Page 17
“How?”
At the sound of Shane’s voice, my chin jerks up so quickly my neck pinches.
His green eyes are slanted beneath bunched brows. “How are you everywhere?”
“Uh…”
I close my mouth then open it again but, unfortunately, lack a helpful answer. It doesn’t help that Shane is soaked in sweat, his large chest heaving like he’s just finished twenty cartwheels back to back. A black workout shirt clings to distracting muscle definition, his toned thighs prominent in his black joggers. The playful way his hair curls around the edges of a black baseball cap is in direct opposition to his rigid stance.
“Why…” My index finger circles in his direction.
“I ran here.”
My lashes flutter in confusion. This coffee shop isn’t anywhere close to his penthouse. There’s a small city park nearby with a walking path. He must have meant he was running there.
“Oh,” I manage, my throat coated in sand.
His arms cross over his chest, flashing his body art at me. “Is this job number three?”
I raise my palms like you’ve got me, still shaken by his sudden arrival.
When Shane simply frowns, I tap my fingers on the countertop.
“Is those ours?” A preschool-age girl with messy pigtails bounds up to the counter.
Ah. That’s right. I’m supposed to be working.
Not withering under the unrelenting stare of my…
What is Shane?
Though I’d jokingly declared us friends two nights ago, he doesn’t seem to want that. It’s more like he’s my one-time rescuer/kinda boss/stalker maybe?
“They are,” I gush at the cherub in front of me. “But let me carry them to your table, okay?”
Before I can round the counter, Shane wordlessly picks up the three mugs with one hand.
The little girl’s eyes widen as she tilts her head back, back, back to see his grumpy face. Emitting a squeak, she rushes toward her mother.
Shane grunts, following after her and delicately placing the sprinkle-covered mugs at the center of the table. He accepts thanks from the harried mom with a silent nod. Then he squats, picking up a doll the middle sister dropped and placing it in front of her. She hugs it to her chest while avoiding eye contact. The oldest of the three girls—obviously braver than her sisters—shows him a crayon drawing. Shane listens, still crouched, as she uses wild hand gestures to explain why her smiling avocado has wings and a unicorn horn.
I’m watching the exchange, entranced, when Gus comes barreling out of the back holding an inventory sheet.
“Wendy, what’s the meaning of this?”
My shoulders climb toward my ears. “Of what?”
“You placed duplicate orders of cold brew concentrate when you know our fridge can only handle one.”
“I did?” I wince, wracking my brain.
That must have been two weeks ago, when everything had been a hazy blur.
“This is your signature.” He shoves the paper in my face, a vein popping in his forehead.
“I’m—”
I don’t even get to finish that sentence because Shane presses one hand onto the countertop and vaults over it, effortlessly sliding between me and my irate boss. The movement is so quick and graceful I have to blink a few times to confirm it happened. Gus’s gaping mouth and Indy’s shocked expression tell me I’m not imagining things.
