"Please. The sexual tension between you two could power this whole building."
"There's no sexual tension."
"Chloe. I've been working here for six months. Every single morning, that man comes in, orders the same coffee, and looks at you like you're the most fascinating thing he's ever seen."
"He does not."
"He absolutely does. And you light up like a Christmas tree the second he walks through that door."
Heat floods my face. "I do not."
"You're literally blushing right now."
"I'm not—" I give up. "Okay, fine. He's attractive. But that's it. He's a customer. A regular. Nothing more."
"He could be more if you actually talked to him."
"We talk."
"'Large Americano, extra shot' doesn't count as conversation."
"He's not interested, Jess. Men like that don't go for women like me."
"Women like you? You mean gorgeous, successful business owners with great muffins and even better smiles?"
I snort despite myself. "I meant women who are too shy and awkward and?—"
"Stop." Jess's voice goes firm. "You're none of those things. Well, you're a little shy. But that's part of your charm."
Before I can argue, the door chimes and three soldiers walk in. The morning rush has officially begun.
For the next two hours, I'm too busy pulling shots and warming pastries to think about Tyler Reid and the way his fingers felt against mine.
Mostly.
By 8:30, the rush has died down. I'm restocking napkins when Emily walks in, yoga mat slung over her shoulder, looking annoyingly zen in her matching lavender set. She’s nothing short of adorable.
"Morning, babe," she says, sliding onto a stool at the counter. "My normal green smoothie?"
"Already blending." I hit the button on the Vitamix. "How was class?"
"Good. Had a new student who couldn't touch her toes and got frustrated. Spent twenty minutes convincing her that flexibility is a journey, not a destination."
"Very wise, yoga master."
She grins. "I have my moments." She watches me pour her smoothie into a cup. "So. Heard Tyler Reid was in this morning."
I nearly drop the cup. "How do you already know that?"
"Jess texted me."
I glare at Jess, who's innocently wiping down tables and definitely eavesdropping.
"Traitor," I mutter.
"I prefer 'concerned friend,'" Jess calls back.
Emily accepts her smoothie. "Spill. What happened?"
