Page 2 of Just Act Natural

The word “temptation” still rattles around in my head when the very definition of it walks through the café’s doors. A dark-eyed brunette strolls across the shop toward the lucky barista, a metallic purple roller bag gliding smoothly behind her. Her smile is like staring into a solar eclipse—I’m blinded by the force of it, but I can’t stop myself from looking.

Rhett keeps talking, but I don’t hear a word. My focus is stuck on her.

“I think you know why I’m here, Troy,” she says to the barista. I can’t see her smile anymore at this angle, but it shines through her voice. It has a smoky quality that brings to mind late-night conversations, like it wouldn’t take much for her to get me to bare my soul.

He nods, giving her a friendly wink that cuts an irrational jolt of jealousy through my gut. Suddenly, I can think of a few things I might put in a manifesto—banning flirty baristas being right at the top.

“Brown sugar milk tea with tapioca pearls, coming up.”

He gets to work making something behind the counter. Meanwhile, she shimmies her enthusiasm in a way I should not be watching as avidly as I am.

“You’re an angel. You saved me from having to drive into Bend every time I get a craving for boba tea.”

He glances at her over his shoulder. “It’s catching on. Weshould probably offer you free drinks for giving us the great idea.”

“Don’t do it. I would put you out of business so fast.”

Her laughter skates up my spine like a hand trailing a warm caress, and I smile like an idiot.

Am I having a sugar-induced daydream? Did I make her up? It must be real—in a fantasy, I’d get to see her face the whole time.

This isn’t me. I don’t get infatuated from seeing a woman’s great smile or hearing her speak a handful of sentences. Not anymore. Yet here I am, wanting to bask in her presence for as long as I can just to store up this stretching, all-too-aware sensation aching through my chest. It’s been years since I felt anything like this, and my impulse is to hold the feeling tight and not let go.

It’s a moronic impulse, to be clear, but still undeniable.

“Are you even listening to me?” Rhett barks into the phone. “Did I lose you?”

I swivel away from my view of the gorgeous woman. Feels wrong to turn my back on her, but this ache in my chest feels wronger.

What did I say about being a moron? I’ve been aware of her existence for less than five minutes, and I’ve already lost my grasp on the English language. High schoolers who just discovered girls have more sense than I do right now.

“I’m here,” I say, keeping my voice low. “Cut out there for a second.”

“Then I’ll say it again and get right to the point—do the stupid thing.”

I freeze. Is Rhett in this café with me? Can he hear the jumble of thoughts careening through my mind?

“What stupid thing?” I say carefully.

“Any of them. All of them. I know you’ve got your whole month’s itinerary planned out down to the last hike and climb.”

He’s not entirely wrong, but this area has plenty of outdoor sports to keep me busy. “It’s more of a loose to-do list than an itinerary?—”

“Exactly.” A wrapper crinkles on the other end of the line.

“Could you wait to eat whatever that is until we’re off the phone?”

He sighs as if I asked him to give up video games for the rest of the year. “My point is, don’t keep yourself so busy you forget to relax. Don’t do the Grant thing this trip. Do the stupid thing. Have fun.”

I don’t even want to know what he thinks of as aGrant thing. Probably anything not involving an out-of-control party or a few hundred feet of bungee cord. I climb mountains, I don’t jump off them.

“You’re making me sound like an old man. I’m thirty-six, not a hundred.”

“If the loafer fits.”

“I have f?—”

“You should havestupidfun.”

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