I laughed and leaned in, spellbound by him.
“Let’s see…what else should you know…I played football in high school but I was also a band geek who played the trumpet. I haven’t touched one in years and it would probably be pretty shit-tacular if I tried. And, lastly, I just moved to this tiny town and have a thing for this hot barista-slash-kick-ass-pastry chef I just met.”
My heart skidded to a stop, slamming into my ribs with a sudden thump at his bold declaration. If his goal had been to throw me off track—mission accomplished. I wasn’t just thrown off. I was reeling.
And he knew it.
He grinned down at me like a Cheshire Cat and I felt my cheeks deepen to what I was sure was a lovely shade of pink that probably clashed horribly with the pink in my hair.
“That answer your questions, ma’am?” He asked, his voice dropping to a lower, huskier timbre as he leaned across the counter to close the gap between us.
God help me.
I licked my lips and forced my eyes off of his lips that were inches from mine. “It’s a good place to start,” I replied, throwing him a casual smile. “Next question, what do you like to eat for lunch?” I pointed above to the menu.
Nick held my gaze for a beat longer, then looked up where I was gesturing and roved over the chalkboard menu. “What does Aaron get?”
“What, you need matching lunches with your new bestie?” I asked with a laugh. “How adorable.”
He shot me a playful scowl, unable to iron down the curved edges of his smile. “No, I need a lunch for him too. Might as well double up. I was trying to make it easy on you, but if you insist on giving me shit…”
I held up my hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. He likes the pesto chicken wrap with extra chips and two pickles on the side.”
“Impressive,” he replied, raising his brows. “All right. I’ll bite, but skip the pickles.”
I gave him a mock salute and turned toward the kitchen. I’d gone a few steps before I realized he’d rounded the counter and was following me. “You don’t trust me to make your lunch unsupervised?”
“I do. I just wasn’t ready for the conversation to end,” he shrugged, his answer so matter-of-fact that it disarmed me.
“I see…” I continued into the kitchen and went to the large stainless steel prep area and opened the hood. I kept containers of prepped veggies and condiments in plastic bins inside for easy access, but there were also a few stacks of premade food items. I pulled two pesto chicken wraps from the stack and set them inside a paper box. Nick propped against the opposite end of the counter, watching me work. Having him so close was unnerving. There was something about his easy confidence that both attracted and intimidated me.
I wasn’t used to being so jumpy around a man. But between his dark eyes, chiseled jaw, and lazy smile, I was a basket case.
“Did you start this place from the ground up?” he asked, gesturing around the kitchen.
I nodded and reached for two handfuls of chips to set in the box around the sandwiches. “Yeah. When I got here this place was an old book store that had been abandoned for years. The owner was a longtime resident, but he was old and sick and had been forced to give the place up. It sat vacant for a long time and when I showed up, it still had the bookshelves and this ancient cash register. His family never cleared it out after he passed and the landlord didn’t care since he’d received enough to cover the lease.”
“Wow. And you did this all by yourself?”
I worked at my lower lip with my teeth. Keeping my eyes down, I fussed with the chips in the box, and then picked two pickles from another container and slid them into a wax paper bag and tucked them carefully in the box to keep the juice from spilling. “Mostly. I cleared everything out, painted, decorated. I had some help with renovating this part and turning it into a kitchen. But other than that, yep, just me.”
“Impressive.” Nick took a step closer and I sucked in a breath. He snagged a chip from the box and popped it into his mouth, offering me a smile when my eyes flew to his.
I abandoned the box, needing to put some space between us, and went to get some napkins. “Thanks. It’s a labor of love. I wouldn’t trade this place for anything.”
I handed Nick a stack of napkins and then turned to seal the box shut. “Lunch is served.”
He took the box with another half-cocked smile. “What do I owe ya?”
“Rosen’s card is on file. I’ll charge him.”
Nick nodded. “All right. I’ll give him my share. Probably not a good move to mooch off the boss on day two.”