“Good morning, Willow. Can I get you your usual?” Oakley’s rich baritone seeps into my bones, and I have to close my eyes to focus.
“Sure, that would be great,” I tell him with an overly large smile pasted on my face. The man remembers every single person’s ”usual”, regardless whether you come in every day or once a month. It’s unnatural.
I make my way to the table next to the tall tale committee and sit, carefully pulling out my notebook and laptop. I make sure not to look over at Oakley making my latte with his dark grey Henley sleeves pushed up to his elbows. I definitely don’t look at the geometric tattoos covering his left forearm that flexes every time he reaches for something.
Nope, I definitely don’t do that.
Shaking my head, I turn my attention to the ladies at the table next to me.
“And he just walked down the street like nothing happened,” Mabel says in disbelief.
“Unbelievable,” Alicetsks. “What happened to helping your neighbors?”
I roll my eyes, not even caring about whom they’re referring to because I would bet my next book they’re offended by something that didn’t actually happen.
“Did you talk to the sheriff about that man again?” Alice says in a loud whisper.
My ears perk up. Anything that has to do with Arlo might be something up my alley.
“I did, but he told me he would handle it. I don’t believe that for a second. We need to keep vigilant, Alice. Who knows who is really walking around our town.”
I almost burst out laughing and have to cover my mouth in an effort to stop it.
“Here you go, Willow.” Oakley startles me as he places my latte on my table along with a slice of lemon loaf.
I look down at the cup and see he’s tried to make one of those foam hearts with the steamed milk, but it looks more like a blob, and I roll my lips inward in an attempt to not smile at his effort.
Listen, the man makes killer drinks without the fancy foam artwork, but it’s adorable that he tries. I look up at him to tell him thanks and see his cheeks are tinged with pink.
He’s so fucking handsome it’s ridiculous. The embarrassed blush only makes him more attractive.
“Thanks, Oakley, I appreciate it. How much do I owe you?” I try to keep it cordial because I know if I think too hard about talking to him, I’ll be a mess of awkward conversation and run-on sentences. I don’t do well with men, especially ridiculously attractive men.
I much prefer my introvert status.
“On the house today. Haven’t seen you in a while, so it’s my treat.” He bows his head and then snaps it up when he hears the bell above the front door. “Sorry,” he says, his tone more apologetic than necessary.
“No worries.” I wave him off and try way too hard to appear busy writing nonsense on my notepad.
“Long time, no see, Oak.” The voice of the man who just entered the door is friendly but unsure.
I peer up at Oakley and see the color visibly drain from his face.
“Follow me,” Oakley says, all business, and from his tone, I’d say he’s pissed.
“Oh my God, it’s him.”
Mabel’s hurried whisper draws my interest as I watch the two men walk to the back of the store, where I presume Oakley’s office is.
“Him, who?” Alice asks.
“The assassin.”
My eyes move to the door both men are now behind, and I am more intrigued by the minute.
“He doesn’t look like an assassin,” Alice muses, and I tilt my head back to stop from laughing out loud.
I wonder what an assassin looks like in the eyes of the older women. Because there could be a case for Oakley looking like one with his muscled build and tattoos. I, for one, would be cool with it. It would be like one of my books come to life.
