Page 2 of Until Then

I snort, swiping away a stray tear from the corner of my eye. “He’s the scum between my toes.”

“Exactly.” To someone in the background, Greer mutters something I can’t make out. Another breath and she’s sighing with a touch of dramatics into the phone. “I’m being told I need to get back to work.” Another pause, then her voice lifts. “I know. Jackson Fields! I’ve had this job longer than you. No, you go. Go on. I don’t think you’ve kissed Mauve’s?—”

“Greer!” I interrupt before she can get written up for cussing again. “Remember your word for the year wasprofessionalism.”

“Stupid of me when I work with a snake like Jackson.” She blows out a long, theatrical sigh. “You going to be okay?”

I take the last bite of my scone and brush the crumbs off my palms. “Yeah. I’m just going to gorge on espressos, and I’m having a full-blown affair with the last scone in the display case.”

True enough, the last one is calling out to me like a ghostly summons.

Greer laughs. “Perfect. Sounds like the best sick day.”

“It’s not a sick day. The farrier is just shoeing the horses today.”

“Yeah, I’ll call it a sick day since that delicious man in his chaps is the only one who can get you to step foot off the ranch.”

I roll my eyes. “Tom is married with two kids.”

“I’m their mommy now.”

“Ugh. Goodbye. Go to work. Tell Jackson I say hello.” I snicker before promptly hanging up through a slew of Greer’s hissing words. The fastest way to irritate the woman is to bring up her workplace enemy.

I crumple the tissue paper from my first scone, glance over my shoulder to make certain no one will see my walk of shame to the pastry case, then shuffle to the front of the café. Scones are always displayed on a standing platter with a glass cover like a prized possession.

One, I plan to cherish.

But the moment I touch the top, another hand covers mine.

My heart stalls. A man with sunglasses shielding his eyes from . . . the café lighting, I guess, pops out one of his earbuds. “Um, were you going for it?”

He’s talking to me. There’s a slight drawl of the South in his tone.

Even with his sunglasses, there’s a weird familiarity to him.

I know the next move is to respond—it’s just polite—but I’m momentarily stunned silent by the way his mouth twists into the most perfect smirk. It’s bold, it’s dripping in confidence and swagger. More than his lips, he’s tall, made of marble the way his athletic shirt clings to his chest, and he has a thick head of golden-brown hair that tousles over his brow like his workout is the only stylist needed.

“I don’t mean to be a jerk, but I’m pretty possessive over these scones, so if you’re not going to call it in two seconds, I’m definitely taking it.”

No! The smirk can transform into a wickedly beautiful smile.

He shifts his hand and the glass scrapes over the tray. My brow furrows. Beautiful as he is, this scone is about to get me through the day.

I tighten my hold on the knob of the glass case. “I call it. Normally, I’d be generous, but today is not that day.”

He chuckles. “Oh, then we have a problem. I’ve had a day from hell, so I’m going to need this scone.”

Okay. Hot and arrogant.

“You gave me the chance to call it, though.” I nudge the glass case a little closer to my side.

“Then I remembered how much I love these scones.” He pulls it toward him.

Game on.

“Sorry, but my fingers are under yours. I made it first.”

His chin tilts. Even if I can’t see his eyes under his sunglasses, I know he’s studying my fingers. Before I realize what he’s doing, my stranger adjusts our hands so his fingertips are tangled with mine.

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