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Chapter One
Cole
I could watch Zoe shake her hips and sing into a wooden spoon all night.
Dropping my tool bag, I lean against the kitchen’s door frame and secretly drink her in as she twirls around the diner’s kitchen, flitting from shelf to shelf and grabbing ingredients.
Even in a hairnet and a batter-stained apron, she’s still the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen, with a crazy curvy frame, skin as caramel brown as the chocolate cake batter she’s stirring, and hair as curly as the chocolate shavings sitting on the countertop. The chocolate smells almost as delicious as she does, and I bet she tastes just as decadent.
“Cuz now I seee... he loves that pickup more than meee,” she belts along with the radio as she pours the batter into a greased bundt cake pan.
“Impossible,” I say in what I thought was a whisper.
She jumps, splattering the last drop of batter onto the metal table and flicking a glob of it from her spoon onto my cheek as she whips around.
“Cole,” she breathes with a sigh of relief before her eyebrows knit and she frowns. “What did I tell you about sneaking up on me? I thought you were an intruder.”
I follow her worried gaze out the pitch-black back window. Still, all I can see is a reflection of ourselves beneath the fluorescent lights.
The diner’s been closed for two hours now, but that doesn’t stop Zoe from working. In fact, whenever I show up to do some minor repairs at Over Easy diner—a grease-slicked shack that needs a major overhaul—Zoe’s always here.
She’s either in the kitchen or she’s on the floor serving hamburgers the size of your head and refilling coffee mugs. She’s often whipping up some new recipe to convince the owner, Connie, to improve the outdated menu.
This time it looks like a new dessert.
“Were you going to fight me off with that?” I smile, gazing down at the dripping spoon she’s holding in front of her like a weapon.
Her lips twitch, and then she can’t help but smile back. “Yes. I could fling batter into your eyes before escaping through the back door.”
“Good plan,” I chuckle, wiping my cheek with my thumb before popping it into my mouth.
Zoe follows the motion, her eyes lingering on my lips before diverting to the radio.
“And that was ‘More Than Me’ by the Twynam Twins,” the radio announcer says cheerily. “Stick around because we have more Twynam tunes coming up after this commercial break, right here on Give Me More 94 F.M.”
“I missed my favorite part,” Zoe sighs before she tiptoes in an attempt to turn the volume down just as an advertisement for an auto shop blares out of the speakers.
Coming in behind her, I reach over her head easily and turn the knob. Her ass brushes against my front, and I’m thankful I’m wearing thick work jeans with a heavy-duty zipper. It could be my excuse if Zoe questions me, but she doesn’t. In fact, I swear for one brief second, she leans into me, giving me the courage to linger for a second longer than I need to. But then, like always, she freezes, her back going rigid.
I never know how to read her. Does she genuinely like my attention? It feels like she does, like she’s warming up and about to surprise me with a touch or look, but then it’s like someone flips a switch and she shutters her emotions.
Lately though, her ‘off switch’ has been malfunctioning. The more she gets to know me, the longer it takes her to shut down on me.
That’s all the encouragement I need not to back down. Zoe’s getting more comfortable with me.
“What’s your favorite part? Will you sing it for me?” I ask, gazing down at her. I love seeing her looking up at me from this angle. Her face is downright angelic, with round green eyes and Cupid’s bow lips.
She flushes and drops her head.
I tip her chin back up to look at me. The tip of my thumb grazes her bottom lip and it takes everything in my power not to pull down on it—not to slide it between her lips and feel that sweet little tongue swirl around it.
“I’ve already heard you sing most of it,” I point out.
“The lyrics are a little cringey,” she says with an embarrassed smile.
“More embarrassing than your hairnet?” I quip and quickly step back as she grabs a rag to whip my arm in retaliation.
“Hey, Netty’s off-limits.” She pats it self-consciously.
