Page 3 of Tempting the Heart

Had it been a figment of my imagination?

Was I hallucinating?

Could I be seeing ghosts?

I shook my head and pressed my forehead against the glass to get a better look down the sidewalk.

No sign of him.

Probably because I was losing my ever-loving mind.

I finished unlocking the door and slowly lifted the blinds from one window to the next.

A few regulars parked their cars out front and stared at their phones before entering my coffee shop for their morning java.

It was time to put my game face on and get over whatever I thought I’d seen but hadn’t.

Right when I pulled the last set of blinds up, I squealed. The sound erupted from nowhere.

In fact, I squealed loud enough for the man sitting at the outdoor patio table to look up and stare.

His eyes locked on mine, and it felt like I’d been thrust back to high school, crushing on my brother’s older best friend.

The familiar glint in his eyes caught mine and sent a surge of the familiar heat I’d felt so long ago.

The pool of warmth deep within my belly sloshed me into a woozy state. I’d been dreaming about the impossibility of this guy for so long that he’d become somewhat mystical, untouchable.

I never in a million years thought I’d see him again.

Yet, here I was on the other side of the window from him, unable to move, run, shoo him away, or call for help.

So, I did what any creepy person would do. I stared back.

The longer I looked at him, the longer he looked back.

My cheeks flushed.

My pulse ramped up.

But I couldn’t look away.

Even when a little curl of his lip slipped across his expression, the soft smirk he always tossed in my direction when I was a teen girl that drove me wild.

Every single thing I’d managed to fantasize about all these years came rushing in. Only the real version was even better.

His smile widened, and he dropped his beautiful gaze to the table, tapping his finger along the metal, and shook his head.

This was my moment to turn away and pretend I didn’t know who he was.

A regular customer walked into the café, and I bolted to the counter, relieved I had a reason to ignore Tyler Grant.

“Hey, Trudy.” My eyes focused on a woman nearing retirement, standing at the counter scanning the menu as if it had changed since yesterday. “Your usual?”

She brought her gaze to me and nodded, handing me her clean travel mug.

“Okay, one medium coffee, light sugar, extra cream.” I rang her order in. “And a croissant.”

“Can’t wait,” she hummed, squeezing her shoulders in. “Could you add a sugar cookie? I’ll eat it on the ferry ride home tonight.”

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