The café was perfect, exactly the way a coffee shop should look—cocoa and cream color scheme, round wooden tables and high-back stools, comfy couches and chairs facing a wood burning fireplace. And the aromas were heavenly. Layla wanted coffee before walking in, but after getting a whiff of the place, she needed it like an addict needs their fix.
The shop was busy and being tended by only one woman, who handled the pressure well, every move perfected and immeasurably graceful. She was around Layla’s age, but slightly taller with an outgoing attitude, and she was gorgeous, an unusual bright spot amidst mundane kitchen gadgets. Her long, blonde hair hung straight and smooth from a flawless part, boasting honey-gold undertones, and she had a friendly face, with round cheeks and a big smile exposing perfect teeth.
When the line advanced, giving Layla a closer look, her mouth fell open. She’d never seen eyes like the clerk’s before. Around the pupil, ran a thin ring of pastel green, which was encircled by a darker ring, then another. They continued that way, subtly changing hues, until they reached the outer iris, a dark layer of forest green. They had to be contacts, Layla concluded. No one has eyes like that.
When the man in front of her left with his order, Layla approached the counter, trying not to stare as the clerk wrote something down on a notepad.
“One second,” she murmured, still focused on her memo.
She’d only said two words, yet she had the most beautiful voice Layla had ever heard.
“Take your time,” Layla replied, ridiculously in awe of the woman.
The clerk whipped her head up, scanning Layla with narrow eyes. Then she smoothed her scowl and warily smiled. “Hi.”
“Hi,” Layla returned, completely confused.
The clerk’s forehead creased. “What can I do for you?”
Layla cleared her throat, answering in the clearest voice she could muster. “Large coffee and um…” Damn, she’d forgotten what she wanted. She threw a quick glance at the hand painted menu. Oh yeah. “A piece of the chocolate-hazelnut torte. Please.”
The clerk’s odd expression stayed in place as she repeated the order.
“Yeah,” Layla confirmed, torn between looking at the counter and staring hard into the strange woman’s multicolored eyes.
The clerk totaled up the tab then expertly fixed the coffee and dessert, glancing up often. Layla tried to pretend she didn’t notice the looks, but found her own eyes constantly shifting toward the weird and wonderful woman.
Once Layla had her purchases and her change, she offered the clerk a small smile. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Have a good night.”
“You, too,” Layla mumbled. Then they both furrowed their eyebrows at the same time, sharing one last look of confusion.
Layla turned and scanned the room, quickly choosing a corner table with a clear view of the entire store, including the counter and the woman tending it.
The dessert was excellent—silky smooth and sweet—and the coffee was, in fact, the best she’d ever had. As she ate, she imagined what her parents would look like sitting at each table, but most of them were occupied, and aside from the stunning clerk, no one could compare to her lovely mom and dad.
Until he walked in.
Layla’s gaze was roaming over the front door when it swung open, revealing a man so gorgeous her breath caught in her chest. Her reaction surprised and embarrassed her, but she couldn’t look away as his tall, bronzed body moved with strength, grace and purpose to the counter.
Instead of entering the queue, he moved behind the bar and began helping the clerk. All Layla could see then was his back, but she didn’t mind. She took her time examining his head, shoulders, torso—and by leaning to the left—his hips, butt and legs. He wore a white t-shirt, brown cargo shorts, and flip-flops. Inappropriate for the weather, but fantastic for the view.
Layla cocked her head to the side, appreciating his relaxed style and fine form. Then her gaze returned to his upper half, quite content to do so. White cotton rippled over muscle as he worked. And his thick hair—the color of which was strikingly similar to a pot of strong coffee held up to the light—shimmered in loose waves, sweeping over the nape of his neck.
Just as Layla wished she could see his face again, wondering if it was as beautiful as she remembered, the last customer in line walked away. The female clerk moved to the handsome stranger, and he leaned in, letting her whisper in his ear.
She must be his girlfriend, Layla concluded, swallowed by an unexpected wave of disappointment. Not that she would ever, in a million years, have the courage to talk to someone who looked like him. He could easily be a famous face and paired far better with the stunning clerk.
Layla tried to force her gaze away, but the attempt was unsuccessful and quite pitiful. She really didn’t want to look away. He might disappear.
Suddenly, he straightened and turned, staring right at her.
Layla gasped and looked down, heat flooding her face as her heart thundered. It felt like he’d x-rayed her, peered straight into her soul, and she didn’t dare look up again. Instead, she watched the coffee at the bottom of her cup, mortified to be caught ogling and worried she’d offended his girlfriend.
Layla wanted to leave immediately, run far away from the ridiculous situation and forget it ever happened. She shouldn’t have come, except… well, the coffee was excellent. Damn. She’d blown her chance for a refill.
She took a deep breath, working up the courage to raise her head and leave, but her concentration was blown to bits when a deep voice spoke, quickening her hasty pulse.
“Would you like a refill?”
Layla snapped her gaze up, locking eyes on the most magnificent man she’d ever seen. His front was so much better than his back. “Um… yeah, sure,” she stuttered, feeling like a complete idiot.
He took her cup, a small smile curving over his strong jaw. “I’ll be right back.”
Layla figured he was laughing at her in his head, but she couldn’t bring herself to mind. The tiny smile sent pleasurable goose bumps across her chest and neck.
Once he walked away—for only then did Layla have the brain capacity to ponder anything at all—she wondered what her problem was. Sure, he was the most crush-worthy man she’d ever seen, but she’d lived twenty-one years without getting silly over a guy. Melting like butter when he was near made her feel weak and ridiculous.
When he returned, she looked at the table, sliding figure eights across its polished surface, trying not to make her attraction obvious, but most likely achieving the opposite affect. Who sits around staring at a table while tracing invisible figure eights? Loonies and people trying not to look at something, that’s who.
He sat down in the chair across from her, but he didn’t surrender her coffee. He just watched her with intense brown eyes that were so dark the pupil and iris were barely distinguishable.
“How do you drink it?” he finally asked, holding up her cup.
“Sugar and cream,” she answered, voice cracking.
He gave her another small smile, and Layla couldn’t tell if humor or sympathy played on his lovely lips.
“You’ll have to be more specific,” he said, picking up the cream.
More embarrassed than ever before, Layla couldn’t quit blushing, and her palms were slick with sweat. She wiped them on her jeans and ordered herself to pull it together. If she got any worse, he’d think she escaped a nuthouse.
“I’ll do it,” she offered, taking the cup. “I use a lot of sugar.”
He stayed seated, watching her add the condiments. When she poured the sugar, he raised a dark eyebrow, one corner of his full lips twitching into a smirk. “That is a lot of sugar.”
Layla shrugged, trying not to stare at his mouth. “We all have our vices. Mine’s really sweet coffee.”
He wouldn’t look away long enough for her to take a drink, and she felt stupid just sitting there, so she straightened her shoulders and met his stare. “Do you always sit and visit with your customers?”
“I don’t work here,” he replied.
“Then why are you working?” she asked.
“I’m not. Earlier I was helping a friend. Now I’m a customer sitting with a beautiful woman.”
Layla glanced around the table, half-expecting to find a pretty lady. Then she returned her suspicious gaze to the handsome man. “You’re not a customer,” she said, pointing out the empty table in front of him.
His smile widened, and dimples appeared below chiseled cheeks.
Now that’s not fair, Layla thought, absolutely blown away by the pristine package in front of her. How perfect can one person be?
“Would it help if I got a cup of coffee?” he asked.
“Help what?” she returned.
“Make you more comfortable sitting with me.”
So her embarrassment was obvious. Great. “Maybe, if you tell me who you are and why you’re sitting here.”
“Then I’ll get some coffee,” he said, smoothly rising from his chair. “Be right back.” He walked behind the bar and helped himself, ignoring the pointed looks the clerk threw him.
Layla wasn’t sure what to make of everything. Why was this beyond gorgeous man giving her the time of day? And why was the beautiful clerk reacting so strangely? Layla was stumped; therefore intrigued.
When the handsome man started back, Layla looked away at nothing in particular, waiting for him to sit before looking forward.
His gaze stayed on her face as he added a small amount of sugar to his cup. Then he sipped and set the mug aside. “Now, what was it you wanted to know?”
It took longer than it should have for Layla to remember what he was talking about. “Who are you?”
“That’s right.” He flashed dimples as he reached across the table. “My name’s Quinlan, but most people call me Quin.”
Layla tentatively accepted his hand, and his large palm enveloped hers, but his touch was warm and gentle, sliding tingles up her arm to her stuttering heart. “It’s nice to meet you, Quin. My name’s Layla.”
He frowned, his hand and pupils contracting. Then he let her go and looked at his coffee. “It’s nice to meet you, too, Layla. Do you have a last name?”
“It’s your turn to answer one,” she countered.
His smile returned as he looked up. “I guess it is. You wanted to know why I’m sitting here, right?”
She nodded, and he answered without a moment’s hesitation. “Because I’m intrigued by you.”
Layla furrowed her eyebrows, withholding a sarcastic snort. “And what about me intrigues you?”
“Nope. Your turn again.”
Layla puckered, and Quin grinned. “What’s your last name, Layla?”
“Callaway,” she answered.
He looked away again, and Layla took a drink, trying to decipher his reactions. “I’m not satisfied with your previous answer, Quin. Why are you sitting here?”
“Do you want me to leave you alone?”
“No,” she answered, way too quickly, and her cheeks flushed as she bowed her head.
“I wanted to meet you,” he explained, quite simply and with much more confidence than she could ever achieve.
“Oh,” she mumbled, slowly looking up.
He caught her gaze and held it. “I’m in here a lot and I’ve never seen you. Are you from around here?”
That depends on how you look at it, she thought. “No, this is my first time here.”
“Here in Cannon Beach? Or here in Cinnia’s?”
“Both. It’s my first time in Oregon.”
“Are you on vacation?”
“You ask a lot of questions, Quin.”
“Am I bothering you?”
“Not really.” It was a lie. He was bothering her, in very interesting ways.
She cleared her throat, determined to hold a decent conversation with someone other than herself. “Do you live in Cannon Beach?” she asked, keeping her voice steady. A little too steady. It seemed forced. Damn it, Layla, get over yourself.
“No,” Quin answered, leaning forward, and Layla’s lungs froze. “I live northwest of Jewell, a logging community between here and Portland.”
“I saw the junction,” she noted.
“Junction?” he repeated.
“Yeah, the Jewell Junction. On the highway from Portland?”
“Right,” he mumbled. “Is that where you’re staying? Portland?”
“For now,” she confessed. “I moved here on a whim, so I don’t have a place yet. I’m at a hotel until I figure out where I want to live.”
“Is that what you’re doing in Cannon Beach?” he asked. “Looking for a house?”
She hesitated, somewhat suspicious of the handsome man’s motives. “No. I’m here for the coffee. I was told Cinnia’s Cannon Café has the best.”
“Cinnia’s has a good reputation,” he confirmed. “It’s been around for years.”
“That’s what I’ve heard.”
“So you drove to the coast just to try Cinnia’s coffee.”
“Well, I also wanted to see the beach.”
“Did you see it?”
“From a distance.”
“Do you have a warmer coat in your car?”
Layla glanced at her hoody, thinking the question odd. “Yes,” she answered, looking back up.
“Good.” He took her cup and stood. “I’m going to refill our coffee. Then we’ll go to the beach and watch the sun set.” And without another word, he walked away.