Page 26 of Salvation

She sighs and gives me a look that saystell me about it.“I swear it feels like these damn festivals happen every week."

“That’s because they do,” I respond in a sing-song voice.

“I bet you’re excited, though?”

“Actually, I am.” A knowing smile lights up her face.

We busy ourselves with getting the shop ready and making small talk. Menu ideas for the festival, what she plans on doing with her scarecrow, how she and the baby are, along with all sorts of random day-to-day things. I’ve always loved how easy the conversations flow with Whitney. That’s exactly what made us such fast friends. After our morning rush, Whitney’s rearranging some books that were left out and I’m wiping down tables on the coffee side when the bell dings, signaling we have a customer. I slap a charming smile on my face and turn to greet them, “Good morning!”

“Ma’am.” He tips his head in greeting, and the towel I’ve got slips through my fingers at the small distraction before me.

Well, small wouldn’t be how I describe him. I can’t imagine there’s anythingsmallabout him. A tall man, at least six-feet or so, with cropped black hair, a devastatingly gorgeous grin, and deep, rich brown eyes consumes my vision. Tattoos cover both of his massive arms, and there’s a tiny scar on his bottom lip. Black shirt, jeans, combat boots. A look that shouldn’t work, but that’s so fitting to this man’s hard features. It just screams tall, dark, and handsome. I don’t even try to stop my roaming eyes when he’s distracted by my small hiccup. He squats down to pick it up before withdrawing back to full height and holding out his hand to offer the rag.

I softly take it back and quirk an eyebrow at him, “Ma’am? Can’t say I’ve ever been called that.”

He smirks at me in a panty-melting kind of way. One that tells me he has zero trouble with getting laid whenever he wishes. He shrugs one of his shoulders, “I can call you whatever you’d like.”

I feel no romantic spark, of course. I don’t know this guy, but I am just a girl. I’m not immune to good looks and getting flustered at a handsome man’s attention. And the horndog in me who reads all-smut, no-plot books would be crazy for not wanting to climb this man like a tree.

I huff a laugh. “You are a shameless flirt. What can I get you?” I tuck a piece of hair behind my ear and steer the conversation in a different direction before meeting his gaze again.

He leans against the counter and rubs his strong jawline like he’s thinkingreallyhard about what he wants, “Your number?”

I can’t stop the teasing grin from slipping onto my lips, “Straightforward. I’ll give you that.”

“Maybe. I’ll take a black coffee, please.” I turn around to grab one of the to-go cups, and he rattles on behind me. “You new to town? Can’t imagine I’d forget you.”

I roll my eyes.This guy.“Something like that,” I respond.

“You know how to keep a man curious. I like it.”

His eyes roam over my frame as I turn back around with his cup. It doesn’t make me feel self-conscious at all. Living in the city forced me to get used to crappy lines and all sorts of roaming eyes. Yes, the guy is hot, but he’s not really my type. Everything, and I meaneverythingabout this man is the opposite of someone like Marshall, or any of the guys I met in the city. He screams trouble. He screams something a womanwantsbut sure as hell does not need. Not whatIneedor look for in a man. Not like the one Iwant,but that is completely off-limits for more than one reason. But…I could use a little fun. So, what’s the harm in dishing it right back?

"So, your number?” He asks again, and I let out a dramatic sigh. “Maybe try again tomorrow, and we’ll see if you happen to get lucky.”

He nods his head and tilts it to the side, staring directly into my soul, like he can read every thought and see every gear turning. It’s a bit odd, but this entire town has a way of making me feel that way. He takes the warm paper cup from my hands, raises it, and says, “See you tomorrow, then." As he walks out, I notice while he has a nice ass, it doesn’t nearly fill out his jeans the way Wesley’s does. It also dawns on me that even at six-foot, Wesley no doubt towers over him. I nearly smack myself in the face for that thought. Thinking aboutfunthings should not include thinking about my neighbor.

Whitney’s high-pitched squeal flows to my ears, thankfully pulling me away from my internal sabotage. “Did you justflirtwith that man?”

“Yes…yes, I think I did,” I laugh. “You know him?”

“I know of him. And trust me, from what I’ve heard, you do not want to go down that road. Dude has got a great personality, but he needs some serious therapy.” That has the woman in me wanting to fix all his problems. Or at least find him someone who will. At my silence, she goes on. “He’s great eye candy, but not great boyfriend material.”

It’s a good thing that’s exactlynotwhat I’m looking for, but I don’t say that.

“Now, back to work and stop ogling all the hot customers,” She laughs loudly and ducks as I throw the wet rag at her head.

Chapter 27

Wesley

“What’s got you in a chipper, sober mood?” I poke fun at Haden, who came sauntering into my bar with a shit-eating grin just a few moments ago.

“Hot blonde who made my coffee this morning,” He winks, shooting me a grin behind his cup. My brows shoot up. There’s only one blonde working at the coffee shop, and it makes my blood run cold at the idea that Haden is setting his sights anywhere near her. He’s talking about Blake.MyBlake. An “Uh-oh” rings out from where Mr. Sanders sits at his usual spot at the end of the bar. I shoot him a look that would send most men running, but it only gains me a shit-eating grin in return. I decide to focus it on Haden instead, knowing it’ll be more effective.

“Don’t even think about it.”

He looks taken aback, “What?”

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