Page 1

CHAPTER ONE

HAZEL

After the longest day in the history of long days, I glance at the clock and breathe a sigh of relief. Two minutes left until I can escape for the day. Honestly, my job isn’t hard, and I actually love it. Most days. But today, I’m PMS’ing, and the Corner Mart was out of gummy Nerd clusters. No further explanation needed.

By three after five, the last stragglers make their way out the front door, and I lock up behind them, ready to head over to Nonnie Laine’s house for our usual Sushi Tuesday.

I make it outside, into the thick Texas heat, and instantly start sweating in unmentionable spaces. My thighs are sticking together, my curls are already escaping the bun like rats from a sinking ship, and I’m pretty sure my deodorant is having a hard time keeping up. But for some reason, I can’t stop grinning.

Tuesdays at Nonnie’s are my favorite. We inhale spicy tuna rolls and watch reality TV in an apartment that smells like vintage books and Chanel No. 5.

Walking the two blocks over is basically my cardio for the week, and by the time I get to The Happy Chopstick, my blouse is sticking to my back, and the escaped curls are staging a full-scale rebellion. The AC in there is set to penguin habitat and, oh my God, it’s heaven.

First thing that hits me: fried rice. Sharp and hot and salty, straight to the brain. My mood? Instantly better. My order’s already waiting on the counter, exactly where it always is, and I make a beeline for it. I flash a quick wave to Mr. Yamada, who’s on the phone but still manages a tired smile.

I hustle back the three blocks to #1 Love Place. Nonnie doesn’t have a car, so I always park in her assigned parking spot in the apartment garage. It’s close to work and our favorite sushi spot. It’s honestly the only way I can afford sushi twice a week because downtown parking in Worthington Hills is criminal.

I step into the busy lobby, balancing my tote, the takeout bag, and my phone, and promptly collide with a brick wall. Except it’s not a wall. It’s a man.

Correction: it’s the man I’ve been secretly lusting after for weeks. Tall and broad and so real he basically blocks out the sun. My face is like two inches from a perfect chest in a suit that probably cost more than my monthly rent. I look up, way up, and oh my God.

He’s so freaking unfairly handsome. His jaw is all angles and stubble, square and stubborn, the kind of jaw you see in cologne ads. His lips are full and smirking, and I could write an essay about his cheekbones alone. But it’s his eyes that kill me. Ice blue. Intense. They lock onto mine, and I swear I stop breathing.

Those eyes crinkle at the corners when he grins, like he’s in on some private joke. And suddenly, my pulse skyrockets. I’m honestly shocked my knees don’t buckle. We’re standing so close, I can smell his dark, expensive, and scandalous cologne.

He leans in, his hand still wrapped around my upper arm. Warm. Steady. Capable of lifting me with one pinky finger, probably.

“You okay?” His voice is unfair. It’s deep and smooth, total command in three syllables.

I try for an actual sound, but what comes out is closer to a frog in a blender. “Yeah. I’m just—I mean, you’re really tall.”

Nailed it, Hazel. Real smooth.

His smirk kicks up. “And you’re… adorable.”

I’m not sure if the word adorable is a compliment, but I’m taking it anyway.

My cheeks are on fire, and I literally forget how to move. We’re just standing there, blocking the lobby, my takeout dangling from one hand and his fingers still curled around my arm like I might bolt if he lets go.

Oh, God. Say something, I order my frozen brain, but nothing happens. Zilch. Nada.

He’s staring at me like I’m dessert. Like he could skip dinner and just eat me up in one bite. My heart is doing gymnastics, Olympic-level stuff, while my brain short-circuits. I blink. Once. Twice. My tongue is apparently glued to the roof of my mouth, which is awesome for me, because I have absolutely no idea how normal people talk to men who look like literal sin in a Tom Ford suit. If there’s a world record for awkward silence, we’re shattering it right here in the middle of the lobby.

He’s still watching me like he’s trying to figure something out. His grip is gentle but firm, and it takes a legitimate second for my brain to reboot.

Words. Right. Those would be good right now.

“I’m—I’m sorry,” I finally manage, waving my sad little sushi bag between us. “For, um, running into you. I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

He grins, slow and predatory, and it feels like the whole air shifts. “Best collision I’ve had all week. Hell, best part of my day.”

Oh. Wow. My ability to speak flips over and dies right on the spot.

He’s one hundred percent enjoying this.

I try for dignity, which goes about as well as you’d expect. “Well, uh. Glad to be of service. I mean, I wasn’t planning on knocking anybody over, but you were in my way.” Oh my God, kill me. “Not that you look like you get knocked over a lot. Sorry. I’m going to stop talking.”

He laughs, and it’s unfair. Like, genuinely illegal. Deep and rough, the rumble causes electricity to flow down the center of my body and straight to my core. “Please don’t stop. Listening to you is the highlight of my day.”