Page 8 of Tangled with the Tight End

Damn it. There’s no need to resort to his level. I slowly exhale while counting to five. I did nothing wrong. He’s the one at fault.

“What a jerk.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “Tourists.”

“Exactly. Now that our distractions are gone, tell me about your mom.”

One corner of his mouth arches upward. “She was pushing for us to date again.”

The door swings open, and the man and his son come inside. “Listen….” The man’s face is flush as he stiffly stands inside the building while Gino runs from one counter to another. “Don’t touch.”

Gino runs between the coffee drinkers and an empty table. “Yes, Sir.” He puts his arms behind his back as the man’s jaw flexes.

“I apologize for snapping at you a minute ago. That was uncalled for.”

“Yes, it was.” I cross my arms over my chest and tap the toe of my shoe on the floor. “And?”

“And, what?” He stares in confusion.

“Yesterday?” I unfold my arms and wave my right hand in front of him as an invitation to continue with his apology.

“Yesterday, nothing. You weren’t watching where you were going and ran into me, hitting my bad knee.”

Okay. Fine. He has a point. I wasn’t looking, and he did appear to be in pain. “Is everything okay? You didn’t injure it more, did you?”

Now I feel like an ass. I didn’t even ask if he was hurt, just kept yelling at him about how he was acting toward his kid. Which wasn’t a big deal. He was correcting his child, which is completely understandable and appropriate. I cringe as I replay our first encounter. Then, the second.

“It’s fine. Thank you.” He frowns. “Well, as fine as it can be…” Something dark passes through his eyes as he trails off.

“I apologize for not watching where I was going and running into you.” I drop my arms to my sides.

“I’ve got to go.” Sawyer rushes to the door. “Call me later so we can dish about this dating thing.” His eyes dance with laughter as he disappears out the door. This is probably the 10thtime one of our parents has brought it up, but neither of us is interested.

The man straightens his back while keeping an eye on Gino. “Is he allowed to have anything?” I ask, pointing to his son.

“Lake cookie!”

“Sure.” He marches to the counter and stops in mid-step, spinning around to face me. “You don’t work at the lodge, do you?”

“No. I own the shop there, and this is my café.”

“It’s nice.” His face is tight as if it’s hard for him to compliment me. Not that I care if he respects me or not. I’m not interested in guys who aren’t emotionally available.

Tourists are also out. I learned that the hard way last summer when I dated a guy who was here for a month. I don’t know what I hoped for. A rebound? Him to stay? Whatever it was, it should’ve been nothing. He was good-looking but completely unavailable. I did all the pursuing until I felt sick over my weakness and broke it off.

That leaves me the bistro spinster at 24 years old.

“Thank you.” I dismiss him to help his son and ring up their order. “That’ll be $4.50.”

He reaches his arm over the counter and hands me his card. When our fingers brush, the hairs on my arms stand, and I lock my knees to keep from dropping to the floor. What in the fuck? I force back a shudder and shove the card through the reader. My face heats but I refuse to indicate that I felt anything.

I feel him everywhere. The scent of his cologne mixes with vanilla and bacon, and my head spins. What’s happening? This is not happening. The receipt spits out, and I meet his gaze. His eyelids are hooded, shielding me from what he’s feeling, but the color creeping up his neck tells me he’s not unaffected.

A tourist. You know better.

“Here you go.” I straighten my back, slap on a fake smile, and keep my fingers back so we don’t touch again.

“Thanks.” His eyelids droop lower, but if I’m not mistaken, his eyes watch everything as I nervously bite my bottom lip.

“Daddy, let’s go.” Gino grabs his hand and tugs.

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