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“Shoot,” I mutter. “I doubt any of us can make a run to the market in this rush. I’ll just start telling everyone almond is incredibly healthy. And if they have a nut allergy, suggest nonfat or whole.”

I have got to start carrying more oat milk. Vanity Fair said it was trending these days, and I really should have listened.

“Yeah. Okay. Good luck with that.” Cher just nods and goes back to whatever latte she was finishing up. “Though may I suggest, again, you remove Sunnie’s caramel dreamsicle latte from the freaking menu! Too many people like it!”

“Or we could just order extra oat milk!” Sunnie suggests with a roll of her long-lashed eyes.

“So, the neighbors were talking about this place at my party.” My attention is drawn back to the counter, where New Guy from my building is still standing. There’s a line behind him, and renewed panic fills my chest as I fight the overwhelming sense that I still don’t want him to leave. “They said it’s kind of a local treasure. Books, bagels, caffeine addiction. Figured I should see it for myself.”

I try to avoid his eyes as I pour his black coffee, as though that’ll help me break the spell.

“Appreciate that,” I say half-heartedly. The brain is as the body says and does. If my body is over him, my brain will be too.

At least, I sure as heck hope so.

The printer behind me spits out more tickets, all online orders that probably want more freaking lattes with oat milk that we don’t freaking have, and I war with myself over getting overwhelmed.

“You run it yourself?”

“Huh?”

“The Hole Story,” he says. “Is this your shop?”

“Well, yeah, I’m technically the owner.” The words settle easily—this place is the part of me I trust the most. “But I couldn’t do it without my wonder girls, Sunnie and Cher.” I nod toward Sunnie and Cher, both moving like caffeinated squirrels as they try to keep up with all the freaking orders.

He’s smiling and calm and charming, and I’m three seconds away from losing my mind. I slide his coffee toward him.

“Anything else for you?” I ask, polite but rushed.

He studies me for a beat, like he’s trying to read between the lines.

I shift instinctively. I’ve never liked being read without offering someone my book first.

“Nah,” he says finally. “Coffee’s perfect.”

“Great,” I say. “Bagel’ll be up in a sec. And that’ll be $6.75.”

He pays with a credit card and declines a receipt, staring at me like he can see the pages of my book all over my face. Then Sunnie screams something about the mixer jamming again, and by force, I slam my cover shut.

“Coming!” I shout and whirl around to focus on the problem. By the time I get Sunnie and the mixer unjammed and turn around, he’s gone.

Good. That’s good.

I repeat it until it almost sounds true.

Cher sidles up next to me with a smile that belies how busy we are, and I gird my loins. “So . . . who was that?”

“The new guy from my building,” I say, as I grab another ticket.

“Oh,” she says. “Maybe I should move into your place. He’s hot.”

“Stop being so horny, Cher.”

“Yeah, Cher! Stop being so horny!” Sunnie teases from the back.

Cher laughs. “Hey now, it’s not my fault Teeny has sexy brothers and muscly, tattooed friends and sinfully hot new neighbors! It’s like she’s keeping all the eye candy for herself!”

I snort. So the new guy in my building is hot. Big freaking deal. Hot guys are a dime a dozen.