Page 7 of A Miracle for the Reserved Flyboy

“I wasn’t.”

“You were because I was clearly facing this way, and you are clearly behind me – are you not? That is sneaking, you wretched sneaker. You nearly gave me heart failure.”

“I’m so sorry, but I promise that I wasn’t sneaking.”

“We’ll agree to disagree,” she replied distractedly and looked him over. He was standing there in dark jeans with a red and green holiday sweater on that seemed to almost highlight the fact that he was built nicely. He wasn’t one of those lean, wiry guys, but he wasn’t some weird bulky beefcake either.

‘Beefcake’?

He was more like her very owncheesecake… sweet, ooey-gooey, and utterly divine in so many ways - and she could gobble him up. Her eyes widened as she tried to keep from ogling the man before her.

“Eh, hi,” she squawked nervously, looking away quickly. Oh gosh, her parents would absolutely adore him, and she’d love to kiss him to see if that sweater creates a spark between them. He was so gorgeous and was ringing all of her bells… or was that the carolers down the street?

“Hi,” he whispered, and heaven help her, was the man blushing? Goodness, was there anything better than some gorgeous man who was just… painfully sweet.

“Like maple syrup…” she breathed, staring up at him.

“Love the stuff…” he whispered back.

“Me too…”

She stood there staring at him in the lamplight for several moments before it dawned on her that she was gawking at him like some lovesick fool. This was not her date, not her man! What was she even doing? Clearing her throat, she quickly looked away and pointed at the café.

“Your date is sitting in the last booth and…”

“What’s your phone number?” Gary interrupted softly. “I don’t mean to be pushy, but I tried calling one number and ended up hanging up because I wasn’t sure.”

“That was you?”

“I had the right number?”

“That was my house line – which, I don’t know why I have it anymore because I never answer it.”

“What number do you answer?” he chuckled softly, smiling at her… and she was struck mute by that enchanting moment. His head was haloed by the lamplight, giving it a golden glow behind his brown hair and the way his dark eyes held hers was something magical.

“My cell…” she mumbled blankly.

“Could I have your cell number then, Krista?”

“Yes.”

“And what is that number?”

“Oh, I bet you want that,” she chuckled nervously, feeling distinctly flustered and warm. Was it possible to have a heatwave in December so suddenly?

“I really do,” he prompted a moment later before Krista realized she was staring at him again. Quickly, she yanked out her phone and handed it to him so he could put in his number, only to hear a cell phone ringing, before he handed it back.

“Now you can call me too.”

“That was slick,” she chuckled nervously. “I bet it would impress Susan.”

“Who’s Susan?”

“Your date for the evening. She’s thirty-nine with a ten-year-old son and…”

“I’m thirty-four.”

“You are?”

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