His pierced brow arched like the question confused him. “Fine? You?”
“I’m great. Thanks for asking. I’ll have a vanilla latte and three mini chocolate caramel scones.” They’re mini. They barely count as one.
“Name?”
One day, when she hired staff, she’d ask them to not sound bored. “Hailey,” she said, watching as he wrote her name wrong on the cup.
She shuffled to the end of the high countertop, continuing her visual inventory of how her shop was different than this one. There was a free online marketing course that her cousin had sent her a link to. She needed to register for it.
A man at a corner table caught her gaze. A little zip of energy—like a shot of caffeine—whipped through her body. She tried to shake it off even as she smiled at him. His dark blond hair, square jaw, and strong shoulders were tempting. Beyond tempting if she was honest with herself, but she needed to keep herself on track.
She’d pushed aside her own dreams for a man for too long. She’d thought she was building a life with her ex, Dorian. While he took small acting gigs, she paid the bills and supported them, thinking her turn would be next.
But her turn never came. Selling the tiny apartment she’d been smart enough to buy in L.A. when she first arrived there had been her saving grace. The reason she could move to San Verde and really start fresh. It was less than two hours away but felt like a different world. One where she could breathe. Maybe even thrive. This time, nothing was holding her back. Not even his cute dimples and sexy, assessing gaze. She’d been fooled once with a pretty exterior. Now, she knew better.
The grunty barista set her scones on the counter. She opened the pack and snuck a piece, holding in the sigh as the delicious taste hit her tongue. There was very little chocolate couldn’t cure. One more bite. Forcing herself to close the bag until she was back in her own place, she grabbed the drink she’d ordered, offering an unacknowledged “thanks.”
Turning, she nearly spilled her latte all over the man she’d been watching. He stood close enough for her to notice he smelled almost as good as the scones. Which was fine. Flowers smelled good, too. Didn’t mean she wouldn’t accidentally kill them within three days.
“Hi,” he said, a hint of those dimples appearing. Like a yummy preview of coming attractions.
Nope. Stay strong. Dimple immunity shields activate. “Hi.”
“I would have bought that for you if you’d given me a chance,” he said.
Hailey glanced around in case he was talking to someone else, but his dark blue eyes were locked on her. Cute or not, he needed a better opening line. “I’m perfectly capable of purchasing my own snacks and drinks, thanks.”
He frowned. “Why don’t we sit down? I have a table right there.” His eyes traveled along her body and she noted the spark of heat when they met her gaze again.
Not even Harry Styles’s dimples could excuse his resigned tone. “I’m good, thanks.”
Someone else joined the waiting area, making it hard for her to sidestep him and leave.
He sighed. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
Oh, good Lord. Even when I’m not trying, I attract the wrong ones. A high-pitched, thankfully short, laugh burst free. “That’s what they all say.” Actually, none of them said that. But he didn’t need to know that.
He stepped back, his square jaw dropping. His blue eyes flashed with … hurt? She watched him gather himself, straighten his shoulders before speaking again. “Is this some sort of game to you?” His whispered words held a hint of embarrassment.
Okay, then. He’s a few tomatoes short of a full salad. Time to shut it down. Hailey stepped to the side so others could collect their purchases. “I have no clue what you’re talking about. We don’t know each other.”
He made a dismissive noise. “That’s the whole point, isn’t it?”
No! The point was chocolate! “I’m sorry. I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else.”
“Really. So, you’re not Hayden?”
Huh? She shook her head, realization dawning. Empathy welled up in her chest. He really was waiting for someone. But not her. She leaned in. “I’m not.”
Hailey wasn’t sure what she expected, but it wasn’t to have him cross his arms over his wide chest and look pointedly at her beverage. “Then explain your cup.”
Her emotions were giving her whiplash. His tone sent her right back to irritated. “What about my cup?” She turned the white container slowly, saying the letters as they appeared. “H-a-y … wait.” The not-so-capable barista had printed “Hayden” on her cup. Damn.