Page 45 of Saltwater Cowboy

“This is a coffee shop, right?” His grin widened, the kind that made you wonder what he was up to.

“Sure is,” I answered, trying to hold my ground.

“I’d like three shots of espresso, please.”

I cocked a brow, looking down at the register. “So you have a death wish?”

Wells tilted his head, removing his baseball cap and running his fingers through his messy hair. “What?”

I gestured to the order screen. “That’s a lot of caffeine.”

His grin turned playful. “Aww, you care.”

I gave a dry, humorless laugh. “I didn’t say that. I’ll happily serve you more if it means you get out of here quicker.”

“Ah, that’s the Rose I’ve come to know.” Wells tapped his card to pay, his tone dripping with amusement. “It’s funny. Everyone in this town thinks you’re nice. You’re a great actress.”

I glared at him as I brewed his coffee. “You don’t know the first damn thing about me.” The nerve of him, acting like he had some insight into my life. He’d seen me cry on a plane for all of three seconds, and now he thought he could read me like an open book. The joke is on him because the walls I’ve put up are ten feet thick.

“You might be surprised. People talk ‘round here.”

I slid the small cup of espresso toward him, my hands gripped the edge of the counter.

“Thanks, Sunshine.” Wells didn’t move, just watched me as he picked up the cup.

I watched him take his seat at the nearest table, his massive frame blocking half my view. My patience was already wearing thin, and the last thing I needed was Wells Calloway adding to the noise in my head. I pulled my book back out and started reading, hoping the words on the page could shield me from the weight of his gaze.

But I could feel the steady burning of his eyes on me. It was like he was trying to read the very thoughts I was trying to hide. My breath hitched, and I refocused on the book, trying to block out the intrusive presence in my line of sight. The man had an uncanny way of making you feel like he was everywhere, even when you tried to pretend he wasn’t.

I finally lost myself in the book enough that I forgot Wells was even still there, taking up too much space.

“Why are you still here?” I asked through gritted teeth, my patience fraying.

“Am I not allowed to sit and drink my coffee?” Wells placed his phone down on the table, his grin still there, like he had all the time in the world to get under my skin.

“No, because you’re ruining my peace,” I countered, never looking up from the pages.

Wells didn’t respond, just kept scrolling on his phone like he hadn’t heard a word I’d said.

“You don’t have any social media.” He stated plainly, trying to steer the conversation.

I could feel his eyes shift to me, but I ignored him.

“Are you really going to ignore me?”

I really was.

He pushed his chair back with a squeak, stood up and walked toward the counter. I let out a quiet sigh of relief, thinking he was finally going to leave me in peace. But then he leaned on the counter, his hands resting there as his gaze turned serious.

“For whatever it’s worth,” he said, his voice quieter now, “I wish I never said a word to you on the plane. I didn’t know what you were going through.”

I looked over my book at him, eyes narrowing. “You still don’t.”

He didn’t move, didn’t even flinch. Instead, he leaned in a little closer, like he had something important to say.

“Oh, but I do,” Wells said, a glimmer of something—understanding? Sympathy?—in his voice.

I shook my head, the messy bun on top of my head shaking with it. “You’re a liar.”