“Oh. My. God. What the hell was that?! You are so completely gone!” Vivi said, emerging from where she’d definitely been eavesdropping in the kitchen. “And I don’t even blame you! It was so fucking hot.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said with as much dignity as I could muster.
“You’re going to apologize to her. Now.” Mika mimicked in a terrible attempt at his deep voice. “He’s gone for you, too. That wasn’t about coffee, boss.”
“Of course it was about coffee. We’re a coffee shop.”
“Right. And I’m sure he comes here every single day because we have the best Americanos in Pine Valley.”
“Wedohave good coffee.”
“Please. Do you honestly think he’s here for my iced Americano? The first time, maybe. But the following six days?”
If he wasn’t coming for the coffee, then he was coming for... what? The books? The ambiance?
Me?
The thought sent a thrill through me that I immediately tried to squash. I didn’t have time for... whatever this was. I had a business to run, a life that made sense, responsibilities that didn’t include daydreaming about mysterious men with gray eyes and perfect smiles.
But when I locked up that night, I found myself already planning what I’d wear tomorrow.
Just in case.
3
— • —
Lina
I should have listened to the weather report. Should have closed early with every other sensible business owner in Pine Valley. But no, I had to be the overachiever who sent Mika and Vivi home at five with a breezy “I’ll just finish inventory real quick” while storm clouds gathered overhead with all the subtlety of a disaster movie opening.
Now it was eight PM, and Mother Nature had apparently decided my shop had personally offended her ancestors.
The rain wasn’t falling so much as launching a full military assault on my windows. Each drop hit with enough force to make me wonder if my insurance covered acts of vengeful weather gods. The wind howled through every gap in the old building, turning my cozy bookstore into a symphony of creaks and groans that would make a haunted house jealous.
And my front door, the temperamental beast I’d been meaning to fix for three months, had chosen tonight to reveal its true calling as an interpretive dancer.
“Come on, you absolute bastard,” I grunted, throwing my full body weight against it for the fifth time. The door laughed at my efforts and flew open again, sending another cascade of water across my previously clean floors.
Terrible day to wear a dress. I’d put it on this morning thinking I looked cute, professional, maybe even a little attractive if the lighting was right. Now it clung to every inch of my body with the determination of cling wrap, leaving absolutely nothing to imagination. My hair had gone from “casual messy bun” to “drowned rat chic,” and my mascara was probably making me look ready for a metal concert.
I braced myself for another wrestling match with the door, already composing the creative insults I’d unleash on whoever installed it, when a hand appeared on the other side.
I definitely didn’t shriek. It was a very dignified yelp. Professional business owners don’t shriek when mysterious hands appear during horror movie storms.
The door opened fully to reveal Matthias, water streaming down his face, leather jacket dark with rain. He looked irritated about being wet, which was fair, but also somehow managed to make “drowned in a parking lot” look good. Because of course he did.
“What are you doing here?” I had to yell over the storm trying to relocate my shop to another dimension.
“Driving past. Saw you fighting the door.” His voice carried despite the chaos around us, probably because it had that quality that made you lean in to listen even when the world was ending. “Thought you might need help.”
“Driving past? In this?” I gestured wildly at the biblical flood happening outside. “At eight PM? Through the abandoned part of town where my shop is?”
“I take the scenic route.”
Before I could point out that the scenic route in this weather was also known as the “death wish route,” he stepped inside. Water cascaded off him, and he shrugged out of his jacket, hanging it on the coat hook by the door. The movement revealed a dark shirt underneath that was almost as soaked, clinging to his chest in ways that made me notice things I shouldn’t be noticing during natural disasters.
Then he did the most remarkable thing. He pulled out an actual toolkit from his back pocket. Not a Swiss Army knife or some random screwdriver, but a compact toolkit with different sizes and everything.
