Lost in my thoughts, the mouthwatering scent of coffee hits me when the door in front of me swings open. Two women dressed for work in the plethora of office buildings in this area step onto the sidewalk with extra tall coffees in hand. I look up and see the wordsBuns & Rosesscrawled across the windows in white script.
If there was ever a sign to procrastinate, this is it. The memory of meeting Delilah at Sabor a few weeks ago flashes through my mind. Before I give it too much thought, I pull the door open and step inside.
Plants line the wide wood shelves behind the counter and there’s a jukebox in the corner playing the song “Peaches” by the Presidents. The décor is trendy, with white subway tile and a handwritten chalkboard menu. The personal details, like the hula doll on the register add a little quirkiness to the atmosphere.
“Be with you in just a minute,” a sweet voice, that I instantly recognize as Delilah’s, calls from the back. She sounds lighter than she did that night, and I wonder if it’s because this place makes her happy. Or because she’s not stressed about her dickhole of a boyfriend being late.
Delilah walks backward through the doorway, carrying a tray of baked goods. Her lush hips shimmy to the music. Her long blonde hair is piled on top of her head, revealing her slender neck. Cut-off jean shorts encase her heart-shaped ass and highlight her toned legs. She’s short—just a couple of inches over five feet, if I had to guess.
The last time I saw her, she wore that purple dress like a second skin. She looked like she stepped out of a magazine with her blonde hair curling down her back. But I think I like this version even better. She looks comfortable here in a way she didn’t at Sabor—like this is home.
When she turns around, her plump lips stretch into a smile. Setting the tray on the counter, she wipes her hands on the folded-over apron, cinched around her waist, accentuating it. Her maroon shirt has a pair of cinnamon rolls right across her chest. As if my eyes weren’t already drawn to her perfect set of breasts, now I’ll have to put in extra effort not to stare at them.
“Can’t handle any more corner store coffee?” she asks while she moves the scones and pastries around in the bakery case to make room for the ones on the tray.
“The smell of coffee lured me in.” Everything about her shop is welcoming, but the chance that she would be here made fighting the pull pointless.
“Fabulous, my evil plan is working.” Delilah wiggles her eyebrows, which should look ridiculous, but she’s so carefree that it’s adorable as fuck.
“Is your plan to lure attractive men into your clutches with a siren song of coffee and keep them here forever, feeding them baked goods? Where do you keep them all?” My eyes peer around the shop like I’m searching out a hidden trapdoor. “Is there a dungeon in the basement?”
Her mouth falls open in a dramatic gasp. She pauses her work and stands to her full height, one hand coming to her hip as she glides her eyes over me. The shirt I’m wearing is plastered to me from my run—clinging to my upper body and consequently showing off all the work I put in to be at the top of my game as a professional athlete. My ego swells at the way her gaze slows as she surveys my upper body.
“Did one of them escape and spill my secrets?” The confidence in her voice wavers as she brings her eyes back up to my face.
“No, I’m just wildly observant. You might look sweet and innocent, but I’m on to you. Only someone truly diabolical can make coffee and baked goods that look and smell this mouthwatering.”
She steps over to the bakery case to continue refilling it. I am helpless to do anything but follow her. I lean forward to rest my elbows on the counter, watching her work. For the first time in months, the air around me feels a little less heavy. Everything is a bit easier in her presence.
Maybe because she doesn’t know about my past, there’s no pity when she looks at me. Unlike my teammates, she knows nothing about Jarrett, or what I have been through. I noticed it that night at Sabor too—she calms the storm that’s been raging inside me.
“The asado negro you suggested was delightful. I think that means that I owe you a recommendation as repayment. What’s your guilty pleasure?” Her hand sweeps out toward the bakery case.
“Pleasure never makes me feel guilty, Hermosa.”
Pink stains her chest and blossoms across her cheeks. Leaning in further, I crowd her as she works, trying to pull another reaction out of her. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t seem to help myself. Flirting with her is fun and she makes it so damn easy.
“I have a weakness for caramel and cinnamon,” I say, my gaze flicking down to her shirt before I look back up and find her eyes wide. “I’ll try a sticky bun and an iced coffee.”
She tries to hide her smile with a downward glance as she plates the treat. Our hands brush when I grab it from her, sending a jolt of desire through my body. Delilah freezes for a moment before dropping her hand, shaking it at her side and getting to work on my coffee. She’s flustered and I can’t get enough of it.
The ice clinks against the cup as she shakes my drink—her eyes fixed on what she’s doing until she slides the drink to me. This time she doesn’t hide her grin.
Maybe I should feel wrong flirting when I know she’s with someone else. But in the few minutes I spent with her and Brad, it was obvious he’s not good enough for her. Who leaves their girlfriend waiting in a bar for them and then doesn’t even have the decency to put away his phone long enough to greet her properly?
As soon as the flavor of the cold coffee hits my tongue, I regret waiting this long to stop in. This is good. Better than good—it’s the best coffee I’ve had in a long time. Just sweet enough without being too much. “I can’t believe I’ve been drinking that sludge from the corner store this whole time, instead of this. I hope you’re ready Delilah, you just became my new best friend—I’m going to be here every day.”
Her genuine laugh fills up the distance she created between us. Delilah, with her head tipped back and her blue eyes twinkling, is the most addictive sight.That’s it, Hermosa, give me more of that sweet sound.
“I’ll believe it when I see it. You’ll be sick of me in no time,” she says, returning to her work behind the counter.
“Mhmmm . . . you don’t know me yet, but if I say I am going to do something, I do it. I’m also competitive as hell, and that sounded like a challenge.” Her eyes drop to the Bandits logo across the front of my shirt.
“The same could be said for me. I can be cutthroat when the stakes are right.” Her eyes pass over me in another drawn out sweeping motion before she adds, “By the way, you never told me what brought you to Denver.”
“I play baseball for the Bandits. I was traded here from St. Louis.”
Chapter 11
