I was going to do everything in my power to make sure Josie Jensen knew exactly how special she was. And I wasn’t giving up until she believed it.
Chapter Fifteen
Josie
I woke up smiling, which was annoying.
Not because I was against happiness or anything dramatic like that. I just wasn’t used to opening my eyes and immediately replaying the night before like it was my favorite movie.
The motorcycle ride.
Rome holding my hand in the clubhouse.
The way he’d looked at me when Brandi called me her like it was an insult.
The way he kissed me on my porch.
And then... I’m gonna make you see what I see.
I groaned and threw my pillow over my face. “That’s not fair.”
The pillow offered no opinion. Neither did the ceiling when I tossed the pillow aside and glared at it.
Rome had somehow bulldozed his way into my life in less than a month. I still didn’t know his favorite color or what he ate for breakfast, but I knew he drank his coffee black, hated olives, loved double chocolate fudge, and looked at me like I was something precious.
I didn’t know what to do with that because men didn’t look at me that way.
Not men like Rome.
I rolled over and stared at the clock.
Nine thirty.
Shit.
I bolted upright. I was supposed to open Scoop & Swirl at ten.
Ten minutes later, I was dressed, hair in a messy ponytail, coffee in hand, and speeding toward Main Street while mentally calculating how quickly I could make waffle cones.
The answer was apparently very quickly when fueled by panic.
I unlocked the front door of Scoop & Swirl and, with two minutes to spare, the first batch of cones was off the press.
Victory.
I should have taken those two minutes to take a breath, because the next three hours were insane. Everyone wanted ice cream, and they were coming in droves.
At one thirty I was able to take a breath, and cleaning the milkshake machine when the bell above the door jingled. “Welcome to Scoop & Sw-” The words died in my throat.
Rome walked in wearing a black Henley, black jeans, and black boots.
Black was becoming my favorite color.
He carried a coffee tray in one hand and a white bakery box in the other Rome set the tray and bakery box on the counter. “Coffee.”
I stared. “For me?”
“Nobody else here I care about, babe?”
