After my morning run, I hustled into the shower. If I didn’t hurry, I’d miss breakfast at Joe’s Java Junction. Man, did I enjoy my coffee. Okay, maybe it wasn’t the coffee that took me all the way across town to the quaint bistro. It was the curvy, redheaded babe who took my order. Every morning, I watched her—make that drooled over her—as she moved around the shop taking orders, cleaning, and bending over tables. Don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t a perv, but this girl intrigued me. I’d been trying to talk to her for the past month. Yesterday, I’d managed to coax a sentence out of her, although she’d disappeared into the back room like a cat with its tail on fire.

Today, I hoped to get more than one word out of her. That was how pathetic my life had become. I’d gotten up an hour early and crossed to the opposite side of town to watch a girl in silence.

I pushed through the bistro door ahead of the morning rush and took my usual seat by the window. I loved the homey atmosphere of the cramped little shop. Rustic wallpaper warmed the room. The furnishings were simple but cozy. Framed photographs of historic Laurel Falls hung on each wall. It reminded me of my grandmother’s kitchen back home. Coming here eased a little of the homesickness I felt after moving to the city.

Within minutes, she was at my side, staring at me with enormous, round, blue eyes. I tried not to stare, but Jesus. Over-washed jean shorts showed off long legs and toned thighs. The sleeves of a large, cable knit sweater were pushed up to her elbows. Freckles covered every inch of exposed skin. And that hair. Ringlets of strawberry and gold spilled over her shoulders. Last night, I dreamed of wrapping one of those silky strands around my—

“You’re late,” she said, interrupting my train of thought. Thank goodness, she couldn’t read my mind. Heat flooded my face.

“What?” Confused, I glanced at my watch.

“It’s seven thirty-one. You’re always here by seven-thirty.”

“I didn’t realize I was on the clock.” It wasn’t the conversation I’d envisioned, but at least she was speaking to me. Thinking she was joking, I said, “Did you miss me?”

“Yes.” I waited for a smile or a nod. She tapped her order pad with a pencil. “The usual?”

“Stop giving the guy a hard time. Hi, I’m Jo Hollander.” A petite girl emerged from behind the counter, the one who always seemed in charge, and extended a hand. “And you’ve met my sister. We see you every day, but we don’t know your name.”

“I’m Rhett. Rhett Easton. Nice to meet you.” I shook hands with Jo.

“You’ve been a loyal customer. Business has been tough. We appreciate your patronage.” Unlike her reticent sister, Jo bubbled with quiet enthusiasm. Bronte continued to stare at me. Jo bumped her shoulder into Bronte’s back. “Don’t we, sis?”

“Yes.” The corners of Bronte’s wide mouth curled up the slightest bit, like she wanted to smile but couldn’t quite make the leap. “Excuse me.”

If I hadn’t showered less than an hour earlier, I would’ve been tempted to smell my armpits. What was with this girl? Most women found my boyish charm and good looks irresistible. Bronte seemed to feel the exact opposite. Her coolness might have discouraged another man, but it only fueled my competitive streak. I was going to make her like me or die trying.

“Your sister’s a hard nut to crack,” I said to Jo. “I can’t get two words out of her.”

“She’s super shy,” Jo said. “It takes her a while to warm up to people, but once you get to know her, she’ll talk your leg off.” She smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

At the sound of the bell over the door, Bronte turned to greet a dozen new customers. I watched her take their orders, never cracking a smile. Even though she carried a pen and paper, she rarely wrote anything down.

“Are you Jo, as in Joe’s Java Junction?” I pointed to the sign above my head and tried not to follow Bronte’s round ass with my eyes.

“No. Joe’s our dad. I took over a few months ago.” Jo studied me, her gaze narrowing as she followed mine. At first I’d guessed her to be in her early twenties, but she was probably more like thirty. “Well, I need to get back to work before the second rush, but your breakfast is on us this morning. And thanks for being so nice to Bronte.”

“I’m happy to pay. It’s my pleasure.” The sadness in her gaze piqued my curiosity. Were people mean to Bronte? Sometimes shy people came off as snobbish. Maybe they misunderstood her quietness.

While I sipped my coffee, I watched Bronte interact with a couple of fraternity boys. Whatever they said made her laugh. The tinkling sound floated across the crowded room. I glared at the two preppies, begrudging every smile she cast in their direction. When she stopped at my table, the somber expression had returned to her face.

“Can I get you anything else?” she asked.

“Well, yes.” I summoned my considerable persuasive abilities, preparing to hit her with a vortex of charm. “I’d like to buy you a coffee.”

Bronte glanced from me to her sister. A silent conversation passed between them. Jo raised her eyebrows. Bronte rolled her eyes. Jo jerked her head in my direction. Bronte answered with a sigh of resignation. She sank into the chair across from me. I wasn’t sure if I should be amused or offended. “I guess I’ve got a few minutes.” She laid the order pad on the table and the pen next to it, straightening them to parallel.

“I’ll bring your drink over,” Jo called from the counter.

“Have you worked here long?” I asked, searching for a topic of conversation.

“Oh, I don’t work here,” she said. “I’m just helping Jo out until she gets on her feet.” A flush of red crept from her collarbone up the smooth column of her neck and settled in the apples of her cheeks.

“She doesn’t pay you? That hardly seems fair.”

Bronte shrugged and stared at the tabletop between us. Boy, she really was shy.

Jo arrived with a cup of hot chocolate, mounded with whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles. “Here you go. Enjoy.” I reached for my wallet, but Jo lifted a hand and shook her head. “No, no. Not today. Like I said, it’s on the house.” She dropped a hand on Bronte’s shoulder and squeezed. “Take your time, pickle. We’ve got this.”

“Pickle?” I arched an eyebrow.

“It’s a nickname. Jo and my dad call me that.”

“You don’t look like a pickle.”

“That’s a relief.” For the first time, the corners of her mouth curled upward, and tiny dimples popped in her cheeks. My heart skipped a beat. She exuded innocence, but her eyes carried a bright intelligence that drew me in. “What do I look like?”

I cocked my head to the side and studied her. Morning sunlight streamed through the storefront window behind her, backlighting her hair, turning it into a fiery halo. “I don’t know. An angel, maybe.”

Her laughter was genuine, unexpected, and welcome. “Anyone who knows me would disagree with you. Just ask my sister.”

“I don’t have to. I can tell by looking at you.” Which wasn’t a lie. Not exactly. I could usually sum up a person’s character in minutes. My best friend, Carter, called me judgmental, but what did he know? “It’s nice to talk to someone. I’m new to the area. Have you always lived here?”

“Yes.” She pursed her lips to blow on the surface of the hot chocolate then took a delicate sip. A drop of whipped cream hovered on her upper lip. The tip of her pink tongue darted out to catch the frothy whiteness. I suppressed a groan. “Where are you from?”

“Ohio. I moved here for a job.” No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her mouth. Her lips were fuller than most, the bottom one almost swollen, the upper one peaked by a dramatic Cupid’s bow. I bet she could give one hell of a blow job. I swallowed a drink of coffee. My cock was beginning to stir. I readjusted my position in the chair to relieve the pressure behind my fly. Wishing to avoid my reasons for relocation, I steered the topic in a new direction. “I’m still pretty unfamiliar with the area. Maybe you could show me around sometime?”

“I need to get back to work.” The legs of her chair scraped across the beaten hardwood floor as she stood. “The second rush is about to start.”

“Sure.” I followed her eyes to the clock on the wall. It was after eight. I should’ve left ten minutes ago. Damn. Not a good way to start a new job. “Thanks for the chat.” The air had definitely chilled between us. I cleared my throat and tried again. “Would you like to catch a movie sometime?”

“I don’t know.” She glanced in her sister’s direction, but Jo was busy filling the bakery display case with new muffins.

“What about dinner? Tomorrow night?”

“I can’t. Tomorrow is Thursday.” She bit her lower lip. The furrow between her brows deepened.

“Friday then?”

“Friday is Scrabble night.” Her anxiety was palpable. She shook her head and backed into the neighboring chair with a crash. “I have to go.”

Before I formed my next words, she fled through the swinging doors and into the kitchen.

Not wanting to miss the morning meeting at work, I tossed a ten onto the table and headed out the door. The mystery of Bronte Hollander would have to wait.

* * *

“What about that one?” Carter tipped the mouth of his beer toward a young lady at the end of the bar.

“No,” I replied.

“Okay.” He blew out an exasperated breath before scanning the room for another victim. We played this game often. He pointed out girls for me to sleep with, and I shot down his efforts. “That girl’s nice.”

“No.” The blonde was pretty, but nothing about her piqued my interest. I couldn’t help thinking about Bronte, who outshone every girl in the club.

“Come on.” Carter groaned and rolled his eyes. “It’s been two years. You’ve got to get back on the horse. All that celibacy can’t be good for your pipes.”

“My pipes are fine, thank you.” The beer was ice cold, the best artisanal brew in the state. I avoided Carter’s scrutiny and took a long swig, enjoying the smoothness of the hops, the hint of vanilla. “For the record, I asked out the girl at the coffee shop this morning. She said no.”

“Of course she did. That’s because you picked a girl who’s not available.”

“Maybe I like a challenge.”

“Maybe you’re chicken shit.”

I remained silent because his words rang true. I never expected Bronte to agree to a date, but something about her kept drawing me back to the coffee shop.

Carter picked up the conversation again. “I’m not leaving here until you hook up with somebody.”

“Then you’re going to be here a long time.”

We’d had this argument a dozen times since I’d moved to Laurel Falls. Although his preoccupation with my sex life—or lack thereof—was annoying, I appreciated his concern. He’d been my best friend since first grade. When my life had turned upside down, he’d suggested a change of venue for a fresh start. He already had an office in the city and had offered to help me begin again.

“Did you ever happen to think that maybe these women aren’t imperfect? They just aren’t Amy. And all this denial is because you don’t want to risk getting hurt again?”

At the mention of my wife’s name, a sharp pain cut through my chest. He had a valid point. None of these women were Amy. She’d been far from perfect, but I’d loved her to the ends of the earth and back. “Well, aren’t you the fucking psychological genius,” I said, chugging down half the beer.

“I’m just pointing out the obvious. And in case you’ve forgotten, Amy wasn’t all that awesome.”

“Drop it, Carter,” I growled.

“Her legs were short and her eyes were too close together and then there’s the matter of—”

I cut him off with a glare, lowering my voice. “Don’t go there, Carter. I’m warning you.”

“Alright.” He shrugged and renewed his search of the females in the bar. The guy had the tenacity of a mule. “Her?” He nodded at the brunette waitress balancing a tray of test tube shots on her hand as she weaved through the crowd.

“Not bad, but no.”

“What? Are you nuts? She’s gorgeous.”

The girl caught my gaze as I checked her out. Her red lips widened into a smile. Smooth, tanned skin. Dark, wavy hair. High cheekbones. A round ass. She wore the requisite uniform for the female club staff—black shorts and a snug white tank top. “Hi, guys. Would either of you like a shot?” She extended the tray in my direction. I shook my head.

“What’ve you got?” Carter asked, pretending to peer down at the test tubes, but he was really sneaking a peek down her shirt.

“Mind eraser, kamikaze, lemon drop, fireball.”

“I’ll have a fireball, and my friend would like a mind eraser.” Carter smirked in my direction.

“No, thanks. I’ve got an early day tomorrow.” I rolled my eyes at his not-so-subtle word play.

“Doing what? Jerking off?” Carter asked. I narrowed my eyes and kicked him beneath the table. “Ow. Fucker.” He hunched over to rub his shin.

The girl pretended to pout. “Are you sure?” She lifted one of the test tubes into the air and dangled it from two fingers. “I’ll do one with you.”

“You’ll have to excuse my friend.” Carter snagged the shot from her and handed it to me with a stern glare. “You see, his wife passed away, and he’s having a little trouble getting back into the game.”

“Oh, you poor thing.” The girl’s eyes softened with a mixture of sympathy and pity. I hated that look, but I’d seen it so many times on the faces of friends and family. She curled her fingers around my bicep and squeezed. “Come on. No charge.”

I reluctantly took the test tube from her and swirled the contents. Aside from the occasional beer after work, I rarely drank. The girl next to me rubbed her hand along my arm. It felt nice. How long since a woman had touched me—besides my mom or grandma? And she smelled so good, like cotton candy. “Okay. Fine, but just one.”

In unison, the three of us tossed back the shots. Vodka singed the back of my throat. A sensation of mild euphoria followed swiftly.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” The waitress pressed closer to let someone pass through the narrow aisle. Her breasts flattened against my shoulder. “Look, my name’s Hayden. I get off at one, if you’d like some company.”