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She accidentally rammed her foot against the island, and pain shot up her foot at the collision. She hopped on one foot and squeezed the offending toe as she glared at the cabinet.
Stop mooning over some dream man. He doesn’t exist, and never will. You’re more likely to see a freaking vampire or werewolf, for God’s sakes.
After a hurried breakfast, she drove into town to shop for furniture. She exited the car and stretched her sore muscles with a grimace. Last night had done nothing for her posture, to say the least. She longed for a hot shower—or better yet, a long soak in the huge tub that she now owned—and soft Egyptian cotton sheets and feather pillows. She stalked into the furniture store determined to take care of the latter.
Hours later, she emerged from the same doors with a sense of accomplishment. Tomorrow, she’d be sleeping in luxury and comfort—something she’d taken for granted until last night. Her stomach growled, and a glance at her watch revealed it was already one forty-five in the afternoon. The tea and croissant she’d indulged in that morning no longer held the gnawing hunger at bay. She stood in indecision as she debated whether or not she had enough time to grab a bite to eat before the security company arrived.
A tavern stood just up the road, and she approached it cautiously, given its ramshackle appearance. The exterior boasted of red brick, and the sign that hung over the door appeared to be hand-painted, lending it a quaint touch that lured Sabrina to give the place a try. Outside the faded green door, where paint peeled off in more places than it remained, a homeless man had an empty jar in front of him as he dozed in the mid-afternoon sun.
Deciding to take a chance, she withdrew a few Euros, dropped it in the man’s jar—got rewarded with a snore as he jerked awake—and entered. Seated immediately in a dark wood booth topped by a mustard-yellow tabletop, she surveyed her surroundings. The single light hanging from the ceiling flickered in the middle of the small room, casting a gloomy tone upon the whole interior.
“Hello, ma’am. Welcome to McGuiness. May I take your order?” asked the waitress.
Her faded nametag had Patti imprinted on it…though the P had long ago been rubbed away to look like an F. She laughed inwardly at the image. Fatti…uh…Patti glanced up from her pad and her jaw dropped.
Sabrina studied her menu, uncomfortable under the weight of the waitress’s stare. She’d been told she was gorgeous often enough, but the scrutiny always made her uneasy. Petite, she stood at only five-foot-two, but voluptuous curves graced her in her hips and bust, leaving her resembling anything but a waif-like model. She also knew her green eyes were a unique moss color that sparkled, but in her opinion her hair ruined all of these attributes. Though it was a beautiful shade of brown with red highlights streaked throughout the curls, it tended to be a frizzy mess most of the time. Less Shakira, and more Chia Pet, to be precise.
“I’ll have the chicken cordon bleu and a baked potato and corn, please. Oh, and could I also have a cup of tea, no cream or sugar?” She lifted her gaze from the menu, pleased to see Patti had regained her composure.
“Sure, doll. Are you visiting the area? I noticed your accent. American?”
“Yes, American. But no, I’m not visiting. I moved here. Just yesterday.”
“Oh. Well, welcome. You live in town?”
“No, on Wear Bay Road by the cliffs.” She smiled politely.
“Oh, how nice. Well, I’ll go get your tea and bring your salad. House dressing?”
“Sure.”
Patti scurried away to the kitchen, and Sabrina shifted in her seat. Silence surrounded her, no one else in sight. Only the sound of clanging of pots and the low laughter escaping the kitchen as the door swung on its hinge met her ears. She tapped her fingers on the table, and her foot moved in perfect harmony. The sound of bells ringing disrupted her one-woman band, and she glanced in relief at the door.
Who would it be? An old man? A honeymooning couple? Instead of smiling as she had intended to do, her mouth dropped open, and she forgot to breathe.
The man of her dreams had just entered the same room as her.
Literally—the man from her dreams last night was here.
He strode into the room confidently before coming to an abrupt halt. His gaze focused on her as his eyes widened and he paled. She knew with certainty her face mirrored his stunned expression.
She took a gulping breath, and the air burned her aching lungs. In her shock, she’d forgotten the small necessity of breathing. Confusion came over her as the blood returned to her brain. Wait, why did he stare at her like he’d just seen a ghost?
Sabrina bit her lip as he lifted his foot to take a step toward her, but he froze. His brow furrowed, and his eyes remained locked on her face. Patti breezed by him, delivering the promised tea and salad before turning to greet the man. Sabrina watched as he tore his gaze from hers to converse with Patti. She strained to catch the muted undertones of their conversation—and failed. The man looked once more toward Sabrina before exiting.
She fought down her irritation at the nameless man, angry he’d stopped himself from approaching her side earlier. And even more so that he had left without coming to speak to her.
He obviously wanted to, so what made him stop?
When Patti returned, Sabrina warred with herself over whether to question the waitress about him. In the end, her curiosity won out over the years of etiquette drilled into her by her parents and teachers.
“So, dear, how is your tea?” Patti asked.
“E
xcellent, thanks.” She cocked her head to the side and studied Patti. “Is the man who came in here earlier your friend? He looked kinda familiar to me.”
“He’s a regular customer, a local bloke. He wanted to talk to his friend who works here.” She gave a sharp nod of her head. “I told him Connor had off today, but he’d be in tomorrow afternoon. So he’ll probably come back.”
