Page 1 of Kissing the Grump

CHAPTER ONE

FORREST

Wipingaway the condensation on the bathroom mirror, I look at my reflection. Fatigue is written all over my face after another long night of working to meet a ridiculous deadline I'd been handed down last week.Sometimes I really hate this job.

“Or maybe you're just getting old,” I mutter. I'm only thirty-four, but over the last year I feel like I've tacked on an extra decade or two. The bags under my dark brown eyes are more pronounced, and there’s a semi-permanent red tint from only catching a few hours of sleep a night after spending the day staring at a computer screen.

I quickly scan the rest of my body as I run a towel over my skin to dry off. At least I'm still fit, even if I only have time for a quick workout with home equipment each day. And though I'm sure my current work project will trigger the onset of gray hair any day now, there's no trace of them in the russet brown strands or close-trimmed beard just yet. When I’d gone to school for graphic design, I never imagined it would be so stressful or time-consuming.

I yawn as I think about what I need to do today and my head immediately hurts. Coffee. I need coffee. There is no start to my day until caffeine has fully saturated every cell in my body. Idon't actually know if that's the way it works, nor do I care. I just know it's the only way I'm ever going to meet my deadline this Friday and it's already Wednesday. I need to get my brain working.

I run the towel over my hair before tossing it into the wicker hamper. Stepping out of the en suite bathroom, I cross my bedroom to my closet. Snagging a pair of khaki shorts and a dark green t-shirt from my closet, I put them on.

Even though the coffee shop is just downstairs from my second-floor apartment, the heat and humidity here in southern Texas will have me breaking a sweat the second I step outside. Things could be worse, I suppose. I could have to wear a suit and tie to work every day and be drenched by the time I make it to my office.

After slipping on a pair of white canvas shoes, I grab my phone, wallet, and keys from my oak dresser top before heading into the living room, beelining for the front door. I need caffeine, and I need it now.

It's barely six in the morning and everything is quiet as I step out into the hallway, aside from the muffled hum coming from early risers outside. It should always be this way, considering there are only four units total in the building with two units per floor. Unfortunately, that's not always the case thanks to my neighbor. Just thinking about the young punk across the hall stirs my blood with agitation because I know that the minute he wakes up, my apartment will be flooded with unwanted noise.

The convenient coffee shop had been a big plus for me when I’d chosen the dated two-bedroom apartment, but if I'd known the landlord would lease to anyone with a deposit, I would have thought twice about renting the place last year when my ex-fiancé and I had split up. My mood sours when my thoughts turn to my ex, so I shut them down. After locking up, I shoot a glare at my neighbor’s door and then haul my sleepy body down the hall.

The worn green carpet should have been replaced years ago, and the peeling maroon and white striped wallpaper should have never been put up to begin with. The old wooden stairs creak as I take them down to the door that opens onto the busy city sidewalk. People zoom up and down the walkway dressed in business attire, clearly on their way to office jobs.

About a mile from central downtown, the shop and apartments are sandwiched between two professional buildings. Luckily, the door to the shop nearly touches the door I just exited from, so I hug the brown chipped brick wall to avoid the crowd and step under the red awning of Quick Fix.

The bell chimes above my head as I walk inside, and the rich aroma of fresh coffee beans floating in the air hits my nose. I inhale deeply, thanking the heavens—or whoever is responsible for that level of perfection. The scent always brings me a level of peace, and my mood lightens. And then the jarring sound of broken glass startles me.

I glance around the man in front of me, spotting a kid I don’t recognize working the counter. He’s no older than his early twenties and seems to be apologizing to Gina, the plump, sassy, brunette owner of this place. With jerky movements, the young man nervously adjusts the black hat that matches his apron.

His cheeks are flushed and bloom brighter by the second with embarrassment. He ducks down to pick something up behind the black granite countertop. I watch curiously, wondering if he's okay. I'm not sure why I care at all or why I find the pink staining his otherwise pale skin…endearing.

I frown at the thought. No, it certainly is notendearing. That's not even a word I can remember using one single time in my life. He's also young. Too young. And I'm not even remotely interested in being attracted to another man after my breakup last year. Relationships are bad news, and even if Iwere interested in dating, I'd learned my lesson about being with younger men the hard way.

Why am I even thinking like this? My frown deepens as I consider turning around and leaving. But that would be an extreme overreaction to a stranger, and frankly ridiculous.

When he stands upright again, I tear my eyes away from the kid and pretend to read the menu written on the blackboards hung on the interior brick walls.

I wait behind the only customer in line for what seems like fifteen minutes as the new guy fumbles around, screws up the order, and then has to be taught key by key how to ring up the total. Sighing, I pull my phone from my pocket and check the time. I have a video meeting in less than thirty minutes. I don't have time for this.

“Have a good day,” he finally says to the customer who's had far more patience than me. His voice isn't nearly as deep as mine. It's soft, and he sounds flustered.

Reasonably, I know I should take it easy on the kid, so I approach the counter and force away the annoyed look on my face. At least I hope I do, but I've been told many times over the last year that I appear permanently pissed.

“Hi there. What can I get you?” he asks, but my eyes have a mind of their own, watching his full lips instead of paying attention to the words. When I move my gaze upward, I'm in no better shape. His jade green eyes pop against the black uniform, and his glossy black hair curls from beneath the hat. The combination creates a very attractive guy. He furrows his brow slightly. “Um, do you already know what you want? Or do you need a second? No worries if you do.”

His words finally penetrate. Did he see me staring? There's a curious look in his eyes and maybe…interest.

“No.” I'm not sure why that's the only word I say, butnoto all of this. Absolutely not. My eyes narrow as I glance over his shoulder at Gina. “My usual, please.”

She pops her hands on her curvy hips. “Do I look like I'm taking your order? Tell him what you want and try not to be an ass about it, okay?”

Gina is a straight shooter. It's something I usually appreciate about her, but not today.

This is not how my morning routine works. Shower. Coffee. Work. Annoyingly cute men are not needed, much less wanted.

I glare and look back at the new guy. “Fine. May I please have a large brown sugar shaken espresso with an extra shot, a splash of whole milk, pistachio cold foam, whipped cream with caramel drizzle and cinnamon dolce sprinkles. And a croissant.”

I hear Gina snort. “That is not your usual. Change your mind in the last fifteen seconds? Or are you just being difficult on purpose?”

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