***
I check the clock for the umpteenth time, then chastise myself for doing it. Again.
Why am I constantly looking to see what time it is?
Maybe it’s because you really thought Jasper would come by this morning for the muffin.
Then I just get mad at myself all over again, hoping he’ll actually come by this morning, but it’s not looking too good, considering it’s almost ten. Jasper’s usually at the restaurant way before now, which means he’s probably prepping for lunch and not giving me or the muffin a second thought.
I wish someone would consider my muffin…
Wait.
What?
Where did that thought come from?
Maybe it’s the fact I haven’t dated in a really long time, not that you have to date to have sex. It’s just never been my thing. I’ve always found value in relationships. Getting to know and eventually trusting someone with your body and your heart. Those butterflies in your belly and the little touches and glances that make your heartbeat kick up with excitement.
I miss dating, but there has been no time for it as of late. Sure, I’ve considered making time, but that’s hard when you’re building a business and taking care of your brother.
I’m sure this annoying flutter in my stomach and the anticipation that fills my chest when I think about Jasper is merely because it’s been so dang long since I’ve been on a date. Or had sex for that matter, but we’re not going there. And we’re definitely not going there with thoughts of Jasper.
Jasper.
And sex.
Jasper and sex.
Sex with Jasper.
I groan out loud just as Daisy pops her head around the doorway. “Hey, Lyn. Someone’s here for you,” she states with a quick smile before disappearing back up front.
Wiping my hands on my apron, I follow in her wake and stumble to a stop as soon as I push through the swinging doors. Jasper is here. He’s standing back, away from the counter, and talking to my brother, and my eyes are drawn to his professional khakis and polo shirt.
“Hey,” he says, throwing a wave my way.
Flustered, I start to make my way in his direction, but suddenly stop and turn around. I grab a small white bag and slip one of the white chocolate cranberry muffins I made fresh this morning inside. I’d love to say it was completely on my own, but that would be a lie. I made them specifically with him in mind. Fortunately, I had plenty of cranberries to whip up a few batches of muffins for today.
When I slip back through the doorway, Jasper takes a sip from his coffee cup and catches my gaze. Something softens in those dark chocolate orbs, something that causes a zing to rush through my veins.
“Here,” I rush out, practically thrusting the bag into his hand.
Why am I acting so weird?
“Is this what I think it is?” he asks, sparkling eyes searching the contents of the little bag.
“Maybe,” I reply, finding myself grinning.
Jasper takes a sip of his hot coffee. “Well, I don’t have much time. I’m still short an assistant chef. Thanks for this,” he adds, holding up the bag.
“You’re welcome. Anytime.”
He doesn’t move, but neither do I. We stand there, like two idiots, just staring at each other, grinning. How long we stand there, I have no idea, but the bell over the door snaps us both out of the trance we’re lost in.
“Well,” I start, clearing my throat.
“Yeah, well,” he replies quickly, taking another sip of his drink.
“I should,” I stammer, pointing my thumb over my shoulder indicating the kitchen.
“Yeah, I should too,” he states, finally taking a step toward the entrance. “I’ll talk to you soon.”
“Okay.”
I don’t even realize I’m not breathing until he’s out the door and pauses before crossing the street. I watch him go, mesmerized by the way he moves, as I suck in greedy gasps of oxygen. He reaches the big wooden front door of Burgers and Brew and hesitates.
Don’t turn around. Don’t turn around.
My heart stops beating as he turns around and meets my gaze through the window, holding it for several long seconds. Then, with the slightest smile on his gorgeous lips, he slips inside and disappears. It’s only then do I feel myself relax.
“Someone has a crush,” my brother sings, causing me to jump.
“Oh, hey, Dust. I didn’t realize you were right behind me.”
He grins. “Obviously, or you wouldn’t have been standing there, gawking and drooling.”
I make a face, much like a sister does to her little brother. Except, usually not when she’s in her thirties. “Shut up, I was not.”
He snorts a laugh. “Okay,” he argues sarcastically, clearly not believing me. “I’m going to bring up those pies now.”
“I’ll help,” I say, glancing one last time back to where Jasper disappeared.
“I got it. You go ahead and stay here, spy on the neighbor, and pretend like you’re not,” he teases before turning around, the squeak of his walker wheels mocking me as he goes.
“Stop being stupid, Lyn,” I mumble, steeling my spine and prepared to push Jasper right out of my head. I have things to do. Very important things. I have no time for silly fantasies about rich chocolate eyes and a panty-melting grin.
I glance back across the street, picturing exactly how amazing his ass looked in khaki pants.
Or how his shirt molded oh so snuggly to his chest beneath his coat.
And what about those lips? The ones I can picture so vividly, how soft and firm they’d be sliding down my neck.
“Ugh,” I groan, retreating to the confines of my kitchen.
Far, far away from the restaurant across the street…
And the sexy man inside.
Chapter Thirteen
Jasper
Holy fuck, we are busy.
I’d expect nothing less on a Friday night, but it’s not helping when we’re a man down. Doug, the assistant chef for the evening shift, called off sick, and Ross is out of town visiting his daughter and son-in-law, so I can’t even call him in to help. We still haven’t hired a lunch shift assistant, so I couldn’t ask that person to stay. Mark is here doing what he can to man the prep station and the fryers, but it’s a struggle. It probably doesn’t help I’m barking at him every two seconds, but I can’t seem to help it.
I’m flustered.
I’m frustrated.
And dammit, I’m exhausted.
Yet, I won’t complain. This is what I signed up for. Busting my ass in this kitchen is what I do, and I’ll continue to do so, making sure every order is right before it goes out.
“We’re getting backed up out there,” Isaac says, blowing through the doorway and annoying everyone like a bad rash.
“We’re doing the best we fucking can!” I holler, adding to the tension already fog-thick in the kitchen.
“I know, I know. How can I help?” he asks, approaching, but also not getting too close.
“Grab those fries before they burn and add some salt. Divide the batch between these three plates and get them out to the damn table,” I bark without removing my concentration from my grill.
“Got it,” he mumbles nervously, stopping only long enough to wash his hands before jumping in to help.