I hold my breath. I’ve never been good in emergency situations—which is why I went into the coffee business—not first response. “Just relax.” I focus on measured breathing, taking my own advice. “You’re okay.”
She stands with her hand propped on the counter, wearing a Coffee Loft apron. She’s clearly an employee, but the fact that she’s here hours past closing is confusing. Her blonde hair is tied up in one of those disheveled buns that oddly looks put together, accentuating her high cheekbones. As her breath evens, her gaze shifts to me. Her eyes are colored like wild July-sun-ripened blueberries so electrifyingly beautiful they vortex me right in. There’s a magnetism that’s instant.
Shuffling her feet backwards, she adds distance between us. “Are you robbing me?”
I burst out laughing as my head springs back. “No, I’m not robbing you.” Pausing, I consider how strange my being here might look. It was hours past closing time, and I had to look like a homeless person lugging my suitcase. Yet, she was the one eatingmyOreos when I walked in. I can forgive one cookie, but I’m going to give her a hard time with it. I point a finger gun at her, lightening the mood. “It looks like you were robbing me.”
“What?” Her T is extra sharp. Clearly, she got her breath back. She eases along the wall, lifting the fire extinguisher from its hook, and aims the nozzle at me with her hand secured on the trigger. “What are you doing here? And you better speak fast before I call the cops.”
“Whoa.” I throw my hands up as if I’m under arrest. “I’m Christian, the new owner. I didn’t break in; I have a key.” I emit another series of chuckles as she can’t be serious.
“Wait.” Her eyes shift side to side before locking on me. “You’re the new owner?”
“I am.” My lips twist into a grin which I hope convinces her not to soak me.
Her hand flops forward, and she drops the fire extinguisher to the tile as she emits an explosive sigh. “Why didn’t you say something instead of sneaking up on me like that. You nearly killed me!”
“Me?” Jabbing my thumb into my chest, I connect the pattern where she shifts the blame to me, and my defensive senses rise all the way to my neck. “I saved you! You were choking. If I hadn’t performed that heroic life-saving maneuver, you’d be toast.” I guffaw in disgust. “You should be thanking me.”
“Thank you?” Her jaw drops and she makes a face as if she’s going to vomit. This woman was clearly not in control of her bodily functions. Nearly choking to death, and now dry heaving, all in the span of five whole minutes. Not sure what that suggests.
Maybe she needs a chiropractic adjustment?
Laughter rushes out, her breath is warm as a summer breeze as a wave of it meets my nose. It also smells like Oreos. “What’s so funny?” I ask. She swipes at her eyes, wiping tears, with continued waves of laughter. This woman is clearly unhinged. It’s a good thing I caught her eating my Oreos now, or who knows what she would have stolen from me. “Ma’am—”
Her laughter drops off, and she deploys an accusing finger at me. An extra pointy digit, with a not-even-close-to-conversational slant at my mouth. “Don’t ma’am me.”
Sweat beads on my forehead. Why do I feel as if I’m breaking the law in my own business? “I’m so confused right now. Why am I the one in trouble?”
“You snuck up on me, tried to kill me, had the audacity to accuse me of stealing, and you called me ma’am.”
“But you are okay now, right?” I force an even tone, trying to infuse a calmer environment. “Or should I call a paramedic?”
“I’m fine.” She crosses her arms over her chest, and sharply angles her hip away from me. “That’s not the point.”
“What is the point?” I ask softly, lowering my voice even more, as I see my moderated voice is bringing down her anxiety. “What are we arguing about?”
