Page 14 of One Whopper of a Love Story

“Then I’m going to need your number.” He slid his phone across the counter with a contact already created for The Mermaid.

I giggled. “You seriously set up my contact like that?”

That twinkle was back in his eyes. “I was hoping it would earn me at least a tiny giggle.”

For the next hour, Nico sat on that stool, sipping coffee. When it wasn’t busy, we chatted about childhood pets, places we’d like to visit, and whether cheese or toppings should be on the top of a pizza.

They were called toppings for a reason, but he didn’t agree.

Nico stood and stretched. He’d never ordered a doughnut, and I guessed that was on purpose to make a point. He’d shown up to see me.

“I’ll talk to you later. Should we count today as day one?”

“Today is day three.” I laid my hand on his. “I think I’m going to like this habit.”

“That makes two of us.” He sauntered out of the shop, looking very prince-like.

Chapter 8

Nico

I’d managed a few hours of sleep, and even that was a surprise. Garrett’s advice had been simple, but helpful—Build trust and a friendship while making it obvious you’re interested. I could do that because I was definitely interested, and not just because she’d kissed me within minutes of our meeting.

Having Garrett propose in the middle of my suggestion to Layla hadn’t been planned, but it set the right tone. Serendipity.

The look on her face when she’d clarified that I was only asking for talking amused me. She’d probably been asked out a lot but never asked to only talk.

Before pulling out of my driveway, I dialed her number and put it on speaker.

“Hello.” Her greeting was hesitant.

Probably because she had no idea who was calling. I’d gotten her number, but I hadn’t given her mine. “Hi. It’s Nico.”

“Oh, hi!”

If her greeting was anything like that for the rest of our habit-building days, I’d be smiling for sure. “I’m headed to work and thought I’d chat with you for a bit before my shift starts.”

“Do you always work nights?”

“Alternating months. That’s the way this county schedules deputies.” For some women, dating a deputy was a deal breaker. I hoped that wasn’t true for Layla, but I understood how some could be concerned.

“What time does your shift end? Will you text me when you get off tomorrow so that I know your night went okay?”

“Maybe I’ll even make a quick detour by the shop after seven. But yes, I’ll text you.”

She was quiet, and I imagined her chewing that bottom lip.

That image could be very distracting. I needed to file that away until I was done with my shift. “You still there?”

“I’m here. Just to clarify the rules of this habit—does texting count as talking?”

“Do mermaids live in the desert?”

She giggled. “I guess that means no.”

“Hearing your voice is my reward for completing my daily task. I researched habits. There has to be a reward for it to work well.” And on my personal score card, I got a gold star every time she giggled because of something I said.

The quiet was my cue to move onto a different topic, something less uncomfortable for her.

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