Page 4 of Red Hot Roaster

Rafe grinned, the smile going all the way to his beautiful blue eyes. “Well, sheisa princess. She’s a bit imperious, and she expects you to obey her every command. You have to earn her trust.”

I smiled right back. “I can hardly wait to meet Her Highness!”

Chapter 4

Rose

Iwas all about chocolate brown coupled with hot pink.

Dad used to say the pink was too “feckin’ girly” for our café—but that’d been the Irish in him kidding me. My ex, Brent, had labeled the pink as too “unsophisticated” for Portland—but that’d been the lawyer in him judging me. Mom had just smiled as she uncapped the paint can.

So when we walked into the Chocolate Lab, I turned to catch the moment when Rafe spied the walls in all their hot pink glory.

Is he going to throw shade on my choices?Rafe halted and raised his eyebrows, head on a swivel. After shooting me a look, he moved past the pink-painted tables toward the pink-and-brown-striped front counter. His right hand came up to rub the back of his neck when he clocked the pink boards slanting overhead with all our food and drink offerings written boldly in chocolate-brown chalk.

“Did you paint the roastery—” he started to say, but was interrupted by Emma and Noah rushing over.

I assured them Goldie was okay—a few scrapes and cuts after being chased by the scary, mean dog—and turned back just as Mateo walked out from the kitchen prep area.

“Hey, Rafe, meet Mateo Flores, the Chocolate Lab’s manager. Mateo, meet Rafe Amato, our new temp roaster and Goldie girl rescuer.”

Rafe and Mateo both did the chin lift thing.

Since we’d all be working together, I’d shared Rafe’s info with Mateo to get his take. With someone new coming from outside the area, even for a short time while Mike recovered, it was important to have a good fit.

Rafe could get acquainted with the kids on the café crew later. Anyone in their teens or twenties was a “kid” to me. He’d meet my “real” kid too when Finn came home from college for his grandma’s party this weekend.

“Everything under control, Mateo?” If it was worth checking once, it was worth checking forty-seven times.

“Yes, Rosita. No worries.” He so knew I’d be asking again before the day was out.

I motioned for Rafe to precede me. “Let’s head back to the roastery and get started on orientation.”

Wait. Oh, shih tzu.

Rafe had those bloody smears from Goldie’s scraped paw pads all down the front of his plaid shirt. Plus on the no-longer-white T-shirt where it showed through his unbuttoned shirt.

“I am so, so sorry,” I blurted out. “I’ll take your shirts home and get the blood out. If I can’t, we’ll replace them, of course.”

I asked Mateo for a garbage can liner and whirled around to the shelves holding our branded gear right by the front counter. Diving into the pile of Chocolate Lab T-shirts, I snatched the largest unisex size we had—XXL, for the soccer team we sponsored. Hot pink with our logo and lettering in chocolate brown, of course.

By this time, Mateo and Rafe were both looking at me like I was crazy. Didn’t matter. I was on a roll, places to go, things to do.

I tossed Rafe the new T-shirt and shook out the liner to accept the bloody clothes. He looked around for a moment, rumbled something like “thank you, Rose,” and shrugged off his plaid shirt.

He loosened his belt and did that thing that guys do—grabbed his T-shirt behind his neck and pulled it off over his head in one swift motion.

So here’s the thing. I tried not to stare, and I succeeded. For the most part.

But in the short moment Rafe tugged on the Chocolate Lab T-shirt, I took in a lot.

His broad chest lightly furred with black—and silver—hair. His sculpted pecs narrowing to a defined six-pack tapering further into his jeans. His shoulders and biceps bulky enough to put the stretch into the XXL T-shirt.

And his entire right arm, from shoulder to muscled biceps through corded forearm to thick wrist, fitted out with a sleeve of tats.

One or two other customers were there for the show, but I had a front-row seat.

It’d been too long.

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