Page 5

“Kira.” He tips his head toward me.

“Keanu,” I warn, but he only grins.

“You flirt with him every morning.”

“It’s community outreach,” I say only to have him stare at me. “What?” I raise an eyebrow. “Neighbor relations are important for small businesses,” I insist, setting my cup down.

“You told him his flannel shirt would look better on your bedroom floor.”

“That was one time,” I protest, looking away even though the memory of the look on Ross's face when I said that makes me smile. I might be a virgin with no real-life experience with men, but with Ross, the teasing comes naturally.

“It was Tuesday.” Keanu leans back in his chair eying me warily.

“Exactly. Ancient history.” I lift an eyebrow.

He shakes his head. “You're playing with fire.”

That's what Ross is like—playing with fire. Big, broad-shouldered, bearded, and always a little grumpy. He's thirty-five, eleven years older than me. He owns Mountain Grind with his three sisters and somehow acts like he's responsible for the whole mountain. If there's a snowstorm, Ross organizes snow removal. If someone's car won't start, Ross shows up with jumper cables. If a pipe bursts, Ross has the tools. If one of his sisters needs something, he's already there. Everyone sees the grumpy mountain man. I see the person underneath. That's the risky part. I see him make Heather eat breakfast when she forgets. I see him quietly leave a free coffee for the older man who comes in every Thursday. I see him check the weather before his sisters drive home. And I see the loneliness he thinks nobody notices. Maybe that's why I flirt so hard. When Ross is irritated with me, he's alive. His eyes spark. His mouth almost smiles. For a few minutes, he's not carrying the whole world on those ridiculously huge shoulders. Also, he's hot when he's bossy. That part isn't exactly noble. The front door opens and Heather Wilson walks in. She's smiling—that can't be good.

“Hey, Kira.” Heather rests a hand on the front desk.

“Hey,” I answer, setting my pencil aside.

“Are you free tomorrow around four?”

“For?”

“My brother.” Heather nods toward the coffee shop across the street.

My pulse trips and I attempt to act casual only to fail miserably. “What about your brother?” I lift an eyebrow.

“We convinced him to get a tattoo.”

My mouth falls open. “You convinced Ross Wilson to voluntarily let somebody stab him with a needle thousands of times?”

“Technically, he hasn't agreed yet.” Heather smiles across the counter. “But he's going to.”

I lean across the counter. “What does he want?”

“Something meaningful—maybe mountains. Something for our parents.” Heather tilts her head toward me.

“Oh,” I whisper, looking down at the sketch I was working on.

Heather nods. “He doesn't talk about them much.”

“I know.” I try to sound casual.

Her gaze lingers on me. “You notice a lot about him.”

Heat creeps into my face. I noticed way too much about him. “Occupational hazard.”

“Sure.” Heather smirks then turns toward the door. “Four tomorrow.” Then she pauses. “And Kira?”

“Yeah?” I ask, glancing at Keanu.

Her grin becomes wicked. “Make him take his shirt off.”

I nearly choke on her words as she leaves. Getting to touch Ross's bare skin is a fantasy I never thought would come true.