Page 9 of Coffee Break with the Billionaire

I’m not sure who catches more of Leodie’s attention—her gaze switches from Ashton to Fenella and back again like she’s watching a tennis match.

There are two customers between the group and me, and time slows down to a crawl while I serve them.

She’s just a girl, I tell myself.She won’t even notice me.

Why should she? It’sFenella Carrington.I just saw her very public breakuponline.

And what do I say about that? Sorry about your loss? Nice aim with the ring?

“Hi, Silas,” Stella says. “Can I get my regular?”

“Sure thing. The dogs don’t need you today?” Stella runs Catch a Pet rescue centre and is single-handedly responsible for the lack of strays in town, cats and dogs both.

Is it my imagination, or do Stella’s cheeks turn a becoming shade of pink? Maybe not as becoming as Fenella’s scarf reflection, but still attractive. “Ajax is there,” she tells me stiffly. “And I’ve hired a couple more because I’m taking time off—”

Prince Gunnar drops his arm around her shoulders and I swear, most of the women in the shop sigh in unison at the affectionate gesture. “More travelling. We’re out of here next week.”

“Sounds great.” I don’t have to ask Gunnar what he wants because he always gets the same—Americano with a shot of hazelnut—but I turn to Ashton Carrington with an expectant smile.

I’m a man content with my appearance, but it’s hard not to feel intimidated when faced with Ashton’s model-like attractiveness. He’s a cross between Timothée Chalamet and the tall guy from Euphoria, and I have no idea how he fits those shoulders into a race car.

“What’s good?” he asks brusquely.

“Everything,” Fenella answers for me, pushing her way before her brother. “He’ll have the same asme—”

“Pumpkin spice latte with two pumps of pumpkin, one of vanilla, oat milk, and unicorn froth,” I say.

Fenella’s eyes widen with delight, and her purple eyes are so much more striking in person rather than on-screen. “You remembered.”

“That’s his job,” Ashton drawls. “He gets paid to remember.”

Ah. A good-looking jerk. But I force a smile at him anyway. “Pumpkin spice is a fall thing but you ordered it in the summer,” I say to Fenella. “Hard to forget that.”

She beams, and the brightness of her smile is like the sun cresting over the water.“It’s my favourite thing in the world.”

That smile makes me feel likeI’mher favourite thing in the world.

“You said that about the dirty martini you had last week,” Ashton points out and Fenella scrunches her nose at him, making her model good looks suddenly more human.

There is nothing else down-to-earth about her—she’s wearing a shiny pink puffer coat, open to reveal a tight, cream-coloured sweater tucked into wide-legged cream-coloured pants with a faint pink plaid and pristine pink running shoes.

Folks in Battle Harbour don’t walk around dressed like that. Normal people anywhere don’t walk around like that—or maybe they do. Fenella is the epitome of someone who has ‘come from away’, which is what we call out-of-towners herein Laandia.

I think I may be paying too much attention if I notice the pink plaid of her pants, but how can you not? Fenella Carrington looks like she stepped off a magazine cover right into my shop.

“I’ll get your order started,” I tell them.

“Can I get a cinnamon bun as well?” she asks, taking out her phone.

“Sure.” Because that’s my job. I pour coffee and serve warm pastries for my customers, regardless if they are regulars or first-time tourists, if they have saved their change for a coffee or can buy and sell the entirety of Battle Harbour with their pocket change.

And the fact that Fenella smiled at me with her pretty purple eyes means absolutely nothing.

I watch out of the corner of my eye as she takes pictures of my shop. The pictures on the wall. The glass-fronted display case with the selection of pastries from the bakery.

I put that in after I took over the place from my parents.

Fenella continues to pan around the room, focusing on my brand-new and uber-expensive espresso maker and the float of steam drifting up.

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