Zack looked down at the order pad, heat creeping up his neck.
You’re taking his order, not proposing marriage. Just breathe. Not so deep you pass out, though. That would be worse.
After one last internal pep talk, Zack forced his feet to move toward the booth, wondering exactly how spectacularly he was about to ruin this man’s breakfast.
“Morning.” He poised his pen over the pad, determined to get the order right. “Coffee?”
The guy looked up from his menu, and Zack felt momentarily lost in those pretty brown eyes.
“Please.”
Zack blinked several times before he could finally look away.
Sure, the stranger was gorgeous. Ridiculously so. But not enough to make Zack’s brain short-circuit like this.
He really needed to get out more.
Even though it had only been one word, Zack wrote it down carefully and turned to leave, only for his hip to bump the edge of the table.
The impact sounded much louder than it actually was. The table rattled, the salt shaker tipped, and the menu tried to make a break for freedom.
Zack caught the menu with one hand while his pen slipped from the other, hit the floor, and rolled under the booth.
“Sorry,” he squeaked. “The table is closer than it looks. I'll, over there, your coffee.”
First he had to retrieve his pen.
Crouching down, he reached under the booth, then slowly realized he was kneeling at the man’s feet.
Face level with his crotch.
Oh god.
Zack didn’t bother looking around. He could feel every pair of eyes in the diner laser-focused on him.
Even the background noise seemed to dip, like the whole room was holding its breath.
Meanwhile his legs apparently had no interest in standing back up, perfectly content resting at this god’s feet like a worshipper.
Great. Wonderful. Perfect way to give the wrong impression.
He grabbed the pen and shot to his feet, nearly cracking his skull on the underside of the table.
Without looking back, Zack bolted for the counter, his face burning.
Jace was pouring juice at the far end.
“Don’t,” Zack said.
“Didn’t say a word.” Jace smirked.
“You were about to.”
Carefully, Zack poured the coffee, set it on a small tray, and carried it back to the booth with the focused care of someone transporting a donated kidney. He set the tray down without dropping it, thank god.
“Ready to order?” he asked, voice and hands trembling just a little.
“Scrambled eggs and toast.” The man closed the menu and set it at the edge of the table. “Thanks.”
