Dash doesn’t know I can see him over there next to his shop. He’s in clear view, right in the alley, but he’s been looking too long to realize I’m looking back.

In short glances, between customers.

My heart pounds at the sight of him. Blue t-shirt showing off his muscles. Shorts in the summer heat. His chestnut hair catches rays of the sun as he steps out onto the sidewalk.

Oh, God, he’s coming over here. He’s coming over here. What am I going to do?

Sell him coffee, that’s what. No more, no less. He won’t have a reason to linger. Not today. I’m managing it, somehow. Maybe it’s that the crowd is a little better behaved than yesterday, but I’m keeping up. After that phone call, what else can I do?

“One black coffee,” I say absently, my eyes still on his gorgeous form.

“He’s hot,” the woman buying the coffee says. “Is he your boyfriend?”

That snaps me back into reality. We’re both frozen, she with dollar bills in her hand, me waiting to receive them. “Uh, no. No, he’s not.” This customer is one of the cool ones. Her red hair is piled on top of her head in a bun, and she’s wearing the kind of sundress that I could never pull off—flowing and tie-dyed—without looking like a muumuu. She looks familiar, but I can’t quite put my finger on it. She strikes me as the kind of person who would have been on the cross country team in high school. I can almost picture the way she runs.

A little girl with fine hair rising around her face in little curls tugs at her hand. “Are we going to go to the beach?”

We both look down at her. She’s a startlingly beautiful child. “Of course, sweet pea. I just need some coffee first.”

It comes to me. “Valentine?”

“Yeah!” she says, her face lighting up in a smile. “Do we know each other?”

“Art class. I was a freshman and you were a senior. Ellie Collins.”

“Ellie, oh, my god, I am so rude. How have you been?”

I open my mouth and lie. “Good. Great. I’m back in town for a little while.”

“We’re here on vacation,” Valentine says wistfully. “It’s the city life now.” She smiles again, her face transformed by joy. “I don’t mind it, though. Lots of restaurants.”

I liked the restaurants, too. “Don’t I know it. Have a kickass vacation,” I say, feeling abjectly lame in her presence. She’s gracious and kind and not living here anymore. I failed at that too, but I keep my head held high. This is fine.

I finish ringing her up and she glides toward the carafes on the counter. A man comes in from the side door, a dark-haired baby in one arm, and kisses her on the back of her neck. It’s so intimate and sweet that I look away. “You ready?” he asks her.

“I’m ready!” cries the little girl. “Daddy, let’s go!”

He gives the woman a look. “Let’s get this girl to the beach.”

“Let’s get me to the beach.”

I’m totally not jealous. Not even a little bit.

There’s a lull. Another group—it looks like a family—is waiting outside the side door, but there aren’t any customers for the moment. 

Oh, Jesus, I forgot I was watching for Dash. It’s too late now to whip my head around and press my face up against the window, so instead, I turn away, playing it as cool as humanly possible. I grab the cleaning spray and wipe down the space in front of the espresso machine and the register, keeping my eyes on my own work.

The door swooshes open, and I look up. Is my smile real enough? Why am I suddenly pretending that I didn’t know he was coming?

He lets the door shut behind him and raises a hand in greeting. “Just me.”

God, he is fine. I want to brush up against this traitor until all our clothes are on the floor. Yet I also hate him for what he’s about to do. 

“Welcome to Medium Roast, Lakewood’s premier and only coffee shop,” I tell him. “What can I get for you?”

He sticks his hands in his pockets and tries not to smile. “I wanted to make sure you’re all right?”

I point at my chest. “Me? I’m fine. Why would I not be fine?”

“You left dinner in a rush.”

“I heard some disturbing news, but I’m over it now.”

He doesn’t take his eyes off mine. “I’m sorry about that.” The old man reading a paper at one of the tables gets up and shuffles toward the side door, tucking it laboriously under his arm as he goes. “I should have—”

“Not decided to build a second coffee shop right across from this coffee shop?”

Dash steps closer to the counter and crosses his arms over his chest. “I think I made the right call on that.” He glances around Medium Roast, and a fierce defensiveness bubbles up in my gut. “This place is past its prime.”

“If you don’t like it, you can leave any time.” My face burns. My aunt is doing her best with the repairs and general upkeep, but I’m not in charge of the purse strings. I can’t order the place renovated because it needs a new coat of paint. 

“I came in here to tell you that I shouldn’t have been flirting with you yesterday.”

My breath hitches in my throat. Can this get any worse? Am I going to get dumped by a guy before we’ve even done anything? How much more salt does he want to pour in the wound? “You’ve said it. Now you can get out.”

“No,” he says. Is he blushing now? What the hell is this? “I came in here intending to say that, the thing is—”

“—that you should choose another town for your coffee shop?”

“—I don’t want to stop talking to you. I like you. Plus, I think if we worked together—”

“I’m going to stop you there. We’re not working together.”

I take the spray and aggressively wipe down the display case. I forgot to ask about the baked goods. They come on a truck from one of those big box food service stores, and everybody thinks they’re homemade. The truck hasn’t shown up in three weeks, but when I called, they didn’t have the account on file, so it’s one of those things.

“We did it pretty well yesterday.”

That’s it—that’s the killing blow. I can’t ignore the fact that I owe him one. I owe him a big one. He’s now on the list of People Who Have Bailed Me Out, right along with Aunt Lisa and Uncle Fred.

He’s still looking at me when I work up the nerve to look back. “What do you want, Dash? I get it. I owe you. But what do you want me to do?” I swallow my pride. “How can I help you?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t want anything in return,” he says, and his voice is pleasure, sheer pleasure. “All I want—” His eyes blaze into mine. “If you ever have a spare second, stop by. I don’t want to be enemies.” His phone rings in his pocket and he pulls it out, frowning. “I have to take this. But please. Stop by. I want to talk.” Then he lifts the phone to his ear and goes back out onto the sidewalk. In seconds, he’s out of sight.

“I don’t,” I whisper.

It’s not true.