Page 3 of Olivia
The kind of thing I’d never usually do. Except, this morning isn’t usual.
The wine from last night is crashing around my head like a teenager trying to learn the drums. I can’t stop thinking about Sergeant Colt.
I barely had a moment’s sleep. The whole night I was tossing and turning. Replaying every tiny little detail of the night. Of him...
His square, stubble-covered jaw. The huge breadth of his shoulders. That wicked grin he’d had on his face when he didn’t think I was looking. The way he ran across the road and tackled that man.
Just being near him had set my skin on fire. I’ve never met a man like him. And now, my skin is literally burning because the mere thought of having his hands on my body has me so distracted I can’t pull a frigging tray out of an oven.
The cold water from the tap feels like heaven as it cools my wound. I look up at the clock and shudder. Only twenty minutes until opening time. And I still have a ton of things to do.
I wrap a little blue band-aid on my finger and get back to work. Rushing around and getting things ready until the alarm on my phone tells me it’s time to go out front and flip that open sign.
I put on my Sweets ’n’ Treats apron, take one last quick look in the mirror to make sure I don’t have any flour on my face or an embarrassing make-up faux-pas, and head to the front of the shop.
Flicking on the lights, I step from behind the counter while planning all the tasks that still need doing.
If it’s not too busy, I should be able to get back on track in no time.
I turn the lock, flip the sign, and head back behind the counter. Yes, I’ve burned my finger, and I’m running on next to no sleep, and yes I have a wiked hangover that seems to be trying to kill me, but it’s nothing a nice, strong mug of coffee can’t fix.
I turn on the hot water and start to grind the beans when a customer comes in. “Just a minute,” I call over my shoulder. Breathing in the heavenly scent of freshly ground coffee.
“No rush,” a familiar, deep voice says from behind me. “Take your time.”
I bite my lip and gently rest my forehead against the coffee machine. I know that voice. I’ve been dreaming about that voice all night. And even though, the thought of seeing Colt again has me all hot and bothered, I wish he hadn’t turned up so early when I’m feeling and looking like a regurgitated burrito.
“Colt,” I say, finally bringing myself to turn around and look at him.
My heart drops to my stomach. If I thought he looked good last night in his uniform, it’s nothing compared to what he looks like now.
It’s almost insulting. What kind of person looks this good this early in the morning?
“What can I do for you?” I manage, my words escaping my mouth in a frog-like croak. “It’s not about last night, is it? Do I need to sign something? Or give another statement?”
He leans on the counter and looks me up and down. His eyes linger on my chest a second or two too long. I want to throw myself at him. Feel his huge, strong hands caress my body.
“No,” he says, “this is more of a personal visit.”
“Personal?” I gulp, taking a step towards him. My legs tremble. I’ve been fantasizing about this moment all night. Could my dreams be coming true?
“I was hoping I could buy you dinner,” he says. "That is... if you don't have a boyfriend?"
“Dinner?”
He smiles at me, and I mentally facepalm myself. It’s like my brain has crashed. All I can do is hopelessly repeat words he’s just said.
"Boyfriend?"
I want to come off as devilishly sexy. But instead, I’m acting like a total idiot.
Although, in my defense, it’s not every day a drop-dead handsome man walks into my bakery and asks me out. In fact, it's literally never happened.
“Saturday night?” he says, “around eight?”
“Shit!” I say, immediately covering my mouth with my hand. I didn’t mean to say that out loud. My cheeks start to burn, and when I look in the mirror to my side, I’m so red I look like a giant tomato. “I mean… I can’t do Saturday. It’s my sister’s wedding. Unless….” The words catch in my mouth. I can’t believe I’m about to say this. It’s madness. I’ve only just met the man. “You want to be my date?”
“To your sister’s wedding?” he asks uncertainly.
