Page 1 of The Girlfriend Zone

1

MY FUTURE WIFE

Miles

I didn’t expect to meet my future wife today.

I had other plans. But as she heads toward me in the coffee shop’s doorway, I know that’s who she is.

Maybe the ink on her arms does it—the stenciled flowers cascading down them—or possibly the mesmerizing sea-blue shade of her eyes. But honestly? It’s probably the cute-as-all-get-out smirk she sends my way.

I’d smirk at me, too, considering the spangled and sequined mannequin I’m lugging down Fillmore Street. The full-size feathered headdress is wider than the door, and the espresso cup glued into the dummy’s stiff fingers seems a little weird. No way is my future wife going to realize I’m her future husband with this level of awkward.

But I’m not the kind of guy to let a six-foot-tall faux showgirl get in the way of Fate.

The inked beauty holds open the door to the shop, and I step up to prove that chivalry isn’t dead.

“I’ve got this.” I manage to grab the door with my free hand, opening it wider so she can exit first. Inside the café, Birdie—AKA Grandma—has caught sight of the byplay and watches, eagle-eyed, from behind the counter.

The brunette with the flower tattoos sweeps her gaze over my cargo. “I hope your date appreciates what a gentleman you are,” she teases as she slips past to the street.

“Actually,” I lean in and stage-whisper, “she doesn’t have much to say.” I glance at the mannequin Birdie asked me to bring to her. Well, insisted, really.Be a dear and grab Dolly from the foyer, will you? I need a greeter for the shop.

“Occupational hazard, maybe,” the woman deadpans. “She’s trained to keep smiling no matter what.”

“She does have a hell of a poker face,” I agree, furrowing my brow at Dolly, then meeting the brunette’s eyes again. “I can’t say I know her opinions on anything, really.”

“But maybe that’s what you want in a date?”

“Nope. A good date needs opinions.”

“Oh? Are you a fan of opinions?” She sounds doubtful as she adjusts the sweater she carries. It’s September in San Francisco, which means you never know if it’ll be warm or breezy—or both.

“Love them,” I say definitively, matching her raised brow. “The more the merrier.”

“Noted.” Her tone is playful, the kind of playful that sayskeep talking.

“In fact, here’s one for you,” I say, leaning in just slightly as I lay the groundwork for asking her out. “The espresso here is excellent.”

“You’re gallant,andyou give free hot beverage advice too? Is it my lucky day or what?”

“It’s mine. That is if you want to share some of your opinions with me.”

She takes a beat, likely assessing me with those curious eyes. Then she nods toward the neon menu behind the counter and gives a sly smile. “Here’s one. Coffee drinks are vile.”

“That’s a bold statement to make in a coffee bar.”

She rolls her beautiful blue eyes. “A ‘bold’ statement? Really?”

I grin, delighted that the future Mrs. Falcon has the quick wits and sense of humor to catch that. “What? You don’t like coffee or coffee puns?”

“I like good puns.” Her lips twitch in a sly, bewitching smile.

With my free hand, I clutch my chest melodramatically. “You wound me.”

“I’m made of pure marshmallow fluff when it comes to helping out my grandmother.”

Her brow arches in a playful challenge. “Did you really just drop that helping out a grandma bit to let me know you’re the kind of guy who helps out his grandmother?”

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