When I finally reach Fangerella’s, my heart begins to beat faster. There’s a weird knot in my stomach, made up of fear and anticipation.
And it’s not due to losing my bag with everything in it.
It’s seeinghimagain.
But the closer I get, the clearer it becomes—the place isn’t open.
The neon sign is off. The windows are dark.
Dammit. Just my luck.
I jiggle the door handle anyway, hoping for a miracle. Locked. I huff in irritation.
Awesome.
I’d wondered if they were only open at night, but I’d hoped all the same. Or thought maybe he might be here getting things ready for the night. It’s still the weekend after all.
A familiar prickle climbs the back of my neck like there are eyes on me, watching me.
I spin slowly, scanning faces. The street is packed. No one’s paying attention. And yet… I know that sensation.
But there’s nothing out of the ordinary.
Great. Now I’m losing my mind too.
I shake the thought off and pull out my phone, dialing the number listed on the door. It rings. And rings.
Then cuts off abruptly.
No voicemail. No answer. Nothing.
I exhale hard and check the time. My Ryde should be here any minute.
A sudden gust of wind whips around me, yanking my bun half loose and flinging strands of curly hair into my eyes. I wrestle with it, trying to tie it back up and only making it worse.
Fabulous. Windswept and late. And Mother Nature isstillgunning for me.
I can already hear the passive-aggressive snark from my rich clients. Can’t wait.
“Miss?” a voice calls behind me. “Are you my passenger?”
I turn to see a little red car with a Ryde sign in the window. The driver, a bearded man with warm eyes, waves me over and opens the back door.
“Yep! That’s me,” I say, brushing hair from my face as I hurry over.
“Sorry about the wind,” he chuckles as I slide into the plush backseat.
“Not your fault,” I say, buckling in.
The car isimmaculate.No food wrappers, no stale smell. Color me impressed.
“They’re calling for another storm tonight,” he adds, pulling out into traffic. “Not sure who pissed off Lady Nature, but someone better apologize.”
“I hear that,” I mutter, slumping into the seat.
I glance out the window and freeze. A man stands across the street, staring directly at me.
Tall. Incredibly handsome. Rugged-looking.
