Page 113 of Tempting Wyatt
“I am a little chilly and wish there was a coffee shop somewhere nearby. I’d do some pretty bad things for a latte about now.”
I grin over at her, one brow lifted. “How bad?”
She smirks, eyes dancing with mischief. “Downright criminal,” she answers.
“Well in that case, I know a place.”
Her smirk spreads to a smile. “Good because rewiring the robot rancher into an affectionate, sweet soul who feedsstrays, rescues damsels from bunkhouses, and takes the day off for a scenic mountain tour, is thirsty work.”
I bark out a laugh. “Oh yeah? And are you expecting a reward for all this hard work? More shirts?”
She hums, pretending to consider it. “I think I’m good on shirts at the moment. But I could go for something warm. Cozy. Coffee, maybe a sweet treat. Then preferably something that involves getting me out of these jeans.”
Heat licks through me, pooling low in my gut.
“I think that can be arranged, but only if you stay at my place tonight.”
She grins over at me. “I’m getting pretty used to falling asleep with you.”
So am I.
And that’s the problem.
Because in a few days, it won’t even be an option.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
ivy
“THISIS A COFFEE SHOP?” I ask as Wyatt helps me out of the truck. I can already tell I’m going to be sore tomorrow from the trail ride.
He nods. “Belongs to a friend of my mom’s, a widow named Emma Montgomery.”
I study the large oval shaped wooden sign hanging from the pitched roof. Looks like it was sliced off a giant tree trunk.Emma’s Placeit says in pretty script. Printed neatly below are the words coffee, tea, pastries.
It’s a cabin of sorts, the building of navy siding and oak logs with a metal roof blending seamlessly into the tall trees surrounding it. Two gray-haired ladies sit sipping drinks in rocking chairs on the front porch. There’s a chess set between them, but they don’t seem to be playing. Wyatt greets them as he holds the door open for me.
The intense aroma of fresh coffee grounds combined with the sweet sugary scent of baked goods has my mouth watering the moment we enter.
Inside it’s cozy, dimly lit with a few floor lamps near bookcases and strings of bulb lights hanging from the ceiling.The walls are wood paneled, making it feel like a secret spot in a fairytale forest. Soft jazz plays in the background.
Two older gentlemen sit at a picnic style table piecing together a puzzle. In the corner, in plum hued plush wingback chairs, a young couple chats quietly. At a small table against the window, a middle-aged lady with Air Pods in both ears appears deep in thought, her brow furrowed in concentration as she glares at the screen of her MacBook. She reminds me of me. And that I should probably be writing right now. This would be a perfect place to work.
I wish I had more time here.
The thought comes unexpectedly, and I shove it aside as we give the young female barista our orders. Black coffee for him and a lavender latte for me.
“Better order something to eat. I was serious about lunch being gone by the time we get back.” Wyatt waves a hand toward the bakery case.
The items inside look too beautiful to be real. I consider them carefully.
“I’m torn between the chocolate hazelnut croissant and the turkey and Swiss one,” I admit.
“Both are excellent choices,” the blonde barista says with a smile.
“We’ll take both,” Wyatt tells her. “Two of each please.”
“Both?” I glance up at him. Malcolm would’ve told me to take it easy on the carbs. Wyatt ordered extra.
