I pop a single eyebrow at Ruby. “So does that mean this is workplace harassment?”

She raises both hands in surrender, eyebrows attempt to hide in her impressive tangle of silver-streaked black curls. “Look, all I’m saying is that you’ve pined over this man long enough. Seize your chance while you still have it.” She lowers her hands, softening. “Trust me, by the time you hit my age, you’ll wish you’d have taken more chances.”

I hesitate at the sadness in my boss’s voice, considering the two decades that lay between us. But then I shake my head and get back to scrubbing down the espresso machine. “Look, I’m only twenty-two. I’ve got plenty of time. And he—” I just my chin at Barrow, who’s just a few paces outside the front door “— is a customer.”

“And?”

“He’s off-limits,” I all but growl as the lanky man lets himself inside. “Now quit it.”

Ruby turns away with a chuckle, waving a silent greeting at Barrow.

Setting the towel aside, I order my thumping heart to calm down, pray that my cheeks aren’t as flushed as they suddenly feel, and turn to face the man that’s approached the counter.

The tall, bearded, devastating gorgeous man.

Barrow smiles.

I swallow. Hard.

“How are you today, Star?”

I silently curse myself. I should have said that to him. Customer service and everything.

“Uh,” I croak. “Great. WhadcanIgetya?”

He blinks. “Sorry, what was that?”

Forget cursing myself. I wish I could make like the Wicked Witch of the West and straight-up evaporate in embarrassment.

I clear my throat and try again. “Er, what can I get you today?” Okay good, that sounded normal.Keep it normal, I think, feeling beads of sweat pop on my forehead.

“My usual—” Barrow begins, then stops himself. “Actually, maybe it’s time for something new.” He says the second part as if he’s talking to himself more than to me.

I point to a little chalkboard sign prominently displayed on the counter next to the glass-domed platter of sweet treats made by our local baker, Cookie Cutter (and yes, that really is her name now that she’s married and taken her husband’s name).

“Want to try our special drink of the day?” I shift the chalkboard so Barrow can read the white and purple script.

“A lavender latte?” her reads with a frown. “That sounds like it could either be really good or really bad.”

I shrug. “That’s probably true. For what it’s worth, I really like it.”

He turns his wide, warm smile on me. “Yeah?”

I nod, feeling the flush creep from my cheeks down my neck. “Absolutely.”

“Then I guess I’d better try it.”

Now it’s my turn to smile wide, even though it’s silly. It’s not like Barrow taking my recommendationmeansanything. But my stupid heart really wants it to.

Besides, I know too well what can happen if you listen to what your heart wants.

Hearts are stupid.

They can get you hurt.

Easily.

Better to shove these feelings away — especially for a customer, which seems off-limits regardless — and protect myself.