One in a Million

She jumped and looked at him, her cheeks going pink. “Um. Hi.”

“Hi.”

She paused and, looking endearingly nervous, offered him a rather self-deprecatory smile.

And he realized…

She’d been saving the chair for him.

He liked that.

He liked that a whole hell of a lot.

And that’s when he thought maybe his day was going to get better after all. “That guy you turned away wanted to buy you a coffee,” he said.

“He would’ve had more luck if he’d been offering doughnuts.”

Yep. Definitely getting better, he thought, and handed her his bag of doughnuts.

Chapter 7

By the time Tanner grabbed the empty chair and pulled it out for himself, Callie’s heart was knocking hard against her ribs in panic.

And okay, a little bit of lust as well. Or, you know, a lot.

In checking up on her grandma, she’d been through Lucille’s social media pages. Instagram, Tumblr, Twitter…and she’d inadvertently learned a lot about Lucky Harbor’s citizens.

One in particular.

Tanner Riggs was Lucky Harbor’s current most popular bachelor. Actually, Lucille had called him the Last Hot Single Guy for Two Hundred Miles. Callie wondered if he knew. Not that she was going to be the one to tell him if he didn’t.

“Real pants today,” Tanner noted. “I like the boots.”

She’d argued with herself earlier when she’d gotten out of the shower and stared into her closet. Yoga pants or jeans? Don’t care or care?

Turned out she cared. Hence the jeans.

And the boots. “They’re my kick-ass boots,” she said.

He smiled and she forgot how to breathe. Just plain forgot.

“You plan on kicking any ass today?” he asked.

“Too early to tell,” she responded. Look at her, all smooth and cool. “But I wanted the odds balanced in my favor if anything comes up.”

“I like the way you think.” He straightened out his leg, letting out a long, careful exhale as he did.

“You okay?” she asked quietly.

“Yes.” He drank deeply of his coffee and her gaze was drawn to his throat as he swallowed.

And then his broad chest.

And flat abs.

And the way his jeans—faded and threadbare in some of the good spots—fit him. Which was perfectly. “I meant your leg,” she said.

“It’s fine.”

“Huh,” she said.

He slid her a look. “Huh what?”

“Well, it’s just that ‘it’s fine’ is a typical guy response. Men tend to use ‘fine’ as a catchall.”

“A catchall.”

“Yeah,” she said. “You know, a noun, adjective, adverb, whatever. Tell me the truth—your leg could be literally falling off and you’d still say it was fine, right?”

“Nah,” he said. “When it was actually threatening to fall off, I was most definitely not fine.”

Her smile faded and she regretted her flippancy. “I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “Shit happens. You were saving me a seat,” he said, back to teasing.

“No,” she said in automatic denial. “I—”

He flashed her a knowing grin that was so innately Tanner-Riggs-of-the-Past—all cocky, popular football star, aka the guy she’d never been able to say two words to without tripping over her own tongue—that she once again found herself momentarily tongue-tied.

“What are you working on?” he asked, gesturing to her laptop. “Ordering a litter? Designing three-D wedding invitations?”

“Both,” she managed to say in what she hoped was a perfectly normal voice.

Because you are perfectly normal, she reminded herself. You are not just a computer geek. You are so much more. You…ah, hell. She couldn’t think of a single thing when he was looking at her like that, like maybe she was amusing him again.

“Your job suits you,” he said.

“What does that mean?”

“You have this sort of…” He waved his cup at her. “Dreamy, romantic air about you.”

She let out a low laugh and he set his cup down, sitting forward, at attention. “You going to start choking again?” he asked.

“No,” she assured him. Or she hoped not anyway. “And it’s not a romantic job. It’s a technical job.”

“How are hearts and flowers and chariots technical?” he asked.

“Okay,” she conceded. “Maybe it’s romantic for a minute or two, if you believe in that sort of thing.”

“And you don’t?” he asked.

“My job is to create the right setting to culminate their romance,” she said, trying to explain her job. “That’s all I can do. I can’t guarantee a happy ending.”

He grinned.

“Not that kind of a happy ending!” she said, and laughed in spite of herself. “The stats are completely against a real happily-ever-after, not that anyone wants to think about it while planning their wedding. Which means that TyingTheKnot.com should really be called AnotherOneBitesTheDust.com. But I doubt I’d be able to make a living with that.”

“Huh,” Tanner said, cocking his head as he studied her. “Didn’t see that coming.”

“What?”

“You’re a cynic.” He gestured at her with his cup. “All wrapped up in a sweet, warm package.”