“Sorry?” I ask, blinking.
He tilts his head, watching me with that piercing stare. “I’d like…whatever you recommend. I trust you know what’s good here.”
I blink. “I…uh…okay.” I flush, then flash him a smile. “Since you’ve put your trust in me, why don’t you grab a table, and I’ll bring it over.”
“Your wish is my command.”
He gives me a final nod and crosses to a booth by the window. I can’t help watching him go. He fascinates me—draws me in without doing a thing. He sits, and our eyes catch across the diner. My breath hitches, half want, half embarrassment.
Focus, Cammi.
I turn away, scribble an order, and mutter it to the cook. My hands won’t quite stop shaking. I don’t look at him, but I can feel him watching—quiet, steady—and it’s driving me out of my mind. There’s a pull between us, a tension that doesn’t make sense yet.
And somehow, for the first time in days, I don’t feel small. I don’t feel alone. Even with Rick out there.
A few minutes later I set the plate in front of him. Pancakes, coffee, syrup. “Here you go.” I bite my lip. “You saidsurprise you, so—I took a guess. Pancakes, and the coffee’s black. Strong. You strike me as a black-coffee kind of man.”
He looks at the plate, then up at me, and something in his face shifts—pleased, almost caught off guard. “Black, strong. The kind that kicks you awake before the day starts.” He huffs a quiet laugh. “Nailed it. How’d you know?”
Heat climbs my neck, but I’m smiling. “Lucky guess.”
“I don’t think it was luck.”
He tilts his head, watching me. “You’re nervous.”
I freeze. My stomach twists, and I want to sink through the floor. “I am not,” I insist quickly, too quickly.
He chuckles low enough that I feel it more than hear it. “You totally are. Don’t worry, I find it endearing.”
Heat floods my face. “It’s not.”
“Sure,” he says, eyes glinting. “Totally not.”
I shake my head and retreat to the counter. Every minute near him makes me feel more like myself, not less. He eats slow, in no hurry, and between refills we talk—small things, nothing heavy. Whether I like the job. Whether he eats alone often. Depends on where the day takes me, he says, and I don’t push. There’s a lot he isn’t saying. I know the feeling.
When he finally stands to go, he pauses. “I like the way you handle everything,” he says. “Even when you’re nervous.” A beat. “I’ll be back, Cammi.”
It isn’t a question. My pulse refuses to settle. But I’m smiling—just a little.
And I know one thing for sure: I want to see him again.
Chapter Three
Noah
I don’t know why I keep going back to that diner.
It’s not the food. Not the coffee. I can make my own and drink it in silence at Wilder House, away from the noise and the people. But every time I walk past that place, every time I catch sight of Cammi through the window, something shifts.
I get protective. Possessive. Maybe both. Maybe something I don’t even have words for yet.
I catch myself scanning the diner from across the street before I even register doing it. Every man who lets his eyes linger on her too long makes my blood heat. I tell myself it’s instinct. Bullshit. I know better. This isn’t protection. Not anymore.
She’s beautiful, and I can’t look away even though I want to. I’m not the right man for her. She needs a real protector—not someone who blacks out at a loud noise. I tell myself that every day. Yet I walk into the diner again.
Tonight, Millie isn’t working. Just Cammi, moving behind the counter the way she always does—taking orders, checking trays, refilling coffee. Her movements are quiet and careful, precise but with a natural grace that draws my eyes without me thinking about it.
She glances up and sees me. Her hazel eyes widen, and under the surprise, I catch it—the same flare I feel. Knowing I’m not the only one wrecked by this makes my cock jerk.
