That voice. Deep and smooth, with just enough gravel to remind me he’d lived a hard life. It rolled over my skin like warm honey, and I hated that I noticed.
“Good morning,” I said, my voice cold and clipped as I kept my eyes fixed on the register I was pretending to organize. “What can I get you?”
“Well, now, that depends.” I could hear the smile in his voice. “You finally gonna say yes to dinner?”
I looked up then, fixing him with my flattest stare. “No.”
“Breakfast then?”
“No,” I repeated, rolling my eyes.
“Lunch? I’m flexible, darlin’.”
“Stop calling me that.” I crossed my arms over my chest, ignoring the way his eyes tracked the movement. “What. Can. I. Get. You?”
He leaned against the counter, and damn him—he looked good doing it. The leather jacket stretched across shoulders that had no business being that broad on a man of his age. Silver threaded through his dark hair, and those lines around his eyes, the ones that deepened when he smiled, spoke of a life lived fully.
Dangerously.
Terry had been handsome in a quiet, steady way. Safe. Comfortable.
This man was neither of those things.
“Just a black coffee today.”
I blinked, thrown off my rhythm. “No bear claw?” I asked, then immediately wished I hadn’t. It sounded too much like I’d been paying attention. Like I cared about his routine. “You finally ran out of money?”
“Never.” His grin widened, and I wanted to slap it off his face. Or maybe kiss it off. I wasn’t sure which impulse was stronger, and that terrified me. “Just watching my figure. Gotta stay in shape if I’m gonna keep up with you.”
“There is no ‘keeping up with me’ because there is no ‘you and me.’” I turned my back on him before he could see the flush creeping up my neck and filled his cup with perhaps more force than necessary. Coffee sloshed dangerously close to the rim.
“You sure about that? Because I’ve been coming here six months now, and you know exactly how I take my coffee. You notice when I don’t order my usual. Sounds like you’re paying attention to me, Trudy.”
“It’s not hard to remember black coffee poured into a cup,” I snarked as I snapped the lid on. “It’s called good customer service.”
“Mmm.” The sound was low, almost a purr. “But do you blush for all your customers?”
“I am not blushing.” I was absolutely blushing. I could feel the heat in my cheeks as I turned around, and the knowing look in his eyes made it worse. “That’ll be three-fifty.”
I heard him chuckle, but it didn’t sound the same. The usual warmth was missing, replaced by something hollow. When I looked at him, really looked, I noticed what irritation had kept me from seeing before.
The smile didn’t reach his eyes. His shoulders, usually held with that infuriating confidence, seemed weighted down. He stood on the other side of the counter, counting out bills, but his movements were mechanical... distracted.
Something was wrong.
I told myself I didn’t care. Told myself it was none of my business. Told myself that whatever was bothering this arrogant, insufferable man who’d been making my life difficult for half a year was his problem, not mine.
“Is everything okay with Grace?” The words escaped before I could stop them, and I wanted to snatch them back from the air.
His eyes snapped up to mine, and I saw it then: surprise, followed by something raw and vulnerable that he quickly tried to hide. But I’d seen it. That glimpse beneath the swagger and the smirks.
“Grace is fine.” His voice was softer now, missing its usual teasing edge. “She’ll be having that baby soon.”
I nodded and set the coffee on the counter, studying his face. The lines seemed deeper today, etched with worry or exhaustion or something else I couldn’t name. “You seem sad,” I blurted out before I could stop myself.
What was wrong with me? Since when did I care about his emotional state?
The corner of his mouth twitched—not quite a smile, not quite a grimace. He continued counting out his money with deliberate slowness. “You worried about me, Trudy?”
