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She had to get control of this.
There was a reason she’d consistently rebuffed Caleb’s overtures. Actually, there were several, starting with her only enjoying his company as a friend, progressing to the fact he was her boss and her role here was too comfortable to jeopardise, and finishing with the most important fact of all: she couldn’t do anything to destabilise Dashiell’s life. She had decided from the moment she’d taken custody that she wouldn’t date. She wouldn’t let anyone burst into the bubble she’d created for the two of them, and sadly, that meant that no matter how vivid her fantasies were, they had to remain exactly that: fantasies.
“She’s a total workaholic,” Melody explained, moving towards Alessio.
Alessio’s frown etched lines in his face that Charlotte wanted to trace with her fingertip. She shoved her hands in her pockets to blot that temptation from becoming reality.
“It fits my schedule,” she explained away quickly. “Is there something I can help you with?”
“Coffee,” he confirmed with a nod. “I presume that machine out there isn’t purely ornamental?”
“No,” she agreed. “It’s still early.”
“Yes?”
“I just meant…why are you awake?”
“I always wake up early. Like you, I prefer to get a jump on my work.”
“Ah. Which is,” Melody interjected, coming to the rescue of Charlotte, who was finding it almost impossible to form sensible thoughts. “Let me guess. Banking?”
Alessio gave Melody the full force of his attention which was even more disastrous for Charlotte, who could now study him unobserved.
“No.”
“Hmm. But something in finance?”
“Finance is involved in my job.”
Melody tilted her head to the side and Charlotte felt a pang of envy for her best friend then, who was beautiful, graceful, and oh so confident with men. Whereas Charlotte had never felt particularly good at flirting.
“You’re an estate agent?”
Charlotte couldn’t help the little laugh that escaped.
He turned back to her with a quirk of his lips. “You don’t think I could sell houses?”
“Oh, I think you could sell ice to Eskimos, actually,” she corrected, looking away quickly when she realised what that admission sounded like. “Anyway. I’ll go switch on the machine. It takes a while to boot up, so don’t feel you have to wait around. I can bring the coffee to you.”
She skipped from the room without waiting for a response, and a minute later, was joined by Melody. Or rather, passed by Melody, who was making a beeline for the front door of the pub.
“You’re going?” Charlotte pleaded to her best friend’s retreating back.
“Oh, yeah,” Melody winked over her shoulder. “I’m going to finish my run. You’d better believe I’ll call you later.” Heat stained Charlotte’s cheeks as the front door slammed shut and a moment later, Melody’s slim figure buzzed past the window.
And then, he was there, filling the space of the bar as he had the night before.
“How do you take your coffee?” She asked, though the machine was several minutes off ready.
“In the morning? Black with a dash of steamed milk.”
“But only the morning?”
“Only the morning.”
She had heard that about Italians—the milky, frothy drinks were only for sometimes, not to be enjoyed at all hours of the day.
“What brings you to Morincester?”
