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Fire rose to her cheeks. Fierce blue eyes stared down at her from beneath the brim of his Stetson and Juniper wanted to stuff her head in a hole preferably in the middle of the Sahara Desert.
She was going to be sick. “Mr. Blackwood, good morning.” Straightening her shoulders, Juniper smiled.
“Marshall, please. I’m sorry for being late. I had to see Stella off to the airport.”
“Marshall,” Juniper corrected. All the back and forth was giving her mental whiplash. “I thought you were someone else. I uhh…” What else could she say? Her words sort of trailed off along with her thoughts.
“No need to explain. We’ve all had our moments.”
Yes, apparently she had more than most. And the recent ones all seemed to happen in front of Marshall.
He stepped all the way into her shop and the scent of his mild aftershave wafted along the warm air currents of the overhead vents.
Clean and fresh. That had to be another bullet point on her man list. If it wasn’t, she would remedy that.
“Where are my manners? Morning, ladies. I thought maybe I could pick up on that rain-check from yesterday morning. I need to get some work done, and I don’t know about you but only a good cup of coffee can hold this cold at bay. Would you like to join me? I thought we could work down at the cafe I spotted. I passed it on the way here. Maybe one of those cinnamon rolls Stella picked up yesterday would be good too.”
“My treat,” he continued when she didn’t speak.
“That would be lovely. Let me grab my planner and my bag then we can head out.”
She ducked upstairs and threw a few things into her shoulder bag, her movements quick and decisive.
“Here let me help.”
He took her bag, his fingers brushing against hers. Warm, strong. She thought about how her hand felt in his yesterday.
Juniper, my friend, you are royally screwed.
