Ten days later…
The warm, rich scent of roasted coffee beans mixed with the smells of spiced chai and freshly baked pastries. The hum of conversation blended with the hiss of the expresso machine and the clatter of ceramic mugs.
Julia welcomed the familiarity of her favorite coffee shop as she shuffled forward in the slow-moving line.
Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow,she hummed to herself as she glanced out the window. Flurries danced in the air and landed on the shoulders of the passersby. The forecast called for another six inches of the white stuff, and she mentally braced herself for more of what had already been a long, hard winter.
Tucking her hands into her coat pockets because the biting chill of the outdoors still lingered in her fingertips, she couldn’t wait to wrap her hands around the cup of hot coffee. Anticipation of the liquid warmth as it slid down her throat and the zing she’d feel once the jolt of caffeine hit her bloodstream had her eagerly stepping forward when it was her turn.
“Good morning, Chaz.” She smiled at the barista.
He flashed her an easy grin, showing off his perfect teeth and even more perfect dimples. “Morning, Julia. The usual?” His voice was warm and teasing because they went through this every day.
“Some day, I might surprise you and order something different. But today is not that day.”
“I like a woman who’s consistent.” He wiggled his eyebrows as he rang up her order. “In fact, it’s one of my favorite qualities.”
She chuckled and shook her head, handing over her credit card. “Why are you working here? Seriously, with that jawline and that hair, you should be doing commercials for luxury shampoos.”
“And miss the chance to see your beautiful face every morning?” He blinked dramatically. “Never.”
She could almost hear her sister-in-law Annie’s voice in her head, urging her tolive a little.
Annie had been the first person in her family to realize it was somethingotherthan the bullet wound that, for weeks, had made Julia putter around her house ina blue funk, as her mother called it. One evening, after Annie had come by to drop off groceries, Julia had confessed what happened between her and Britt Rollins. When she’d shown Annie Britt’s letter, Annie had held her while she’d cried in self-pity and disappointment.
And it was Annie who, just last night, pulled her aside to brazenly inform her thatthe only way to get over someone is to get under someone else.
A guy like Chaz wasn’t the type Julia would take home to meet the parents—he wasn’t the type towantthat—but he sure seemed like he’d make a great distraction.
Distraction.
Thatwas the ticket. She needed to distract herself. To move on. To forget.
Unfortunately, all she could think about as Chaz turned to make her drink was Britt.
No matter how hard she tried, the memory of him refused to fade. When things were quiet, she heard his laugh, that low, delicious rumble. When she closed her eyes, she saw how his brow furrowed in concentration, how those three perfect lines on his forehead went wonky at the edges because of his scar. She remembered feeling the weight of his presence in a room, how it seemed like gravity itself shifted around him.
Go away!she silently cried to the memories.Go away and give me some damned peace!
But it was useless. The way she felt about Britt lingered just as her memories of him lingered. He was a song she couldn’t shake. An earworm of the heart, and she was sick and tired of trying to?—
“Voila!” Chaz pulled her back to the present as he slid a paper coffee sleeve over her freshly poured beverage.
“Thank you.” She grinned at him. “You’re a lifesaver.”
“You say that every day.”
“It’s true every day.”
He chuckled. “So if we’re keeping things consistent, now’s when I ask you out. And now’s when you crush my spirit by refusing.” He leaned on the counter, all confidence and charm andperfectlooks.
The usual words hovered on the tip of her tongue. But instead of her pat refusal, she heard herself say, “You know what? Yes. How about we meet for drinks tonight?”
Chaz blinked. “You’re joking.”
“Serious as a heart attack,” she assured him.
“The Drawing Room on Michigan Avenue? Seven PM? I’ll make reservations,” he blurted, like he worried she might change her mind if he dared to hesitate.
