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Those red-and-black eyes.

Those broad shoulders.

Those enormous wings tucked behind him.

And that mouth.

The mouth that was pressed so deliciously against mine just days ago.

The one I can’t seem to stop thinking about.

The way he tasted. The way his lips moved over mine. The rough little sound he made when I kissed him back.

Goddess.

One kiss.

That’s all it took to turn a perfectly rational thirty-eight-year-old woman into someone who now stares at her neighbor’s mouth across diners.

My lips tingle at the memory.

And suddenly, sharing my good news isn’t the only reason I want to see Damian Leeds.

Heat unfurls low in my belly.

Oh, Goddess.

I don't want to talk to Damian.

I don't want to fight with him.

I don't even particularly want to tell him about the reservations anymore.

I just want—him.

I tighten my grip on the bakery box and walk toward the booth.

Damian doesn't take his eyes off me. Not once.

“Good evening.”

“Belinda.”

My name comes out rough.

The Sheriff glances between us.

“Well, hello there. I'm Sheriff Owen Randall. I don't believe we've met.”

“Um, hi.”

I barely glance his way.

Rude? Definitely.

But Damian's eyes are glowing brighter.

And why is it suddenly so warm in here?