Page 56 of Library or Lattes?

I moved my eyes slowly, up over his sharp jawline and his lips, until they met his eyes again. “Carter’s not my type …”

“What is your type?”

Well, that was easy. “Guys who blow hot and cold every two seconds … guys who give me nicknames because of the color of my hair, guys who remember my favorite mug, and steal my first—”

And I didn’t even get to finish, because he was kissing me again. Across the table, our hands reaching desperately for each other. He found my wrist and guided me around, his lips still pressed to mine. He turned to face me and reached for my waist, leading me onto his lap, my legs around his waist. My hands were in his hair, his hands were lost in mine, then down my back, mine on his shoulders …

A knock at the window.

I spun around to see Linda Snell peeking through the window, then turning to talk to someone else. I shielded my face, climbed off James, and rushed behind the counter, unable to contain my laughter.

“No way she knew it was me,” I laughed. “This hair, blends right in.”

James smiled. “This town. Was it always like this? I can’t remember.” He leaned on the counter beside me.

“You don’t notice this stuff when you’re a kid. Only when you get older and people like Linda Snell read your medical records and think nothing of telling everyone at church that you got poison ivy on your butt.” I laughed, and I could have cried because of how great it felt to forget all the other stuff for a while.

“On your butt?” James raised his eyebrows.

“Yes on my butt. Disaster.” After a quick glance at the window, he pulled me toward him again, and I was still laughing as we kissed.

And after we separated, there was a moment. A silence. But not a bad one. One I didn’t need to fill but did anyway.

“I feel it too,” I said quietly. “All of it.”

James glanced at the floorboards, then found my eyes. “Well, thank God for that, Red.” He grinned. Then he looked pensive for a second. “Can I show you something?”

I nodded and he turned to the coffee machine in front of us. “When I was looking through that notebook you gave me, I saw all those great recipes you wrote down, and I tried to come up with some of my own.” He left me at the counter and picked up the notebook from the table we’d been sitting at. He flipped through some pages. “Like here. Maple bacon espresso, pecan pie cappuccino, and even candy cane lattes for the holidays. What do you think?” He looked over for my reaction.

“Those sound great,” I agreed, stood, and walked over beside him. I didn’t want to be anywhere else. He was using the coffee machine again. “Maybe not bacon coffee, though.”

“What? That was my favorite one!” He added something to the coffee cup. “Wait until you taste this, it’s your pumpkin spice latte but with a twist. I added extra ginger and a dash of caramel. Tell me what you think?”

I waited patiently as he tried to draw a heart in the foam, looking embarrassed.

The heart was crooked, but the coffee was perfectly sweet and so delicious.

“What do you think? Do you like it?” he asked.

“It’s great, James. Really great.” I put the cup down and when I looked up, he was staring right at me. His brown eyes twinkled in the soft golden glow of the coffee shop, and I had the urge to move closer. To trace my hand along his jaw, because earlier had not been enough. I was drawn to him like a magnet.

He put his hands on my face. Shock waves.

“Hey, I forgot to ask you what your type was …” I whispered.

He tilted my head back and gazed into my eyes. “Girls who steal baseballs from cool boys …” He kissed me gently on the mouth, then pulled away. “Girls who make the whole world brighter when they walk in the door …” Another kiss, deeper this time. “Girls who make me forget I ever wanted to be anywhere but here …”

And as if to make his point even clearer, he kissed me yet again. Softly, with the cuffs of his flannel shirt brushing my skin, his fingers on my cheeks, underneath my hair. Then harder, deeper, like he was trying to tell how much it meant. And when he pulled away, breathless, he rested his forehead on mine. “Red,” he whispered. And the way he said it. The way his breath caught and he looked into my eyes. It made my legs almost give way.

It was perfect.

When we eventually separated, the world was still. Like we were in a movie and everything had changed to slow motion.

And then my mind cleared, and everything—Lennie, the letters, the decision—it hit me again, all at once.

“Are you okay?” he asked. He reached over and touched the crease between my eyes.

“Are you sure you want to know?” I asked, biting my lip and hoping he would say yes.