Ben Jensen.
Flannel. Beard. The whole gruff outdoorsman fantasy package, complete with an expression like he’d rather wrestle a bear than engage in small talk.
I opened my mouth and closed it again. Because honestly, what was I going to say?“Hi, I’m the woman you probably still associate with barnyard trauma and soap mishaps. Welcome to my haunt!”
He moved past me to the counter and muttered something about espresso. I tried not to notice the way his voice made my spine tingle. Or the way his dark hair curled slightly at the nape of his neck like it was contractually obligated to be sexy.
Nope. Not thinking about that.
I refocused on my laptop and promised myself I was totally fine.
Totally composed.
Totally…flushed.
I touched my cheeks. Oh my gosh. They were on fire.
I was on fire.
From behind the counter, Abby, the owner and high priestess of this caffeine cathedral, gave methe look.
You know the one.
TheI saw that and I have questions, look.
She raised one perfectly penciled brow and walked over to me.
“Well, well,” she whispered. “Is that your mysterious guest lumbering in for espresso like he’s got unfinished business with the beans?”
I groaned. “No comment, Abby.”
She grinned. “I’m just saying, Fifi. You’ve got that emotionally-rattled-by-flannel glow.”
“I donot,” I hissed. “And how do you know he’s a guest at our place?”
“Your sister called and told me a hunk was on the way to grab espresso and to make sure you were still here before he arrived.” She grinned wider.
“So ridiculous. He’s not my type. He’s a grump on steroids.”
“Your ears are pink.”
“They run warm!”
Abby poured espresso as if she were casting a love spell. “So. You up for book club later?”
I blinked, grateful for the change in subject. “Oh. Maybe? I’ll have to see what time we finish prep at the lodge.”
“We’re starting at six. If you show up late again, you have to bring wine and a dramatic reading voice.”
I smiled, relaxing into the familiar cadence of our banter. “Deal. What are we reading again?”
“Enemies-to-lovers wilderness romance. Lots of unresolved tension and pine trees.”
I deadpanned. “Too soon, Abby.”
She winked. “I’ll put you down for chapter six in a week.”
Ben, meanwhile, had accepted his espresso without so much as a smile and was making his way toward the door again. He brushed past my table with that same unintentional grace-meets-grit thing he had going on, and this time… he glanced at me.
