Before either of us could say anything else, another woman appeared from the back—younger, ponytail, curious eyes that flicked between us like she was watching a tennis match.
"Everything okay?" the woman asked.
"Yeah," Joy said quickly. "Britney, this is?—"
She stopped. Because she didn't know my name.
"I can see you're busy," I said, backing toward the door. "I'm sorry. Again."
I turned and walked out, the bells jingling behind me.
I didn't get halfway across the street when I heard them again.
I turned.
She was walking toward me.
I stopped on the far sidewalk and waited, watching every step she took. The way she moved. The way sunlight caught in her hair. The way she didn't seem to notice that more than one tourist had turned to look at her.
She was drop-dead gorgeous.
And she had no idea.
When she reached me, there was another awkward pause.
Then she said, "I accept your apology."
Another pause.
And then I heard myself say it. "I haven't been able to get you out of my head."
Her eyebrows shot up.
But there was recognition there. Something that told me she understood exactly what I meant.
She blushed—not embarrassed, exactly. Something else.
"Where are you going?" she asked.
"Back to my hotel."
Another pause.
"My place isn't far," she said quietly. "If you'd like a cup of coffee."
I stared at her, unable to process what I was hearing.
This didn't happen. Not to me. Not like this.
I was so far out of my comfort zone that every skill I'd honed, every trick I'd learned, was utterly useless.
"Sure," I said. It came out hard. Curt.
I saw the confusion flicker in her eyes.
"I mean—yes," I corrected, softer this time. "I'd like that. Very much."
She nodded, a small smile touching her lips. "Wait here."
