Page 3 of That's a Wrap

I let her statement hang in the air for a second; however, when I realize she’s not going to correct her error, I ask, “Then shouldn’t my total just be for the chips and soda? Ya know, since I get the sandwich forfree?” I’m sure she can hear the puzzlement in my tone.

She finally lifts her head. “But you didn’t get a sandwich. You got a wrap.”

Now it’s my turn to raise an eyebrow. “Aren’t they the same thing?”

That must’ve been the wrong thing to say, because she looks at me like I’m the stupidest person alive and definitely not the type of man she’d be willing to date.

2

ELLE

He’s joking. He has to be joking. Mister Sex-On-Two-Legs knows the difference between a wrap and a sandwich, right?

Damn it. I knew he was too good to be true. I just figured he probably chews with his mouth open or pours the milk in the bowl before the cereal. Not that he doesn’t know that sandwiches and wraps are different food categories.

I clear my throat and try to school my features, although I don’t think it’s working all that well. “No, sir. Wraps and sandwiches are most certainlynotthe same thing. If you?—”

“Peter,” he interrupts, with a twitch of his lips and a twinkle in his dark eyes. I’m almost certain I could get lost in his chocolate-brown gaze if I looked at them for too long.

“What?” I tilt my head as my brow wrinkles.

“My name is Peter. Don’t call mesir. That makes me feel like I’m sixty-years-old.” He chuckles, deep and rich. The sound reverberates up my body from the tips of my toes to the very ends of my hair in a way that makes me want more.

“Okay,Peter,” I correct myself, and he beams at me, flashing a hint of dimples in his cheeks. “If you wanted the discount,then you should’ve left the sandwich as a sandwich. But since you switched it out for the spinach wrap, it’s not a sandwich anymore.”

“It kind of seems like you’re splitting hairs just to make me pay full price.” If anyone else would’ve said that, it would sound combative. But Peter’s tone is light and playful, which just seems ridiculous in this situation. He’s disarming me, and I don’t like it.

I cross my arms over my chest and shrug my right shoulder. “If you can’t afford to pay for your meal, I’m afraid I won’t be able to give it to you.”

“Money’s not the issue, beautiful,” he explains with a flippant wave of a hand, but my thoughts become fuzzy at hearing him call mebeautiful. “It’s more about the principle of the matter, don’t you think?”

I have to stop myself from scoffing at his words. To blatantly boast about how much money he has while refusing to pay for his meal is downright rude, even if he didpayme a compliment at the same time.

Slapping my hands on the counter, I lean forward and glare up at Peter’s face. It’s difficult to look intimidating while being almost a foot shorter than the man, but I certainly try my best. Unfortunately, getting closer to him allows me to smell something faintly woodsy. It’s too light to be a cologne or aftershave. Maybe it’s his bodywash?

Whatever it is, he smells fantastic and I’m suddenly accosted by a vision of him in the shower. Bare, golden skin covered in bubbly suds, his hands sensually running over his lean, muscular chest with his head tipped back as water runs through his wavy brown hair and down his defined chin. Then his hands travel lower below his washboard abs?—

Get a grip, Elle. Stop drooling over the man.

“There is noprinciple,” I tell him, perhaps more forcefully than necessary to try to get my mind out of the gutter. “You either pay full price for yourwrap, or you walk out the front door right now and I get a surprise lunch.”

Rather than impose a sense of authority, my words seem to amuse him because he leans on the counter too, bracketing my hands with his own, his thumbs barely a millimeter away from my pinkies. My breath hitches and my body freezes as he drops his face close to my ear. I become engulfed in his forest scent, the fresh smell such a juxtaposition to the harsh sea salt that I’m accustomed to in this coastal town.

Peter’s voice drops from light and playful to dark and full of promise. “Are those really my only two options? You sure there isn’t anythingelsewe could work out? I could help wash dishes if you want. I’ve been told I’m really goodwith my…hands.”

The squeak that escapes my mouth will haunt me for years to come and I jump back in surprise and embarrassment. My face flames as I gape at him. His charming smile has slid into a seductive smirk, and he seems so damn pleasedwith himself that my hand almost raises on instinct to smack that infuriating look right off his handsome face. He’s throwing me off my game and I can’t stand it.

“You know what?” I brush some flyaway hairs from my face, trying my best to collect myself. “It’s fine. I’ll apply the discount, even though your order doesn’t qualify for it.” I mutter that last bit to myself, but he still hears me. “Just… anything to get you to leave as quickly as possible.” I huff with my hands on my hips.

Then, I void his transaction and ring him up for the free sandwich deal before giving him the new total so he can tap his card.

“I don’t know why you’re trying to get rid of me so quickly,” he says—although the dimples that appear with his smile provehe knows exactly why. “I mean, I’m just going to be back tomorrow. Thisismy new favorite lunch spot, after all.”

I practically throw his food at him, trying to keep as much physical distance between us as possible. “What are you talking about? You haven’t even tried the food yet. You could hate it. Not that you would. We use only the freshest ingredients and we’ve worked hard on all of our—” I cut myself off with a quick shake of my head. Now, he has me rambling. “Never mind. It’s not important. What’s important is that you leave as quickly as possible and never come back here.”

“But where’s the fun in that?” He grabs his lunch and his dimples flash again as he tries to contain another smile.

“Thereisno fun. There doesn’t need tobefun since this is a cafe, not an amusement park.” I cock my hip and prop my hand on my side.

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