Page 5

“No.”

For a moment, she blinked at him, stunned. “Umm…”

“What I mean is, can I take you out sometime? Dinner? Or maybe coffee?” Her forehead crinkled, so he tacked on, “I bet you’ll order a pumpkin spice latte, won’t you?”

His angel’s smile was radiant, and it felt like a victory in his chest. “Damon, did you just make a joke?” She clutched her heart. “I’m so proud. Was that your first one? I’m honored.”

“You’re sassy.” His face felt weird. “I like it.”

Nicole’s smile dropped, and her eyes grew heated. “Well, Damon, I really like your smile. Should do it more often.”

“Say yes to a date, and I promise I will.”

The light in her eyes cooled, and she cast her eyes down. She rummaged through another box of decorations for a beat before answering him. “I… I don’t date anymore. Long story, but it’s just… better this way.” The last bit was barely more than a mumble.

Damon wanted to push her to explain, but a couple came into the cafe then. In a maneuver best described as retreat, she made a beeline for the customers.

He wanted to know what put the shadows in her eyes. His hunch was an ex. He would slay whatever dragons were in her past.

Then he’d claim his angel.

Chapter Four

Nicole wiped down the last of the tables. Her shift had picked up after she fled from Damon and his dating talk. Being charmed by her handsome landlord was one thing; progressing things into… something… was not a good idea. On any level.

One reason Maple Lane Falls was the perfect place for her to rebuild her life was Herbert. The sweet old man let her move in without signing any paperwork or running a credit check. A year ago, she made decisions out of fear and the anxiety of being found. She didn’t want Kent to find a lease in her name and she wasn’t willing to use a fake one.

She was stronger now. A year of healing and a year of stability had done wonders on her soul. But Kent still owned a tiny part of her mind, her lizard brain hellbent on survival, no matter the cost.

Dating Damon was too great a risk. Avoiding any connection that Kent could possibly use to find her triggered a primal survival instinct in her. Unfortunate, because her new landlord was walking sex on a stick. Even his grumpy expressions and monosyllabic grunts inspired fantasies about him making those sounds and faces in bed. Would he still be frowning beneath her?

Nicole wagered she could make him grunt for an entirely different reason.

Summoned by her naughty thoughts, Damon approached. “Are you closing up alone?”

Nicole weighed his words as she untied her apron. He wasn’t giving stalker vibes, but he already knew where she worked and lived. He must know she lives alone, too. Her sexy stranger knew entirely too much about her already. “No, a member of the kitchen staff comes to check the building and walk me to my car,” she lied.

Damon frowned.

“You should go. I have a few more tasks to complete in the back before he gets here. We’re about to close and I can’t have any customers in here after-hours.”

Damon nodded. His lips pursed before flattening into a line.

“Goodbye, Damon. Thanks for the assist with the decorations.” Light reflected off the tenacious orange glitter as he turned to leave.

She watched him through the large display window until he disappeared around the corner of the building. A minute later, an old pickup truck drove past, and she knew it was him. Something in her chest left with him.

Probably her hope that something could blossom between them.

When she was confident he was gone, she turned off the lights and locked up. Her fiction about the kitchen staff escort niggled at her guilt. She didn’t like lying, to him or to anyone. Instincts told her Damon wanted to keep her safe.

Her instincts had been wrong before. Her intuition was still broken.

Nothing and no one would harass her with his six feet of muscle at her side. He was probably taller, six three or maybe six four. Nicole mentally shook her head. She needed to pay attention to the parking lot as she locked the back door, gripped her car key, and headed for her beat up hatchback.

Fifteen minutes later, she was parking at her duplex. Something was different. Nothing tingled her spidey senses, but could she trust that? The longer she questioned herself, the faster her heart beat. What if she was wrong again, and this time, she didn’t survive? Wouldn’t get out in time? She pulled her cell phone out of her purse and unlocked it.

Who do you call in a situation like this? Dialing 911 felt extreme when she couldn’t say for sure what, if anything, was wrong. How long would the non-emergency police number take? Nausea roiled in her stomach. Was she willing to wait in her call until they got here?