Yet this week, I’ve consumed more coffee than I have in the past year. Not counting the time I stopped in with Miles and Finn, this marks my fourth visit to the shop. Granted, two of those times Tessa wasn’t working—which was a major disappointment. But I’m tracking her schedule now, and the more I think about it, it definitely carries the aforementioned stalker vibes.
The worst part? I can’t even explain what I’m doing here. If one of the guys asked me right now what the hell I was thinking, I wouldn’t have an answer. Tessa hasn’t given me any indication she’s interested. She has a boyfriend. She flinches when I lean too close. Every logical part of my brain is telling me to let this go.
But there’s something about her that I can’t shake. The way she looked at me during that signing—terrified and hopeful at the same time. The bruise on her wrist. The way she steps back every time I get close, like she’s bracing for something.
I don’t know what it is. I just know I can’t stop thinking about her.
I wipe my palms down my shorts and take a deep breath before stepping inside. My stomach twists the second I spot Tessa behind the counter. Her eyes find mine the moment I walk in, and the expression she wears confirms she’s not immune to my presence. But honestly, I can’t tell if she’s happy or terrified to see me.
“Hey, Tessa,” I say as I approach the counter. “Lucky to see you here today.”
She presses her lips into a line and offers me a flat smile. “What can I get for you?”
“I don’t know. I’m thinking I want to try something new today.”
“Well, given that it’s an extremely hot day, I might suggest iced coffee.”
I tap my index finger against my chin, considering. “Yeah, I think iced coffee sounds perfect.”
“Do you want a flavoring in it?” she asks.
“As usual, I’m gonna leave it up to you.”
“I think you’re the type of guy who wants a little squirt of flavor in there. Maybe French vanilla?” One brow lifts.
I can’t help the chuckle that escapes me because, if I’m not mistaken, that’s the closest thing to flirting she’s given me yet.
“You know, I think I will take a shot of vanilla.”
“There’s also hazelnut,” she suggests, “or mocha.”
I lift one shoulder. “French vanilla sounds good.”
“All right, so one large iced coffee with a shot of French vanilla. Any sweeteners or anything else?”
“No, I think that’s good.” I lean in a fraction and don’t miss the way Tessa takes a step back. “Are you still with that boyfriend of yours?”
At the mention of her boyfriend, color drains from her face. Her eyes dart around the shop as if checking to see if we’ve been overheard.
“Yes,” she says, her tone shifting—more formal, more firm. But noticeably quieter, too.
“Oh. Well, that’s a shame,” I say.
She clears her throat and lifts her face to mine, tilting it just enough that her fear becomes unmistakable. “Look, I’m sorry if I gave you the impression that I might be interested. Because I do have a boyfriend.”
I shake my head. “You didn’t give me that impression.”
“Oh.” Her gaze drops, cheeks reddening. “I’m sorry. I just thought that maybe you were…”
“Flirting?” I finish for her. “I was.”
“Oh,” she says softly.
I chuckle. “Is that not allowed?”
“Well… it’s probably not wise,” she says. “So maybe we should just keep it professional.”
“Or,” I counter, “we could keep it friendly.”
