Page 32 of Jenna's Protector

The sky is just beginning to lighten as I step out of my apartment, the sketchbook tucked securely in my bag. A cool breeze carries the scent of the nearby ocean, mingling with the earthy smell of dew-covered grass. This is my favorite time of day—when the world wakes up, fresh and new, full of possibilities.

Our small coastal town is still sleepy, and the streets are quiet and mostly empty. The occasional jogger or early-shift worker nods a greeting as they pass. Old Victorian houses line the street, their pastel colors muted in the soft pre-dawn light. Hanging baskets overflow with colorful flowers, adding splashes of color to the tranquil scene.

Walking the familiar few blocks to my coffee shop, I savor the peacefulness of a brand-new day. The distant cry of seagulls and the gentle rustling of leaves provide a soothing soundtrack to my journey. This daily ritual, this quiet time before the bustle of the day begins, has become my meditation, my way of centering myself.

Today, though, my mind is far from peaceful. The weight of the sketchbook in my bag grows with each step. Memories and worries swirl in my head, but I try to push them aside, focusing instead on the beauty around me.

When I reach Marlowe’s Café, my little slice of heaven, I’m energized and apprehensive. The familiar routine of opening the shop—unlocking the door, flipping on lights, starting the ovens and coffee machines—helps to ground me. The sweet aroma of pastries baking and the rich scent of brewing coffee soon fill the air, chasing away some of my anxiety.

As the first customers trickle in, I paste on a smile and lose myself in the rhythm of the morning rush. But beneath it all, acurrent of nervous energy thrums through me. It’s only a matter of time before Carter arrives.

The bell above the door jingles, and I greet Frank, Doris, and Mav as they come in. Their presence is a comforting constant in my life.

“Morning, Frank. Your usual?” I ask, already reaching for the coffee pot.

Frank grins, his mustache twitching. “You know it. Extra strong today, though. Didn’t get much sleep.”

I chuckle and pour his coffee. “Here you go. Strong and black.”

“You seem different today. Something on your mind?” Frank gives me a look as he takes his coffee.

“Just thinking about yesterday. I had lunch with a friend.” I hesitate for a moment, then smile.

“A friend, huh? Anyone we know?” Doris perks up, her eyes twinkling with curiosity.

“Just a friend. It’s…” I struggle to find the right words to describe Carter.

Is he a friend? Am I working for him? Helping him? Should I stay quiet about it?

“He asked me to help with something important.”

“Sounds intriguing. Anything we can help with?” Mav looks up from her book, her curiosity piqued.

“Not right now, but I appreciate it. I’ll keep you posted.” I shake my head, grateful for their concern.

The conversation shifts to lighter topics, and I relax as I settle into the rhythm of my slice of heaven. As the regulars settle into their usual spots, the coffee shop buzzes with the comforting rhythm of daily life.

Just as the morning rush begins to taper off, the bell above the door jingles again. My heart leaps into my throat as Carter walks in. Max trots faithfully by his side.

Our eyes meet, and the softness in his gaze makes my breath catch.

After those vivid and sensual dreams I had about him, my pulse quickens, and a rush of heat floods my body.

His muscular frame fills the doorway, commanding attention. Those piercing blue eyes find mine, and suddenly, I’m hyper-aware of every inch of him in a way I haven’t been before.

Carter has always been attractive, but after last night—after feeling his arms around me, his breath on my skin—he’s become irresistible.

I drink in the sight of him, my gaze tracing the contours of his muscular build beneath his well-fitted shirt. The way he carries himself, with that quiet confidence and strength, weakens my knees. He’s ruggedly handsome, and every inch of him screams protector. From the set of his broad shoulders to the alert and caring way he scans the room, he’s determined to serve and help those in need. That dedication only heightens his allure.

His jawline tenses slightly as he approaches, a sign of deep thought. A small scar above his eyebrow adds to his rugged charm. A tiny fleck of green in his left eye catches the light, visible only at certain angles. His presence is magnetic, pulling me in and making me yearn for his touch.

I subconsciously lean forward, desperate to close the distance between us. The air seems to thicken, and my breathing quickens as I take in every detail of his face. All I can see is Carter—the warmth of his gaze, the curve of his lips, and the strength in his hands as they rest on the counter.

My fingers itch to reach out and touch him, to trace the line of his jaw, to feel the stubble on his cheek.

It takes every ounce of self-control not to lean across the counter and kiss him right there, customers and propriety be damned.

“Morning, Jenna,” he says, his voice low and husky, sending shivers down my spine.

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