“I bet you need a coffee,” he said in a softer tone, leading me to the counter. “It’s pretty early.”
“Yes. Americano, please.”
He turned away to start making it, and I stared at his large, strong hands as he measured the grounds, packed them, and pulled the shot. It was obvious that he loved his work in the way he was so methodical, yet still smiling.
Turning to the other side, I couldn’t help sniffing the air, and was surprised when he laughed loudly. “Freshly roasted batch of beans,” he explained. “Kevin is back there pouring some of it into bags, so it’s going to smell amazing out here for a while.”
I returned his smile as he set the cup and saucer in front of me on the counter. I paid him, and he flashed a wink, tucking a biscotti onto
my saucer.
“A welcome gift, since it’s your first time here,” he grinned.
I found myself smiling back. He was distractingly handsome. “Wow. Thanks.”
He hesitated, as if he was trying to think of something else to say. Looking up at him, I was torn in two between wanting to leave so that I could breathe again, and needing to stay so that I could admire him further.
A loud doorbell rang from the back of the shop, and he rolled his eyes, chuckling to me. “Deliveries,” he shrugged.
As he walked away, I admired the way he was so graceful for such a big, almost hulking guy. Glancing around the room, I noticed that I was one of at least four women who accidentally snuck a peek before he disappeared to the back area.
I settled at the corner table, taking a sip of coffee. It was incredible. Bold and deep, with a few notes of both sweetness and smoke. Perfectly balanced.
The biscotti was richer than I expected, the dark chocolate drizzle complementing the coffee just right. I realized with delight that I’d found a new coffee shop. Even the light jazz playing didn’t have vocals, so it was perfect for mental focus.
Losing myself completely in my work, I didn’t notice that an hour and a half had passed until I looked up to see the shop nearly full, and the big man who seemed like the owner walking toward me.
“I’m sorry, I’ll leave,” I said quickly. “I know I’ve been here too long.”
“No, not at all,” he said. “I just wondered what you were working on, and if you needed another coffee, or a glass of water.”
“Oh. I’m fine, thanks. I’m a web designer.”
His grin was utterly dazzling. “You’re kidding.”
I didn’t know what he meant. “No, I’m really a web designer. Freelance, but I used to work at an agency.”
His deep chuckle was warm and rumbling. “No, I mean, my biggest stress this morning was trying to find someone to redesign our website. And you just happen to be here already. That’s a sign, right?”
Straightening up, I realized that he was no longer the cafe owner, he was a potential client. I did need new clients, and one as handsome as this might actually teach me how to speak to men more smoothly. This could be an important learning experience.
“I could send you a link to my portfolio,” I said, trying to increase my volume and poise, pretending to be as normal as possible.
“Do you have a minute right now?”
“Sure.” Better to get through this immediately, I thought.
He pulled a chair over and sat very close beside me. There was something about him that made the deepest part of my stomach stir. He seemed so warm, so intensely masculine. I’d never been so aware of physical proximity, as his shoulder brushed mine.
Calling up my portfolio, I slowly scrolled through some of the sites I’d made for a local shoe store, several restaurants, and several jewelry and fashion stores.
“I love the photos,” he said. “Very natural. None of that over-contrasted, filtered stuff. Do your clients supply the photos?”
“No, I do that as well.”
He grinned, nodding. “Very impressive.” His hand darted out. “Dave Lawrence.”
“Valerie Michaels.” He held my hand gently but firmly, and my heart jumped a bit from his touch.