“I always wear lipstick.”
“You literally never wear lipstick.”
Okay, so maybe I’d put a little more effort into my appearance lately. Sue me. Running a business meant looking professional. The fact that my new professional standards happened to coincide with daily visits from a man who could make leather jackets look respectable was pure coincidence.
I busied myself with rearranging the new releases, which definitely needed rearranging despite Mika having just done it this morning. From this angle, I had a perfect view of his table. Not that I was looking. I was working. Very professionally.
He turned a page, and I watched his eyes track across the text. He read with total concentration, occasionally taking sips of his Americano without looking away from the book. Once, his tongue darted out to catch a drop of condensation from the cup’s rim, and I had to turn away before my brain melted entirely.
What was wrong with me? I didn’t get crushes. I especially didn’t get crushes on mysterious customers who might be serial killers according to Mika’s professional assessment. The last time I’d felt anything close to this was in high school, and that had ended with me eating an entire pint of ice cream while Sarah held my hair back.
This was different though. This was... I didn’t even know what to call it. Every time he walked in, it felt as if my body developed radar specifically tuned to his frequency. I knew where he was in my shop without looking. I could tell when he shifted in his seat or turned a page. It was insane.
“Maybe he lives nearby,” I muttered, moving on to straighten the contemporary fiction section. “Maybe he works weird hours.”
“Maybe you should stop making excuses and just talk to him like a normal person,” Mika whispered-yelled, leaning against the counter with her arms crossed.
“Says the woman who once hid in the walk-in freezer to avoid an ex.”
“That was different. Marcus was actually at my work. Your boy just comes here to read. Much less awkward potential.”
My boy. I wanted to correct her, but the words got stuck somewhere between my brain and my mouth. Because the truthwas, some stupid part of me had started thinking of him that way.Myregular.Myfour o’clock.Mymysterious stranger who drank iced coffee and made me forget how to form complete sentences.
Christ, I needed to get out more.
I moved deeper into the contemporary fiction section, telling myself I was definitely not working my way closer to his table. The afternoon sun slanted through the windows, and only a handful of other customers dotted the shop. Mrs. Patterson reading in the poetry section, a college student buried in their laptop near the window, two women chatting over lattes.
I reached for a book on the top shelf, standing on my tiptoes. Whoever had decided to put the Z authors way up there was an absolute moron. Wait. That was me. Past Lina making current Lina’s life difficult, as usual.
My fingers brushed the spine but couldn’t quite get a grip. I stretched higher, probably looking ridiculous, when a voice came from directly behind me.
“Need help?”
I definitely didn’t squeak. That was a very professional sound of surprise, thank you very much.
Matthias stood close enough that I could feel the heat coming off his body. Before I could answer, he reached over me easily, his chest almost brushing my back, and pulled down the book. The scent of leather and a very distinctly masculine smell filled my nose, and I had to lock my knees to keep from swaying backward.
“The alphabet defeats me again,” I managed, taking the book with hands that absolutely weren’t trembling.
“Strange career choice for someone conquered by letters.” His voice had that whiskey quality that made my stomach do stupid things, but there was also amusement in it.
“I like a challenge.” The words came out breathier than I’d intended, probably because he was still standing close enough that I could see the faint stubble along his jaw.
When I turned, we were face to face with barely a foot between us. This close, I could see flecks of blue and gold mixed in with the gray of his eyes, I could count individual eyelashes if I wanted to catalog them. Which I didn’t. Because that would be creepy.
“Clearly.” His gaze dropped to the book in my hands, and his lips twitched. “Interesting reading choice.”
I looked down and wanted to die. Of all the books in my contemporary fiction section, I’d grabbed the one with a shirtless man on the cover. Not just shirtless, but oiled-up, wind-machine-blowing-his-hair shirtless. His abs had their own abs. There might have been a strategically placed sword involved.
“Oh, it’s... I’m just organizing them! It’s not for me. I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with reading...” I gestured helplessly at the cover model’s pectorals. “It’s just not my usual...”
“I’m sure.” The amusement in his voice was definitely not imagined now. “The character development is probably excellent.”
“Which character? The duke or his abs?”
The question popped out before I could stop it, and I immediately wanted to sink through the floor. But then something amazing happened.
He laughed.
