Krista exhaled, trying to follow his instructions. Through the lens, the world sharpened into layers of color and shadow: the shimmer of sunlight on shop windows, a swirl of petals carried by the breeze, the reflection of the lake glinting in the distance.
And then she turned the camera toward him.
Joe had stepped away, hands in his pockets, watching her with that quiet half-smile. Through the lens, his face came into focus. She cataloged everything, the faint stubble along his jaw, the sunlight catching in his hair, the steadiness in his eyes.
Her finger tightened on the shutter. The click echoed in the air between them.
Joe smiled. “Like what you see?”
Krista lowered the camera, her cheeks warm. “Maybe,” she said lightly.
He grinned, and Krista felt her pulse trip. She’d been telling herself since last night that this was just basic, primal attraction, that she was only having fun with the new guy in town. No deeper than that. But as she met his gaze, her heart said this was way, way more than the beginnings of a summer fling.
It wasn’t just that he was handsome––devastatingly so. It was the way he looked at her, as if he was reallyseeingher, and not just the version everyone else expected her to be. For the first time in a long while, she felt awake.She wanted to lean into this feeling, to see where it might lead before life and logic talked her out of it.
For once, Krista didn’t want to be practical or careful or predictable. She just needed to follow the spark, the pull that made her heart beat a little faster and her breath catch when he smiled like that.
It didn’t matter what she’d told herself.
The energy between them was electric, impossible to resist.
SIX
JOE
Wednesday, Two Days Before the Summer Swap
“As much as I enjoyed playing with your camera,” Krista said, leading Joe down the wooden dock toward the Hideaway, “it’s my turn to be the teacher.”
Joe grinned as the word “teacher” lodged in his mind and twisted into something far less innocent. Before he could stop himself, he pictured her in a short plaid skirt and a white blouse unbuttoned just enough. Instead of sitting her on a desk, he imagined lifting her onto the bar top, the wood still warm, still faintly scented of citrus and tequila. She’d laugh, her eyes widening, that deep, throaty sound driving him wild. He’d step closer, her legs opening, her skirt sliding higher as his hands found her thighs.
He blinked away the image, clearing his throat, forcing himself to focus.You’re here for coffee, man. Not fantasies.
The dock led them to the main patio. It was a wide stretch of weathered decking built right up against the lake, half wrapped by a pergola and railing, the boards warmed by sunand old summers. Honeysuckle vines trailed along the beams, their blossoms swaying in the breeze. On one side, a seating area curled around a stone firepit, low couches and deep chairs arranged like a living room outdoors, each spot paired with a small table. Closer in, black iron café tables sat beneath the pergola.
Bees drifted lazily between the blooms, the low hum blending with the soft tick of water against the dock. Beyond the railing, kayaks bobbed gently on the surface.
And then there was the bar. It wasn’t a full indoor room so much as a compact little bar house built into the deck, the front opening up to the patio with a wide service counter and shutters that could swing closed and lock tight when the night was done.
He followed after Krista as she unlocked the bar area, holding the door open, flicking on a light as they walked in down the narrow hallway stocked with supplies and extra cases, bypassing the bathroom and storage closet on the way.
The front shutters were still closed, but within moments, she popped them open, letting in bright sunlight and fresh lake air. Behind the counter, rows of jars caught the light, amber and rose and pale gold, each one labeled in Krista’s looping script.Hot Honey. Clover Blend. Summer Wildflower. Moonlight Kiss.
Behind the counter, on the side wall, hung a couple of T-shirts and sweatshirts for sale with the Hideaway’s logo on them, a bee buzzing around the center.
Joe raised his camera, ready to snap a photo, but paused, caught up in the beauty of the place. In the beauty of her.
Krista crossed to the old radio and twisted the dial until music crackled softly through the speakers. A jazzy tune filled the space, warm and lazy as the lake breeze.
He watched her slip behind the counter and fought to find his voice. He cleared his throat. “What should Iplan on my hours being?” he asked, to keep his mind on the job and not on how mesmerizing he found this woman.
“Let’s see…” She brushed a curl from her cheek and jotted down the hours. “In the summer, we’re open 11a.m. to 6p.m. daily, closed Wednesdays. Thursday through Saturday nights, we stay open late for golden hour cocktails—that’s when the Hot Honey Hideaway really shines.”
“Cocktails and caffeine,” Joe said. “You cover all the essentials.”
Krista laughed. “Pretty much. By day, we serve iced lattes and ice cream: honey, strawberry, pistachio, lemon. In the evenings, it’s margaritas, mojitos, the works. My daily specials are…experimental.”
“Experimental?”
