Who is this man?
There’s no way someone can be rich, charitable, good-looking, athletic, and save children’s lives. The only thing worse is if I find out he’s also rescuing puppies. I better not read that anywhere!
Being nosey, I retrieve my phone and scroll in desperation for a red flag. Ex-girlfriend drama? Misdemeanor for punching a fan?
Not a chance.
Just more shining spotlights:
“Bill Baker Hosts Gala for Shelter Dogs and Senior Cats.”
Okay, I didn’t mean that about the dogs!
Sweat springs on my brow. I mean, every rich person gives money to support animals. I keep scrolling until I land on something that nearly jumps off the page:
“Bill Baker’s Runway Debut.”
Wait! Just. One. Minute.
What is this all about? The date is older, from about ten years ago. I stare at the link for a minute.
No.
Do. Not. Look.
No good can come from looking at a photo of Bill Baker modeling.
With a tiny squeal leaking from my lips, I quickly shut my eyes and dare.
Click!
I open one eye, and there he is! A full-color, high-resolution photo of a younger Bill Baker—shirtless, smirking, doing some kind of jawline thing while posing in designer jeans.
And I drop my phone.
It hits the floor with a loudthwack. I freeze like I’ve been caught committing a crime. I don’t need Noah to wake up this early, thinking someone is breaking in.
Scrambling to pick it up, I murmur, “Oh, no-no-no-no,” like if I wish hard enough, the image of him will disappear.
It doesn’t.
Of course it doesn’t.
Bill’s still on my phone, looking entirely like not-date material. If anything, it appears to burn brighter on my phone, like someone cranked up the screen light.
I should click out of it. Instead, I slap the phone back to my bed face down, while vowing to never, ever, again google Bill Baker.
Now that I’ve wasted enough time doing that, I have the opening shift at the diner to get to. It’s not going to run itself. Maybe a few cups of strong coffee will jolt me back into reality. The kind where I don’t get fluttery over a guy who holds my son’s future in the palms of his hands.
I throw on a clean uniform dress, pin up my hair, and head out before Noah even makes a peep. It’s still half-dark when I unlock the diner and flip the welcome sign to OPEN. I have barely switched on all the lights when the front door jingles open.
And there he is!Bill Baker with a good-morning smile aimed right at me.
“Wow,” I say, blinking my eyes into focus. I still haven’t had time to make the first pot of coffee. “Coming on a little strong. Don’t you think? Our non-date isn’t until this afternoon.”
He shrugs like he isn’t waltzing into my workplace with ulterior motives gleaming out the corners of that smile. “What can I say? You were right about the pancakes.”
I narrow my eyes. This is way too early for any sort of flirtation, and I had clearly warned him. “You can take a seat but remember, you promised no flirting.”
