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When I spot him at the register, talking to a customer, I lift the drink and take a sip. The moment the liquid touches my tongue, my face scrunches in twisted torture. I didn’t think it was possible to make a latte taste worse than his first attempt, but somehow, he’s managed.
I lower the cup and shake my head, my gaze drifting back to him behind the register. He catches my eye and gives me a hopeful thumbs up, pointing to my drink. His smile is so earnest, it almost makes up for the disaster in my cup.
I force a double thumbs up in return, trying to mask my disappointment. As soon as he looks away, I turn back to my screen, but my eyes betray me. I’m unable to not look in his direction any longer than five seconds. I might as well enjoy the view. It’s all the justification I need to gawk at him.
It’s ironic, really. When you look at him, all you can think is he’s a tall cup of something delicious. Too bad he has no clue how to make one. He flicks his head up, his twists following his commands and falling perfectly into place, clearing a path for his eyes, my new favorite shade of brown. Melted milk chocolate over a campfire brown, and just as warm and inviting.
He walks around the counter and adjusts one of the specialty travel cups on display, and I take the opportunity to admire him from yet another angle, a different body part to appreciate. Future me owes me big time.
My hands cover my snicker. Since I can’t enjoy my drink, I choose to drink up the goodness of the handsome man. Mrs. Whitehead has high standards, and Devon will likely not make it until tomorrow. But that’s a problem future me will have to deal with.
For now, I’m going to savor every moment of this unexpected eye candy. His presence is a bright spot in my day, and I find myself hoping against hope that he’ll somehow manage to stay. Just maybe, he’ll figure it out and stick around.
As he straightens up and catches my eye again, I offer him a genuine smile this time. His return smile is like a ray of sunshine warming me from the inside out. I take another sip of the terrible latte, and despite the taste, I can’t help but feel a little giddy.
He seems like a friendly fella, and we’re a friendly town. On paper, it’s a match made in heaven. But as my daily work frustrations remind me, sometimes the perfect fit doesn’t always fall into place.
I glance back at Devon, hoping this time the universe will prove me wrong.
Chapter Three
Zara
I’m thirty feet deep into the rabbit hole, and it’s the most wonderful place in the world to be. It’s nearly two o’clock in the afternoon. I’ve already wrapped up my assigned tasks from my nine to five. Which means I get to use the rest of the day to design to my heart’s content.
Today, I’m sketching out designs for stylish women’s boots. Tall, fashion-forward boots worn by stylistic gen-zers strutting down the sidewalks of New York or Chicago. My fingers swipe across the secret pocket I’ve designed on the outer top part of the boot, a perfect place to hide a lipstick case while wearing that deadly, dangerously short flare dress with no pockets.
The design is a perfect complement to our City Nights collection. It has been five years since the collection last had a major makeover. Sales peaked years ago, but the management team doesn’t want to take any risks with a line that’s still profitable.
No risk, no reward.
I let my mind wander. The constant dream of having the autonomy to run a complete line nourishes my soul and refills my cup.
“I’m totally going to wear that!” A familiar voice floats over my right shoulder, extracting a cheerful smile. “I’ll trade you this for it.” A to-go cup appears next to my keyboard, and I turn to face my younger sister Stacy.
“How did you find me?” I joke. Stacy goes to college two towns over and regularly pops into the café during the week when she finishes class and gets bored.
“Michael sent me.” She gives me a reverse bear hug, and I take the squeeze, inhaling her comforting vanilla scent. She slips into the seat next to me, leaning forward. “He wanted me to double-check that you haven’t hired a professional assassin to eliminate him.”
“I hadn’t considered the option, but thank him for the suggestion.” I point to the dented ginormous head sitting in the chair across from me. “I’ve only practiced my roundhouse kicks imagining that was his head.”
Stacy pushes the microbraids hanging in front of her face, her gorgeous dark eyes popping, and her lips pursing when she takes in the damaged head. “You serious?” She leaps from her chair and inspects the damage while I do the same of her. She’s wearing a tight rainbow tank top I designed for her senior year of high school. It warms my heart every time I see her still wearing it three years later. She’s wearing her spray-painted-on beige barely there biker shorts which causes Papa to fake having a heart attack every time he sees her in them.
“Where’s your helmet?” If she’s wearing the shorts, it means she biked over from school.
She waves her hand toward the window. “On the bike, Mom.” She needles my protectiveness, and I don’t mind one bit. “Forreals, tell me what happened to Mister Magic?” Stacy refers to my design as if it’s a person.
I push out a breath and close my laptop. Time to face the giant elephant head in the room. Two months ago, Stacy blindsided me. Her college roommate’s father purchased a professional men’s volleyball team near Anaheim. Yes, it’s a thing. As part of the takeover, he’s revamping everything from their logo, social media accounts, down to their uniforms and mascot. Because my sister is adorable, and no one can say no to her, she somehow got me on the short list of designers pitching to this millionaire.
“I only have one mascot suit. It fits Michael perfectly. He knew that. Yet he’s decided to skip town and run off to Arizona to chase the girl of his dreams, leaving me high and dry,” I state the obvious. None of this is new to Stacy. She’s all hearts and moons, and I’m sure she had her hand in pushing Michael to rush to the airport to win Grace’s heart like some cheesy rom-com movie.
The image causes a smile to flash across my face. I adore Michael and wish I could have witnessed it.
“So, you decided to put a hole in Michael’s head? Newsflash, that’s not his real head.”
“I wish.” I wave a hand toward the counter. “Just a café accident with the new barista.”
My sister lifts the straw to her lips and looks up at Devon. “He’s cute. I guess that explains why you’re seated on this side of the table rather than working at the window counter spot that practically has your name engraved.”
