Chapter One
“Don’t look now, but your lumberjack just came in.”
Using every ounce of restraint she’d ever built up, Sophie kept her eyes steadily in front of her, not looking up from the bakery case she was restocking and most certainly not breathing harder because of the man whose footsteps she could now hear coming her way.
She had more control than that. It took more than muscles…and tattoos…and those thick veins in his arms that some men had, the ones that ran from bicep to forearm and managed to look somehow mix scary motherfucker with hotter-than- hell -please-bend-me-over-the-nearest-chair-and-have-your-way-with-me…
“Sophie, you’re getting red, baby. Don’t be having a heart attack.”
Before Sophie could make the comeback about which worried Jo more – Sophie having a heart attack or the fact Jo would actually have to take on responsibility if that event took place – large booted feet stopped in front of the bakery case.
Leather boots connected to medium-blue denim, which covered muscled thighs Sophie wouldn’t be able to wrap her hands around, which led up to…
Sophie popped up like a jack-in-the-box, a bright smile that might be a shade too bright plastered on her face. “You’re later than usual,” she said, and oh no , was that the right thing to say? He was later, but with her saying it, did it make him think she was stalking his arrival times? Or did he take it as a shop owner knowing her customers?
Before her thoughts could delve too much further down that path, he gave that small smile, his dark blue eyes direct on her.
Sophie loved that smile, no two ways about it. It as easy to make up stories around it, a story which said that he didn’t smile much – not because he was sad, but because he was so reserved, taking everything in and constantly on alert – but somehow she was able to pull this small expression of happiness from him.
“The usual please,” he said, in that voice which had Jo placing a bet the man had gargled with gravel at some point in his life, and Sophie’s heart did its customary jump at the reminder that this man actually had a usual .
It was nothing fancy. A strong, dark macchiato and a turkey sandwich was what he’d ordered that first day he came in over a month ago, and he’d never deviated once from it, though he was almost a daily customer. But since she couldn’t conceive of always eating the same thing, a couple weeks ago she began to slip various pastries into his carryout bag. She never charged him, but since the man always tipped with a ten, she could afford to be generous with him as well.
And that was the reason she gave him the extra goodies, no matter what Jo said. So there.
Besides, it was an adventure, trying to figure out which items he liked. He never mentioned the extra goodie to say, but Sophie noticed that the day after he got the treats that fell on the more savory side, he tended to peruse the case for a few moments, and he looked down at the carryout bag as though he was eager to open it up and see what was inside.
Strange how these days savory baked goods were always available.
As she went about the task of getting his order together, Jo went to clear a few tables, leaving her alone behind the counter. Her mystery man cleared his throat before saying, “It’s busier in here than usual.”
Huh , small talk. He’d never done that before. Keeping her voice even so that no hint of her internal squealing would be evident, Sophie replied, “The afternoon knitting group. You usually arrive before they get here.”
He glanced over as though to verify her words, and indeed, twelve pairs of eyes were locked on him, the older ladies of the group not-so-subtlety checking him out as the needles flew in their hands, appraising looks and yards of yarn left in their wake.
He shifted so his attention was now back on her as she worked on his drink. “They’re kind of scary.”
She leaned forward, speaking in a low
“Don’t look now, but your lumberjack just came in.”
Using every ounce of restraint she’d ever built up, Sophie kept her eyes steadily in front of her, not looking up from the bakery case she was restocking and most certainly not breathing harder because of the man whose footsteps she could now hear coming her way.
She had more control than that. It took more than muscles…and tattoos…and those thick veins in his arms that some men had, the ones that ran from bicep to forearm and managed to look somehow mix scary motherfucker with hotter-than- hell -please-bend-me-over-the-nearest-chair-and-have-your-way-with-me…
“Sophie, you’re getting red, baby. Don’t be having a heart attack.”
Before Sophie could make the comeback about which worried Jo more – Sophie having a heart attack or the fact Jo would actually have to take on responsibility if that event took place – large booted feet stopped in front of the bakery case.
Leather boots connected to medium-blue denim, which covered muscled thighs Sophie wouldn’t be able to wrap her hands around, which led up to…
Sophie popped up like a jack-in-the-box, a bright smile that might be a shade too bright plastered on her face. “You’re later than usual,” she said, and oh no , was that the right thing to say? He was later, but with her saying it, did it make him think she was stalking his arrival times? Or did he take it as a shop owner knowing her customers?
Before her thoughts could delve too much further down that path, he gave that small smile, his dark blue eyes direct on her.
Sophie loved that smile, no two ways about it. It as easy to make up stories around it, a story which said that he didn’t smile much – not because he was sad, but because he was so reserved, taking everything in and constantly on alert – but somehow she was able to pull this small expression of happiness from him.
“The usual please,” he said, in that voice which had Jo placing a bet the man had gargled with gravel at some point in his life, and Sophie’s heart did its customary jump at the reminder that this man actually had a usual .
It was nothing fancy. A strong, dark macchiato and a turkey sandwich was what he’d ordered that first day he came in over a month ago, and he’d never deviated once from it, though he was almost a daily customer. But since she couldn’t conceive of always eating the same thing, a couple weeks ago she began to slip various pastries into his carryout bag. She never charged him, but since the man always tipped with a ten, she could afford to be generous with him as well.
And that was the reason she gave him the extra goodies, no matter what Jo said. So there.
Besides, it was an adventure, trying to figure out which items he liked. He never mentioned the extra goodie to say, but Sophie noticed that the day after he got the treats that fell on the more savory side, he tended to peruse the case for a few moments, and he looked down at the carryout bag as though he was eager to open it up and see what was inside.
Strange how these days savory baked goods were always available.
As she went about the task of getting his order together, Jo went to clear a few tables, leaving her alone behind the counter. Her mystery man cleared his throat before saying, “It’s busier in here than usual.”
Huh , small talk. He’d never done that before. Keeping her voice even so that no hint of her internal squealing would be evident, Sophie replied, “The afternoon knitting group. You usually arrive before they get here.”
He glanced over as though to verify her words, and indeed, twelve pairs of eyes were locked on him, the older ladies of the group not-so-subtlety checking him out as the needles flew in their hands, appraising looks and yards of yarn left in their wake.
He shifted so his attention was now back on her as she worked on his drink. “They’re kind of scary.”
She leaned forward, speaking in a low
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