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Harrison shuts the door to his shop and steps closer. “I’m waiting.” His hands are on his hips, and I want to literally die right now.
I can’t explain this. Not even a little bit.
“I thought you’d take a Saturday night off like most owners of coffee shops.” I really didn’t think he’d be at Mug Life.
When Lennon told me there’d be live music at his shop, I had to check it out. How could I not?
He cracks a grin, and it’s incredibly sexy. I have a hard time looking away.
He crosses his arms over his broad chest and leans against the building. “Let me get this straight. You’ve now spied on my shop twice, and I haven’t even gotten to see your place at all.”
“That’s your own fault, not mine.” I fiddle with my hair.
He laughs lightly. “So, I’m thinking I need a tour of your place.”
I’m nodding, obviously not going to let him anywhere near my shop. “Sure.” I need to bail. “Come by anytime.”
He smiles. “Sure thing.” He pushes off the building and drops his hands. “Speaking of,” he says, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Let’s go right now.”
My eyes widen. “Now?” I blink. “Like right now?”
“That is what I said.”
Think February, think. “Um, sure.” I step closer to the door of Mug Life to tell Lennon her job of spying is over, but Harrison blocks the door.
“Aren’t we going?”
I glance into his shop, trying my best to telepathically speak to Lennon, but she’s laughing with Paxton and a few other people, obviously not paying attention to my plight. “Yes, we’re going.” I turn. “Let’s go.”
The cool night air brushes over me, making my hair float around my face. Harrison stays close to my side as we walk the few blocks over to my shop.
There are few people out, and when we reach my shop, I pull out my keys to open the door.
“You’re not open on a Saturday night?” he asks me as we step inside.
I shake my head. “In my experience, people don’t really drink coffee this late.” Even though his shop was pumping. Maybe I should reconsider my hours.
He walks in and glances around. “Wow, you really like the color pink, huh?” His eyes catch mine and I smile.
“Yeah. I wanted the inside of my shop to look like a bubblegum explosion,” I joke.
He laughs lightly. “Well, mission accomplished.”
I study my shop, remembering the day I opened like yesterday. My whole family had come into town. My mother and her two sisters helped hang the pink chalkboard. January, my sister, wrote all the specials with a dark-pink piece of chalk. My father and Uncle Frank helped hang the blush-toned sconces that line up along the walls. Plush pink cushions line the seating area. January and I hung the delicate fairy lights that twinkle, casting a subtle glow. Artistic touches of pink flowers and elegant wall art decorate the walls, making this shop one of my most favorite places on earth.
“Can I see the back of your shop?” he asks with a hint of mischievousness laced in his words.
“Are you trying to spy? Are you looking for my latte recipe?”
He holds up his hands in mock surrender. “I’d never.”
I narrow my eyes, a subtle challenge flickering in my gaze. “Fine, this way.” I say the words with a hint of reluctance as I lead him to the back of the shop. The rich smell of coffee beans lingers in the air, and the subdued lighting adds a touch of romance eventhough the situation does not call for it.
Why am I thinking about romance when he’s standing this close to me?
He studies the place like there’s an exam later on the contents. “I have this. How do you like it?” He points to an old espresso machine.
“I hated it. Hence, why it’s back here and not out front.”
