I know it’s a mistake as soon as the words are out of my mouth. His little daughter, Minnie—how fucking cute is that?—is laughing as I put dollop after dollop of whipped cream onto her pancake, and I’m so lost in the moment that I let them slip out without thinking, like some kind of idiot.

“Oh, your mom is going to be mad at me when you get home!”

I feel him tense. I don’t have to look at him to know that he’s gone stiff, his jaw clenched. The little girl doesn’t seem to have heard me—she can’t be more than two—but the shift in the air is like a cold front slamming into the restaurant and freezing my blood in my veins. Goosebumps prick at the back of my neck.

Do something. Do something, Valentine, before this turns into the most awkward moment in the history of the world.

“Listen,” I say, straightening up, forcing myself to look into those endless blue eyes. The hard set of his chiseled jaw sends a shiver down my spine. He’s pissed. “I shouldn’t have assumed—” 

I’m in such a hurry to get the words out that I completely forget about the whipped cream. I’m still holding it when my hands clench in a nervous reaction, pressing down on the nozzle of the canister and spraying a hefty dollop right into the handsome stranger’s face.

The entire world freezes.

His blue eyes go wide, the whipped cream stuck on the stubble on his cheek.

Holy shit.

What did I just do?

I’m torn between wanting to join in his daughter’s laughter and wanting to run the hell away, as fast as my legs can carry me. Is he going to be livid? There aren’t any other customers yet, but they could arrive any second to find this man shouting at me, or at least shouting at me for as long as Sharon would let him, which probably isn’t very long. 

“Daddy! Face!” Minnie’s voice breaks into the moment, filled with glee. “Daddy’s face!” she says again, and both of us look at her. The blonde curlicue at the back of her head shakes with laughter, and she waves her fork in the air, pointing it at her dad. Then the fork clatters to the floor, and she covers her mouth with her little hands, letting out a big belly laugh. “Daddy ice cream! Face!”

I look back at him just in time to see the shield over his face crack and crumble in the face of his daughter’s laughter, and something in my heart surges with a warmth I have no business feeling about him or any other man at this point, really. He looks at the little girl and raises one eyebrow. “Is there something on my face?”

This is the new funniest thing she’s ever heard, because she points again, giggling with her nose wrinkled. “Daddy’s face!”

“What is it?”

He eggs her on, and suddenly I feel like an extra in a movie starring the two of them. What’s my line? Do I just make a graceful exit back to the kitchen and go on with my life, like a normal person?

“I’m so sorry about that,” I say as Minnie’s laughter dies down and she reaches toward her plate, scooping up whipped cream with her finger and popping it into her mouth.

At the sound of my voice, I see his guard go back up—only not all the way. His shoulders aren’t quite so tense. He narrows his blue eyes, and one corner of his mouth quirks upward in a smolder that’s not quite a smile. A liquid heat spills down my spine.

“You too!” cries Minnie when she finally catches her breath. Her eyes are shining with laughter, and she stabs her finger in the air toward me, small eyebrows raised. “You too!”

“It’s only fair.” His voice is a smooth rumble, and when I look back at him I swear I feel it all the way down to my— “You put whipped cream on my face. She’s right. You should have some on yours, too.”

I raise my eyebrows back at Minnie and try to ignore the thunder of my heart. “I need some on my face, too?”

“Yes!” She throws her head back and claps her hands together. “Your face too!”

“Well, I guess—” I raise the canister toward my own cheek, slowly, slowly, and Minnie can’t handle it. Peals of laughter ring out over the restaurant and for once I don’t care if anyone else walks in.

“No way.” He’s a movement beside me, a strong, muscled movement in that t-shirt that clings to his biceps. I shouldn’t swoon into his arms, right? That would be too much. That would just be too much. This man, with his blue eyes, with his unbelievable smirk, reaches for the oversized canister of whipped cream in my hands and plucks it away, then locks eyes with me.

I’m burning up. I’m going to burst into flames, my heart is beating so hard. But with a precision I’ve only seen in military men—he must be ex-military—he presses the nozzle of the canister and sprays a dollop onto two of his fingers. Then he reaches up, without a moment of hesitation, and presses them into my cheek.

Minnie goes wild. “Face! Face!” 

It’s at this moment, naturally, that Sharon steps back into the room, her face halfway between curiosity and irritation. She likes the sound of happy customers, and Minnie is definitely one of those, but I’d bet anything that—

“Val, you’ve got orders waiting.” Her eyes flick between me and the handsome stranger, who’s still holding the whipped cream canister, and my face goes hot. I only have one order waiting, and it’s his. 

I choose not to comment on the whipped cream. “I’m on it,” I tell her with a smile, which I keep on my face until she’s back in the front room, out of sight. Then I wheel around. With whipped cream on his face and dancing eyes, he doesn’t look nearly as intimidating as he did before. “You’re going to get me in trouble.”

“Me?” He points at his own chest, raising his eyebrows. “You’re the one who sprayed a customer with whipped cream.”

I think of his fingertips pressing against my cheek. I can still feel them there. I straighten my back and try to look imposing. “Are you going to complain?”

He considers me for a long moment. “Not this time.”

Gerald’s voice booms from the back. “Order up!”

“That’s yours.”

“You’d better go.”

I turn away from him, but it’s the last thing on earth I want to do.