Maybe all the primping had paid off.
“Hi,” he said, his mouth curving upward in a slight half smile. Slightly coy. Slightly flirtatious.
“Hi,” I responded, just as flirtatious. Just as coy. Or at least I hoped so.
“I don’t think I’ve seen you here before,” he commented, picking up my tube of lip gloss and holding it between his fingers. Not relinquishing it. Holding on to it until he was ready.
I felt a momentary twinge at his words. He hadn’t noticed me.
Of course he hadn’t.
I made it my mission to fly below the radar.
But it bothered me in this instance that I hadn’t gotten his attention.
“What a line.” I smirked, holding my hand out until he finally gave me the lip gloss. Our fingers brushed.
He flushed, his face turning red. I found it endearing how easily I could embarrass him. I wasn’t the only bumbling fool in this meeting.
“I didn’t mean it like that. I was just trying—I mean, I only wanted to say—”
I put my hand on his arm. His long-sleeved shirt was a soft cotton. High quality. He was dressing to impress. “I know what you meant. And no, I don’t come in here very often. Maybe I should change that.”
Wow, that was beyond cheesy. I couldn’t help but wince. “Ugh, that was worse than your ‘Do you come here often,’ wasn’t it?”
His laugh was rich and deep. The kind that showed he meant it.
He got to his feet and held out his hand, which I took readily. No hesitation. I let him wrap his fingers around my much smaller ones. He squeezed. Only slightly, but I felt it. A slight tug and I was up again, all of my belongings back in my purse where they belonged.
My hero.
“Thanks.” I pushed my hair out of my face and smiled. He liked it. My too-big eyes and overly pronounced nose didn’t matter. His eyes were warm as he looked at me.
“My name’s Mason. Mason Kohler.” It was familiar. Like well-worn words on the tongue.
“Hi, Mason. I’m Hannah Whelan. Nice to meet you.”
The line inched forward. I didn’t need to glance at the time on my phone to know I was going to be late for work.
“Welcome to Nan’s. Our special this morning is a caramel latte with your choice of pastry,” the girl behind the counter said, not making eye contact with Mason.
I put my hand on his arm again. I was being forward. It was entirely out of character. “Let me get your order. Coffee, bagel, whatever. It’s on me. It’s the least I can do for helping me reload the Tardis.”
Mason chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Hannah, are you for real? You like the Dandy Warholsandyou make funnyDoctor Whoreferences? I may take you home and never let you leave,” he teased.
He said it roughly. Possessively. We’d only just met and he felt it.
I did too.
I dropped my voice to a whisper and leaned close, as if telling him a secret. A very important secret. “Wait until you see my collection ofLord of the Ringsfigurines. You’ll lose your mind.”
“Can I take your order, please?” the barista asked again, clearly not appreciating our witty banter.
“Oh, sorry. I’ll have the special and he’ll have—” I glanced up at my new friend.
“Coffee. Black,” he told the girl.
I made a face. “Black coffee? Really? I offer to buy you whatever you want and you getblack coffee?”
