Page 11 of Just One Moment

Hisdark brows shoot to his hairline. “Me?”

“Yep.”I’malready pulling out a chair for him and heading back toward the cash register. “C’mon,I’mnot taking no for an answer.”

Thescuffing of boots and the clicking of claws on the tiled floor sounds behind me.I’mnot going to question what has him coming in after months of me waving at him through the window.There’ssomething about his mysterious disposition that has me wanting to peel him back, layer by layer.Likea handsome onion.

Aftera deep breath,Grahamsettles into the chair, withCurlysitting patiently at his feet.Helooks out of place, sitting there awkwardly, pulling at the sleeves of his cable-knit sweater, but he also doesn’t.

Hereally is unfairly handsome, andI’mcertain he doesn’t even know it.

Whoknew glasses and wool were so sexy?

AsifIsaid that out loud,Graham’sgaze catches mine before it darts away, and he nervously fiddles with the laminated menu on the table.Heoffers a curt nod toMr.Williswho is watching the whole interaction closely.

“What’syour poison?Youlook like anAmericanokinda guy.”

“Iactually don’t drink caffeine, sorry…”Helooks at the ground like he just broke the most devastating news in the world.

“Youdon’t need to apologize for that.Icater to everyone’s needs.”Ithrow my hands up, gesturing toward the small space before moving behind the counter. “I’vegot decaf, herbal tea, fruit smoothies, soda, and water.Dealer’schoice.”

Hepeers over the rims of his glasses and scans the small chalkboard to my left. “Sparklingwater would be good.Anda, what did you call it, pup cup?Oneof those forCurly, please.”

“Doyou want a blueberry scone?Mr.Willishere loves them.”Inod to the older gentleman, who holds up his half-eaten scone in confirmation.

“Umm, no,I’mgood.Thanks, though.Iwa?—”

“Alemon bar?Orpastry?”Jeez,Idon’t know whyI’mbeing so pushy, butIhave this sudden urge forGrahamto eat something of mine.SomethingthatIbaked!

“Idon’t really like…”Helooks around the room before leaning in close. “Idon’t like sweet things.”

Iblanch dramatically, hand clutching at my metaphorical pearls. “Graham!Getout of this establishment immediately!”

Hisshocked expression quickly morphs into amusement when he catches on to my sarcasm, eliciting the teeniest chuckle, but no smile.

Throwinghim a wink,Iturn toward the small fridge and start on his order. “Makeyourself comfortable,”Icall over my shoulder. “I’llbringCurlysome water too.”

Acouple of minutes later,Curlyis lapping from the bowlIset down in front of him andIslide the paper cup of whipped cream and bottle of sparkling water across the table toGraham, who nods his thanks.

Withthe small lavender latteImade for myself,Isit in the chair opposite him.Hestudies me for a beat, with a lookIcan’t decipher, before his gaze drops again.

“You’resitting with me?”Hisvoice is tight as his hands flex on top of the table.

“Ihope that’s okay.I’vebeen on my feet all day and it’s that time of the month.TMI, butIthink it’s important for men to understand female challenges.I’mcramping big time.”

Hisfrown makes it look like he’s personally annoyed at my womb. “Icould head to the drug store and get you some aspirin if you want?Ora heating pad?”

Alaugh of disbelief bursts from me and a warm, fuzzy sensation blooms in my chest. “I’mfine, honestly.Thankyou, though.”

Maybehe doesn’t dislike me after all, andIread him wrong.Hetakes a slow sip of his water as he takes in his surroundings.Thebakery’s decor is such a contrast to his beige sweater and dark brown corduroy pants.Noneof the furniture in the bakery matches, each item having been thrifted and given a face-lift.Ibet he despises the pink wallpaper with rows of lemons and raspberries, andI’dput money down that he thinks the handmade pom-poms hanging from the ceiling are childish.ButIlike it.Ifpeople didn’t know who owned the bakery, my flamboyant style would confirm it.

Nowwould be the perfect opportunity to talk to him, only unease swirls in my stomach over how he’ll respond.Myfingertips trace along the grain of the table until they go numb.I’ma new business, with not even a year under my belt, and no business plan or strategy.Nocredit to my name.I’ma laughingstock to the banks.Thisis a terri?—

“Hey,Quinn?”Graham’sdeep voice interrupts my spiraling thoughts.Hebends his head so there’s no avoiding his piercing green eyes.

Lookingup at him,Ichew on my bottom lip. “Mm-hmm.”

“Youmake really good sparkling water.”Hisface is so serious when he talks, and my head whips up and down between the glass of bottled water and him.

“Graham, it’s water, you don’t hav?—”

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