We hadn’t talked since we left The Sweet Spot last night. Well, we’d talked, but we hadn’t talked . . . about what had happened, what it meant, how it made me feel. And it had made me feel . . . something.

I wasn’t sure how to describe it. I wasn’t even sure I could blame it on last night. But suddenly Jack was just in my head. Not like I was obsessed or anything, but I was aware of him, like I could feel him in the apartment, feel him moving nearby. Hell, it was almost like I could smell him.

I knew he was coming before he stepped from the hallway into the kitchen. I held my breath, refusing to turn around.

The cook had left a breakfast spread on the center island: waffles, toast, fresh fruits, and bacon. A carafe of coffee stayed warm on a tiny hotplate.

“Morning,” he said. “Chef already head out?”

“Morning.” I answered without turning from the stove. “Yeah. He said he had to make a run to the market.”

The teakettle chose that second to scream, making me jump, and I grabbed it from the burner to fill my cup.

“You eat yet?” he asked.

I turned with my cup, dipping the teabag, trying to will it to sink deeper into the darkening water. What the hell was I doing? I don’t even like tea. “Not very hungry.”

He chuckled. “What’s that like? I’m always hungry. Not sure that’s a guy thing, or a werewolf thing.”

“Both, I think,” I said. What were we talking about? Nothing. We were talking about nothing on purpose. I couldn’t take it anymore. “About last night—”

“Right.” Jack exhaled, clearly relieved. “I wasn’t sure how to bring it up. If you wanted to talk about it, or just pretend it didn’t—”

“No. We should talk about it,” I said. “Obviously, it was a—”

“Mistake,” Jack said. “Right. I know.”

I snapped my mouth shut—forcing a smile. “Exactly.”

My eyelids were blinking too fast, and I could feel the tension in my cheeks trying to hold the grin. But I couldn’t snap out of my shock. I mean, I was going to say basically the same thing. I swear. We weren’t thinking—heat of the moment—shouldn’t have happened—won’t happen again . . . probably . . .

But for some reason, hearing him say it first kind of took the wind out of my sails for a minute. It knocked my brain off the rails.

“Really?” he asked, studying me. “You don’t sound so sure.”

I shook my head, kicking my thoughts back on track. “No. I mean, yeah. Yes. I’m sure. Mistake. Huge, horrible mistake. Can’t happen again.”

“Well . . . I wouldn’t say horrible,” Jack said, his mouth curving up into a sexy private grin. “Mostly it was kind of amazing.”

I knew that grin. Over the past few days I’d been seeing it more and more. It was the smile he gave when he wasn’t thinking, or actually when he was too deep in his private thoughts to temper it. It was warm, and natural, and so rare and genuinely sexy I’d begun to treasure seeing it light his face. Damn.

“Anyway,” I said, deciding to stick with the huge, horrible mistake for a topic header. “I feel kind of . . . strange today.”

“Sick?” Jack straightened, concern knitting his brows.

“No. I mean, I don’t think so.” I slipped onto the nearest bar stool on the short end of the island. Jack sat catty-corner to me on the long side. He was already dressed for work, light gray suit, blueberry tie, dark hair brushed back from his forehead in a silky wave. He looked wonderful. Damn. “I’m kinda, sorta, hyper sensitive to you—I think. I can smell you, that woodsy, forest scent you’ve got going. Y’know what I mean?”

“Yeah. We talked about it last night.”

“No. That was different,” I said, then exhaled—frustrated. “I mean, it’s the same scent but this time you were nowhere near and I could still smell it.”

“Did you shower?”

“Of course.” Rude.

He stared at me a half beat then shrugged. “It’s probably just in your nose. Left over. Should fade.”

“No. It’s more than that,” I said, secretly wondering if my heightened sense had something to do with the whole werewolf thing. Could it all be real? No. “I’m . . . aware of you. It’s like I’m tuned into Jack-radio twenty-four-seven. All Jack, all the time. It’s like I can . . . I don’t know . . . sense you.”

“Oh.” His smile returned, but it wasn’t his secret one. This time there was a tightness to it that dulled the light in his eyes, lessened its impact. He shifted his attention to his plate, filling it with a few waffles, grabbing some bacon and then the glass decanter of maple syrup. “That’s just . . . well, it happens. Sorry.”

“Sorry? What happens?” I asked.

He glanced at me then back to his plate, drowning everything in the thick dark syrup. “Human women tend to get . . . I mean, some of them have—how would you describe it . . . ? They’ve gotten a little . . . hooked on me—after sex.”

“Hooked?” How’d the guy manage to sit there with that enormous head and not fall over?

Jack shrugged. “Yeah. I mean, you have to admit, it was kind of mind-blowing. Some women aren’t used to being that well . . . satisfied. They can’t help themselves. It’s like they confuse sex for love and they fall for me . . . hard. I’m sure you’ve seen the tabloids. It can get a kind of awkward.”

“Hold on, heartthrob. No one said anything about falling for you,” I said. “I’ve had great sex before. This is different.”

“I hope you’re right,” Jack said, not sounding at all convinced. “We had a deal, remember? I can’t risk anything getting in the way of becoming alpha.”

“I’m fine, Jack,” I said. “It’s not like I’m secretly collecting strands of your hair to add to a collage of fuzzy, long-range photos of you I’ve got glued to my closet wall.”

He flashed me a worried look.

“I said I’m not doing anything like that.” I sighed. “It’s nothing like that at all. It’s something else, something different. I feel . . . connected to you. But that’s weird too, right?”

Jack turned his attention back to his breakfast. “Not weird. Just unique. You’re a sensitive person, Kate. It’s one of the things I admire about you—the way you put yourself in another person’s shoes, connect with them. I see the way you feel and care about the people who work for you. You’re a genuinely good person.”

“Thank you. But—”

“We shared something incredibly intimate. I feel it too . . . a little,” he said.

“You do?”

He shrugged again, loading his fork. “Yeah, of course. I’m not a total cold-hearted douche. But I think we should try to keep a handle on things. I mean, this is still a business arrangement, right?”

I nodded, starting to feel foolish. “Yeah. Absolutely.”

He chewed, smiling, then swallowed. “Good. So we’re on the same page. Last night was great, but we’re not going to let our feelings—our emotions cloud our better judgment.”

“Totally,” I said, wishing I was the one driving the conversation. “But just so we’re clear. I’m not falling for you or anything. I just—”

“Feel connected,” he finished for me, then smiled and it was the good smile that made my heart skip. Damn. “I get it. I feel it too. I’d like to think we can come out of this as friends. Good friends. I like you, Kate. I’m glad we have this . . . connection.”

I exhaled, feeling better about the whole strange situation. “Me too.”

“Fantastic.” He checked his watch, and sighed. “Shoot. I have to get going.”

“Oh. Right. I got the schedule Genève slipped under my door,” I said, still not convinced the woman existed. “Anything you wanna tell me about her?”

Jack pushed to his feet, his gaze flicking to me. “No. What do you mean?”

I shook my head. To each his own. “Apparently, I have the day off.”

“Right. Nothing but meetings and projects to check on for me,” he said. “Are they expecting you at the diner?”

“Nope. George is covering today.”

“Oh,” Jack said glancing around as if searching for any obstacles. “Would you want to tag along with me? Most of my day is going to be pretty boring. But I have to check on a reno project over on fifth. It’s a lot like the one we’ve got going in your building but about three months further along. Interested?”

A peek into my building’s future? “You bet. Just let me check the mirror and I’m ready.”

“Check if you have to, but I can already tell you, you look beautiful. If I didn’t mention it before, I really like your hair down like that. You always wore it up at the diner when I’d stop in.”

My hand went to my hair on reflex and I smoothed one side, tucking the newly color-enhanced copper strands behind one ear. My belly fluttered. “No. You hadn’t mentioned. But thanks.”

Oh yeah. A platonic friendship with the sexy Prince Charming of Wall Street after all of this should be easy-peasy.

For the next several hours I played Angry Birds on my phone in the back of Jack’s limo. Then we stopped at his office for three hours, where I played Angry Birds in the office break room. At least I got to speak to people as they came in and out. But the second they realized who I was—the future Mrs. Jack Pensione—the conversation grew cold and formal.

At around the four-and-a-half-hour mark, it was Jack who came striding into the break room. “I’m sorry.”

I paused my game. I was on the verge of beating my high score. “Sorry?”

“For showing you the longest, most boring day of your life,” Jack said, bracing his hands on the back of the chair across from me. “I can take you home if you want. Or drop you at the diner.”

I straightened, snuffing any signs of disappointment as quickly as I could. “Oh. Uhm . . .”

“Or . . ,” Jack said, before I could answer. “You could stick it out for just a few more minutes. I have to grab a few things from my office and then I was going to head over to the building on Fifth. Still interested in seeing it?”

“Yes,” I said, convincing myself my spark of excitement was all about seeing the renovation project and not about being in Jack’s company again.

“Good. I was hoping you’d say that.” He smiled, and my heart did a little double-tap. “C’mon.”

Twenty minutes later Alan was opening the limo door. I slid out behind Jack, taking the hand he offered to steady myself on the sidewalk. He didn’t let mine go.

The building was beautiful. Gleaming marble floors, gilded sconces, a shiny brass elevator, and forty-three floors of top-of-the-line condos. After a touring a few of the apartments, we rode the elevator back down to the lobby so Jack could meet with the head contractor.

Just as we stepped out I noticed the glass door off to the left of the main doors. Jack was already offering his hand to the burly contractor, his construction hat an odd mix with his three-piece suit.

I broke away unnoticed, slipping through the glass door into the pristine dining area of some yet-to-be-named coffee shop. My brain went to coffee shop because of the giant brass espresso machine behind the shiny green marble counter. It wasn’t a huge space, only eight tables out front along the floor to ceiling glass wall of windows. The windows were covered in paper, as was the glass door at the far end that would open to the sidewalk allowing outside traffic as well as residents.

The shiny new counter with a large display case built in at the end, would be perfect for pastries, pies and cakes. The end of the counter had hidden hinges and I lifted the top to slip in behind the bar. I ran a hand along the back counter, over its two, deep basin, stainless steel sinks, under the built in soap dispenser and brushing my fingers over the never-been-used coffee grinder next to the espresso machine.

Long shelves filled the back wall, and my mind filled them with flavor dispensers and a multitude of different coffee beans held in big glass containers ready for grinding. The top shelf I reserved for a branded merchandise display, like mugs and stuffed teddy bears, maybe a logo embroidered apron for sale. My gaze flicked to the giant chalkboard at the short end of the bar, where it stood out against the brick wall behind it—the perfect place for writing specials and shop announcements in bright colors for customers to see.

The place was a blank slate, ready and waiting for the right touch to fill it with love. They’d already installed the high-tech computer ordering system, though in a place this small it was kind of overkill. I ran my fingers over the wide touch screen, half wishing it would flicker to life.

“It’s kind of small compared to your place,” Jack said and I looked up to see him standing just inside the door—watching me.

“It’s perfect,” I said softly, more to myself than Jack.

“There’s a little kitchen in back. Did you see?” he asked and I perked at the question, pushing through the gray steel door to see the prep tables, the double oven, the freestanding coolers.

“Too small for a diner,” Jack said following in behind me. I doubt they’ll even use this. I’m pretty sure the plan is to just bring in a coffee business. Either a franchise or a small startup business.”

“What, no gym? Thought your father didn’t like diners in his buildings,” I said with no small amount of attitude.

“Building’s already got a gym,” Jack said. “It’s on the top floor, with an indoor-outdoor swimming pool on the roof. My father doesn’t have anything against diners or coffee shops. But once he sets his mind to something he won’t change it no matter what. He considers indecision a sign of weakness. This space used to be the doorman’s residence, but we moved that and remodeled. You like it?”

I swallowed hard, pushing back through the door to the front of the shop, emotion suddenly clogging my throat. “It’s beautiful. Really nice. Do you have anyone interested yet?”

Jack shook his head. “Don’t think it’s even on the market yet. There’s no rush. The condos are all sold, so we’ve already tripled our investment. We can take our time here . . . find the right fit.”

My heart leapt. I wasn’t even sure why. I had a diner, but this place, with its pastry kitchen in back, its smooth marble countertops and brass finishes, the big old-fashioned espresso machine and the gleaming pastry case out front . . . It was as though someone had spied on my childhood dreams and made them real. It was exactly the sort of pastry shop I’d wanted ever since I was a kid, since I’d started baking George sweets to make him feel better after mom died.

Back then I’d wanted a place just like this. Not too big, not too small. A place where I could spend time honing my skills, learning new recipes, making a name for myself as a self-taught pastry chef. I was the perfect fit for the little shop.

At least I would’ve been—if I wasn’t already responsible for the diner which gave my brother a place to use his education, Diego a place to earn money while he waited for his citizenship, Marbella a place to supplement her income that didn’t care how old she was, Madam Opal a place that let her dress how she liked, Brittney a place to help support her growing family and Cece a place to wait for her acting dreams to come true.

Who was I kidding? My life came with too much baggage to fit into a quaint little space like this now. And since I dearly loved all the people in my life, dreaming of what could’ve been was pointless.

I squeezed my eyes shut, cutting loose the old dream, and sighed. When I opened my eyes again, I managed a smile. “It’s lovely. I’m sure it will make someone’s dreams come true.”

Just not mine.