I watched her scurry across the street, her legs looking killer in a pair of tight yoga pants. She tried to play it cool, hanging around next to the door, but then the light from the case against the window drew her in. I stood in the dark, only a few feet away from her, but she couldn’t see past the glare.

Her eyes—the big blue ones I remembered from high school—widened, and she licked her full lips. Did she have any idea what that simple movement of her tongue could do to a man? But then she’d frowned and I’d made my move.

Now she’s looking at me with a mix of contempt and guilt, as if I’d caught her in the middle of an illicit activity.

“Would you like to come in?” I flick the lights on in the shop.

She steps back, out of the pool of light. “No.”

“You sure?” I don’t want to spook her, but I’ve been watching her across the street for the entire week, ever since I opened my candy shop’s doors. Getting closer to her is something I’ve thought about quite a bit and now I have the perfect opportunity. “I can whip you up a hot cocoa for the road.”

“No, thank you.” She puts a gloved hand to her face as a car passes. “I need to get home.”

“It’s Olive, right?”

She straightens her spine, as if I’d wounded her pride by not knowing. “Olive Granderson.”

I keep playing dumb. “Did we go to high school together or something?”

Her back straightens even more. “Yes.”

I remember her. How could I forget? The braids, light brown hair, braces, and then the curves that hit when we were in eleventh grade. Jesus, she’d fueled plenty of my teenage fantasies during the last two years of school. Now she’s thinner, but still has an hourglass that speaks to some primitive part of my brain. The caveman in me knows she’s a keeper. Even so, I’m losing the battle of trying to get her in my door. She takes another step back as a car rolls by, then stops.

The driver rolls down her window. “Olive, is that you?”

Olive tries to shrink back against the storefront, but it only sheds more light on her heart-shaped face. She mumbles under her breath, then responds, “Yes, Mrs. Black.”

“Thank goodness.” She pulls closer to the curb. “I forgot to mention earlier today that we need you and Candace to bring some snacks to the senior home tomorrow. The usual caterer has the flu, so we’re throwing some things together on the fly.” She glances at me. “Well, hello Henry. Didn’t see you there.”

I give my high school chemistry teacher, Geraldine Black, a small wave. “Hi.”

“Nice to see you made something of yourself instead of trying to be in a rock band.” She doesn’t bother hiding her disapproval.

“I still play a mean electric guitar, Mrs. Black. How’s your son, by the way?” She narrows her eyes. I already know how her son is—fired from his position at the local TV station because he went into a homophobic tirade on the air.

Olive coughs into her palm and gives me a pointed glance.

“He’s just fine, Henry. Thank you for asking.” Mrs. Black turns her laser gaze back to Olive. “So, about those snacks—”

“I’d be happy to pitch in.” I grin at Olive. “Come on in and I’ll load you up with some treats to take to the senior center.”

“Perfect!” Mrs. Black squawks and starts rolling up her window.

Olive’s eyes widen, the blue sparkling under the streetlights. “No. I should probably go by the grocery instead and—”

“I can’t wait to get a taste of what you’ve whipped up, Henry.” Mrs. Black pulls away as Olive sputters and eventually goes silent.

I motion inside the shop. “Come on in.”

She gives a pained glance at the sweets in the window before tilting her chin up and striding past me. I follow and let the door close behind me, the bell tinkling against the door frame. Alone at last.

I’m about to offer her one of my signature caramel bonbons when she turns to me and whips her knit cap from her head.

“Let’s get this over with. I don’t want to be here any longer than necessary.” With that, she crosses her arms over her chest and stares me down as if she’d just challenged me to a duel.

Such a little tiger. I can’t stop the smile that spreads across my face as I step toward her, invading her space and catching the vanilla scent of her lotion. Her breath hitches as I lean toward her, and her gaze darts to my lips.

“So, what would you like to taste first?”