Then, before I can talk myself out of it, I push the door open and walk inside.
The first thing I notice upon entering is how busy it is. I’m not often in for lunch, but whenever I have, it’s been relatively quiet, with half the tables empty. Today, nearly all the tables are taken, either by singles, couples, or groups of four. There are even a couple of tables with six chairs crammed around them and as many glasses of beer to match.
As I stand just inside the entrance, a few customers notice me and give a cheerful wave. Behind the bar, the daytime bartender, Jeff, catches my eye and lifts his chin. Maria, one of the other lunch servers, goes rushing past with a loaded tray of drinks.
In the far left corner, closest to the vintage jukebox, one of the crowded six-tops has some faces that put me on alert. None of them have a violent criminal record—Phil Harris has a few DUIs, Bryan Winston has been arrested on drug possession, and Geoff Marten pled out on a vandalism charge a couple of years ago—but I’m not exactly thrilled to see them here.
Especiallynot if Angel’s working.
And speaking of Angel…
Almost as if I summoned her, she comes bursting through the swinging kitchen doors with a large tray balanced on one shoulder. Her hair bounces around her face, shining gold and platinum as the light hits it. Her jeans mold to the curves of her legs, and her Blissful Brews T-shirt stretches across her breasts; the logo perfectly placed to draw my attention to them. She’s pink-cheeked from exertion, but her smile doesn’t falter. As I watch her hurry over to a four-top, she puffs at a stray tendril of hair that escaped her ponytail, but it falls back into her face again.
And shit. She’s even prettier than I remember.
Dimly aware that I’m still standing by the entrance instead of coming all the way inside, like a normal person, I tear my gazefrom Angel and make my way to the bar. But there’s something magnetic about Angel that draws my attention right back to her. And this time, when I look in her direction, she’s looking right back at me.
When she smiles at me, my heart actually skips a beat.
But we’re just friends.
Just. Friends.
Except I don’t feel likethiswhen I see my other friends.
My pulse doesn’t race when any of my other friends head in my direction, their smile as bright as the sun and their eyes bright with pleasure at seeing me.
At least, Ithinkshe’s happy to see me. Unless there’s someone else at the bar, and she’s smiling at them. Unless she smiles like that at all her customers, and I’m making?—
“Ronan.” Angel sounds almost breathless as she greets me. “What a nice surprise. I didn’t know you were coming in—” She blushes. “Forget I said that. It’s not like you’re going to text to tell me you’re coming into Blissful Brews. That would be silly. But it’s nice to see you.”
Well, shit. Now I wish Ihadtexted her. If I’d known it was this busy, I could have come later. Maybe even at the end of her shift, so we could talk while she’s rolling up silverware. Then I could walk her to her car, and possibly swing by Decadent Delights to buy her some cookies to thank her for all the ones she gave to me.
But what about the whole just friends thing? What about figuring out a way to put distance between us?
“How was your trip?” Angel asks. She leans a little closer to me, bringing with her the sweet scent of cupcakes. “I hope everything went well.”
“It was good.” Up close, her hair looks so soft, my hand itches to touch it. And shit, her eyes are soblue—like the Atlantic Ocean at mid-day. “I got back last night. This morning, I wastaking care of some stuff at HQ, and then I thought I’d stop in to get some takeout for dinner.”
“That’s a good idea. We have some good soups today.” Her eyes are still fixed on mine. “There’s beef barley, loaded baked potato, and dill pickle cheese.” She makes a little face. “I thought the dill pickle one sounded weird. But I tried it, and it’s really good.”
When Angel purses her lips, my gaze slides to them. And shit, they look ripe for kissing. Nibbling. Teasing them open, then dipping inside to taste her honeyed warmth. I would pull her into my arms, so close I could feel the racing of her heart. Her cupcake scent would wrap around me, and I’d tunnel my fingers through her hair. Then I’d bend her over the bar, and?—
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Think about something different. Security system schematics. The plumbing parts I need to repair the shower upstairs. The large wart on the nose of the receptionist who checked me into my hotel in Freeport.Anythingto get my eager dick back under control.
“Ronan, are you okay?” Angel places her small hand on my forehead. “You look flushed. Are you getting sick? Traveling can really mess with your immune system. Although I’m sure you know that.”
Dammit, the feel of her hand on my skin doesn’t make things any better. Taking a step back to put some distance between us, I mutter, “I’m fine. It must just be hot in here.”
Hurt flashes across her face. And now I feel like an ass.
“Yeah,” she replies in a flatter tone. “One of the cooks is out, so food has been slower coming. And with ski season in full swing, we’ve been getting some overflow from that.” She hesitates. “If you’re not feeling up to doing a lesson this weekend, that’s okay. Haley will understand.”
“It’s not that.”
“Oh?” Her brow furrows. “Is it something—” But she’s interrupted by the pager on her hip going off. “Shoot. One of my table’s orders is ready. I’d better go.”
