With both her hands full, Jess McGraw takes that opportunity to pinch her on the butt with a wink for the other dudes standing around him, making themselves pains in the ass over their bottomless mugs of the house blend. Blazes of angry fire light her cheekbones as a river of hot coffee starts to slosh over the side of the ceramic mug creating a mess on the hardwood floor and a trip and fall hazard.
I lift an eyebrow, waiting for something even worse to happen. Honing and fine-tuning my gut feelings for trouble are necessary in my line of work. Nothing about her distressed jeans and turtleneck sweater are overtly sexual, but these horndogs haven’t been exposed to something as beautiful as she is in the flesh for years – maybe even decades in some cases. Some of these guys never leave Sweetheart Hills and keep their television and social media trimmed down to the bare bones.
Catcalls echo from the crowded table by the electric fireplace. Jess and his posse were clearly born in a barn and raised by a pack of wolves, and they were all making a mockery of a little bit of spilled coffee on the floor. Jess insists that some of the spatter hit him in the groin. He gives a couple of lewd hip thrusts and demands that the woman wipe it off with a fresh napkin. The splotches of color on her high cheekbones turns from red to crimson.
Her eyelashes flutter and she inhales little pants of breath as she glances up and spots me in the corner, tucked out of the fray. As soon as she escapes Jess and his long-dormant dick, she heads over, and flips open her order pad. “I’m so sorry you had to wait, sir. What can I get for you today?”
My stomach topples over itself. “Black coffee no cream or sugar. And a couple of blueberry muffins.”
She scribbles the order with her head tucked down and I don’t get the honor of looking into that azure gaze of hers. I stare, willing her to make eye contact. After a few tortured seconds, I hit pay dirt and those pillowy lips part in a sweet smile meant only for me. “Muffins?”
I will myself not to stare. “Yes, as in two.”
In that moment, she looks at me and all the breath escapes my lungs. But she doesn’t really notice me despite my hulking six-foot four frame. She looks right through me when I want her to look at me. I usually don’t have an issue catching a woman’s eye – I’ve had my fair share over the years. But apparently this one will never be one of them. And it would have been nice to have someone to at least flirt with during the dark winter days before the bloom of spring.
After one quick glance at me, her gaze drops to her pad. I see her write ‘black and blue two’ and underline it. “I’ll be back as soon as I clean up that spill. Don’t want anyone to get hurt.”
I nod and she spins around again as if she wants to run from my presence. Despite her inclination to flee, I looked my fill before she escapes. Once the flush recedes, her porcelain skin appears silky smooth. Definitely soft enough to touch. Her voice flows like syrup, feminine and sweet. The tag on her shirt reads, ‘Angelica’ and if she’s looking for attention from a bunch of men, she’s come to the right place, although that doesn’t seem to be what this stunner wants at all.
She looks as if she wants to disappear.
Regardless, Angelica won’t find a better male to female ratio outside of Alaska. And yet, the image of looking for a provider or a protector just doesn’t fit this woman. Her stiff posture, tucked head and constant blushing says something else. She’s a mystery wrapped up in an enigma. And I’m not sure I have the desire or energy to peel back even one layer, at least not today.
I watch her take another order, careful to keep her body out of arm’s reach of any of the crass dudes in this restaurant, not looking at any of them in the eye – and then she disappears behind the tall, glass pastry case.
I roll my shoulders, mentally blocking out all the conversations and background noise and my curiosity about Angelica right along with it. She’s not my problem. I’ve got enough of them and I sure as hell don’t need another no matter how much my stirring dick begs me to push that aside. The warmth radiating from the fireplace melts some of the ice from my bones, and exhaustion starts to flow over me in waves. If my stomach wasn’t creating an obnoxious ruckus, I’d drive straight home to my trailer and fall into bed.
My rock-hard body is used to physical labor, and this snowy day isn’t any worse than hundreds of others I’ve pushed through. Then why is weariness dogging you as relentlessly as a shadow today?
I don’t know when my eyes drift closed, yet they do, because the aroma of fresh coffee and warm muffins reaches my nose. The steaming mug sits in front of me, hotter than the fire a few feet away. The gorgeous girl came and went without me noticing, but I can see her now, darting around the restaurant, serving fresh coffee drinks and chocolate croissants. Maybe I underestimated her, because she seems to have everything under complete control.
Over the next hour, she comes to my table three times, never saying a word. But she keeps my coffee filled. She doesn’t hover – she doesn’t even ask me if I need anything – but she takes care of me better than my own mother has since I graduated high school. She’s the best thing to happen to Sweetheart Falls in… well, in forever.
Something about that tugs at my gut and an ache settles into my chest.
I can’t help but notice that her quiet confidence is in direct contradiction to her blushing and stammering. I’ve always had a gift with skittish creatures and maybe she’s just one more. The fact that she seems to trust me doesn’t hurt my feelings. Maybe once I’ve had a good night’s sleep I’ll come back here and see if I have the same reaction to her.
Too bad Angelica won’t need any great intuition to realize that the other men treat me like a violent case of the clap. For most women, that would be an oversized billboard shouting at them to stay away, and with my height and size, the last thing I inspire in women is safety. Yet, Angelica approaches this whole interaction differently than I’m used to. Like she instantly labeled me as okay just because I’m not an obnoxious pervert when she has no idea if that’s true at all. And although she’s right in the end – I’d never hurt a woman physically or emotionally and I’d sure as hell never get pushy – her behavior toward me softens something in my chest.
I’m not used to it.
But that doesn’t mean I don’t like it.
I wolf down a bite of muffin, watching Jess try to get handsy again. Cool Beans specializes in their baked goods as well as their dark roast. Normally, a man can make a better cup of coffee than even the best coffeeshop because he can brew it to his particular tastes. But no one does a dark roast better than Len Summers who prides himself on his organic imported beans and it just keeps me coming back again and again. Almost like I’m addicted to the special caffeine rush. But today… the coffee isn’t washing down the moist muffin as much as it usually does.
Because I have a lump of emotion in my throat.
And I’m not sure why.
Then again, maybe I already know.
I’m not in any kind of bromance with Jess – or anyone else in Sweetheart Hills for that matter – but him and his pack of rednecks are regulars here in the afternoon. They have too much time on their lazy hands. I’ve seen them often enough to know they’re misogynistic pieces of shit. Jess’s hair is shaved in a faux hawk, he dresses in camo, plays weekend survival games and too much Grand Theft Auto, all while flashing his AR15 as often as he can and spouting the latest conspiracy theory being peddled by FOX News.