When I finally arrived at Sheldon’s Italia, I shuffled into the locker room, slipped on my white apron, and strolled into the kitchen. The sight of the kitchen—the white linoleum flooring, the stainless steel industrial appliances, a hanging rack with dangling pots and pans, and three oversized sinks.

I let out a happy sigh. I loved this place. I loved the people. I loved my job. This was where my life was. This was where I shone as Samantha Clarke, pastry sous chef extraordinaire.

Baking had been my thing with my mother during her better days. She had been my partner in crime when we set up our makeshift bakery in our kitchen. It was our way to make a few extra bucks, selling baked goods to our neighbors.

“Yo, Sammy, you made it.” Todd’s voice snapped me from my thoughts.

I glanced down at my watch, noting I was only a few minutes late. “Yes, and I’m ready to rumble.” I averted my gaze.

Last time I’d seen Todd, he’d asked me out on a date, which had caught me by surprise. I’d told him I didn’t want to mix business with pleasure since we worked together, but that still hadn’t made anything less awkward between us.

“That’s my girl.” The way he’d said it dampened my mood.

If I could wish for a spark between us, I would. But my insides didn’t flutter every time he talked, my knees never felt weak when he walked into a room, and he didn’t give my heart the bumpety-bumps.

“Is it crazy busy out there?” I asked, finally looking up.

As he was over six feet tall, I had to crane my neck to look up at his face. His short brown hair was parted to the side, his glasses at the tip of his nose. “Not too bad.”

With one weird wave of my hand, I said, “Okay, better get to it before boss man, Kyle, has my head.” I smiled and walked toward my station.

With everyone busy working, I heard the chaos of the kitchen—the loud voice of the head pastry chef, the clanging of pots and pans, the fryer sizzling in the background, and the shuffle of people’s feet. Every scent imaginable bombarded my senses—garlic and ginger and basil and rosemary. When I moved closer to my station, the scent of cinnamon, pumpkin spice, and cocoa entered my nose.

I smiled. The happy mojo that always hit me when I was here filled my veins. All that time baking in my mother’s kitchen and at the local culinary school had led to this.

Candice—my cute coworker with her long, curly black hair and hips that didn’t lie—stepped into my line of view, handing me a list of orders. “I’m cooking a fresh batch of chocolate chip cookies. Take them out in five minutes. I’m all caught up, so I think you’re good with the new orders.”

Candice was also my partner in the kitchen. She was the first sous chef on duty. When she wasn’t working, I was, and vice versa.

“Sam! I need two chocolate soufflés!” someone yelled in the background.

“So”—Candice smiled with her natural full cheeks, as though she were storing food for the winter like a chipmunk—“did you find a date?”

I walked to the fridge where I took out two ready-made soufflés and placed them in the oven. Candice had prepared the soufflés in batches this morning.

“No, not yet. I think I might go stag.” I shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll meet someone at your wedding.” A part of me even hoped for it.

The heat from the oven caused me to sweat, which dampened my shirt. I swiped my hand over my forehead to wipe off some of the sweat forming at my brow.

“I found my wedding dress.” Her eyes lit up with an inner glow.

Candice had known her fiancé forever—since high school—and they’d been engaged for almost a year.

I reached for her hand and squeezed tightly. “That’s awesome, Candice. You’ll make one beautiful bride.”

The smile she sported was contagious.

Her upcoming nuptials was the highlight of the restaurant’s year. Practically the whole cook staff had been invited. The event would be black tie. Everyone here had been talking about what they were going to wear. Me, on the other hand? I still didn’t have shoes to match a gown I’d bought online.

“I seriously cannot wait,” she squeed.

“Sam!” Kyle peered over in my direction. “Those soufflés?”

I gave him a thumbs-up. “Already in the oven, boss.”

Kyle, the gray-haired old man who was my boss, tipped his chin and continued along.

My phone buzzed in my back pocket. When I saw the text from the unknown number, I almost dropped my cell from shock.

I would have sworn on my dead grandmother’s grave that I would never hear from Hawke again. Maybe I had hoped, but here he was, texting me.

My shaky hands gripped the phone tighter, so I wouldn’t drop it.

I texted him back with a smiley face.

Hawkeypoo, I silently added.

Goodness. I’d just nicknamed him.

This was bad. Way bad. Over-the-top bad.

Do not have hope, Samantha. Do not have hope.

Candice snapped her fingers in front of my face. Snap. Snap. Snap. “Earth to Samantha.”

I blinked back to the present and stuffed my phone back into my pocket even though I was holding my breath, hoping it would buzz again.

Candice bounced on her toes. “Before you know it, it will be here—the wedding.”

I nodded, but I had checked out of the wedding talk. I needed to immerse myself in work today because I didn’t want to be that girl, waiting for a call that wasn’t going to happen.

Been there. Done that.

“You going shopping for your shoes soon?” she asked.

“Maybe after work,” I said distractedly.

Maybe that would also keep my mind off a certain rock star who was still in Chicago.

* * *

After work, I ended up at the dreaded department store. I blinked as I took in the rows of shoes lining an aisle at Nordstrom. Shoe shopping was more Chloe’s forte, not mine.

I had one real pair of heels, and they had green polka dots. Quirky and fun. I’d worn them with my floral dress for my high school graduation and rocked them well. My favorite pair of shoes was my yellow Converse that I wore nonstop, but I couldn’t wear those to a wedding.

So, seeing all these shoes at once, in every color and possible style, made me want to hide in a corner and cower.

“Seriously, can I just go up to a salesclerk and say, Hey, I want a pair of black heels?”

Chloe laughed on the line while I lifted my shoulder to hold the cell against my ear.

“Sorry, babe,” she said. “I wish I could be there to help you out. You’re like a lost kitten, aren’t you? You could’ve waited for me.”

“I just want to get this over with.” I lifted a black pump and compared it to another black pump right beside it. There was no difference. “I give up, Chloe.” I was tired and shoe-shopping defeated. This was pointless.

“Buying shoes should not be a horrendous ordeal, friend. What you need to do is get a sales attendant to help you. Try them on, okay? And walk around in them. If you’re going to be shaking your booty at the wedding, make sure you can, at a minimum, walk in your shoes.”

Chloe knew all, I swore.

I peeked up and scanned the area, looking for anyone with a name tag, when I spotted a short redhead carrying a stack of shoeboxes. Already, I was on a mission to be her best friend, her next customer.

“Okay. Will do. I’ll call you later.” I ended the call, stuffed the phone into my purse, and rushed toward the salesclerk before someone else reached her. “Excuse me?”

She lifted her head from the pile of boxes in her arms. “I’ve got four more ahead of you, sweetie.”

My shoulders wilted with disappointment, and I found myself pouting, which was so unlike me. My eyes perused the area, but practically every salesclerk was assisting other customers.

I huffed. If it were any other person than Candice, I’d be sending a gift and a card and calling it a day.

“Hi, do you need assistance?” a male’s cool voice echoed from behind me.

I turned and swallowed back the next words that I had been about to say. My breath caught at the male’s compelling warm brown eyes, the confident set in his shoulders, his boyishly good looks, and his J.Crew/Gap style.. He had a little wave to his short dark hair, but what was amazing was his smile—a Crest White, double-dimple smile.

“Do you work here?” I asked, crossing my fingers, my toes, and practically my eyes.

Both dimples deepened on his cheeks, and he pointed to his name tag. “Josh Stanton.” He studied me a little before letting out a slow, low breath, his eyes taking me in.

“But you’re a guy.” I cringed at my response.

No shit he was a guy. Great. Now, I sounded like a total idiot. Guys could obviously work wherever they wanted. What a sexist comment.

He dropped his eyes toward his package. “Yeah”—he nodded—“I’m pretty sure of that.”

My ears warmed. “I mean, do you know anything about women’s shoes?”

He let out a rich masculine laugh. “I do work here.”

His smile widened, and then so did mine, which curbed the uneasiness in my stomach. I wasn’t usually attracted to guys in suits, but he held a certain appeal, as though he’d just walked out of a GQ spread. He sported a smile like he had no cares in the world, his happy aura contagious.

I straightened my shoulders, ready to get down to business and check one more item off my list. “Okay, so I need black shoes.”

He glanced around the area, his eyes searching the rows and rows of shoes. “Is there a certain brand? Heels? What height?” His eyes locked back on mine again.

“Yes, to a heel. Two and a half inches? And I’m planning to wear them for a wedding.” I hoped that was enough information to get me going.

“Yours?”

I sensed disappointment in his eyes, but maybe I was imagining it.

“No, a friend’s. It’s a black-tie event. I’m wearing black. Is that weird? Black to a wedding?”

“I think you’ll be okay.” His eyes raked me in, as though he were committing every one of my features to memory, and slowly, his smile dimmed. Another small exhale escaped him.

I shied away at the intimacy of his stare, dropping my gaze to my yellow Converse.

“Well then, let’s look around. First, give me your hand,” he said.

I blinked at his outstretched fingers. “What?”

“I can determine the size of your shoe by your hand size.”

His face turned serious, but I’d never heard of such a thing.

“Whatever…” I clasped my hands together against my stomach, protecting them from his touch.

He curled his fingers forward, urging me to comply. “I’m being serious. You can measure your waist by the size of your neck and your shoe size by the size of your hand.” He looked amused but still totally serious.

“Really?” I scrunched my nose, but I decided to trust him, so I placed my hand in his.

He flattened our palms together, his palm over mine. My skin tingled where it touched his, and I wanted to jerk my hand back, the feeling oddly intimate for buying shoes.

“Wait.” He took his thumb and lightly traced the inside of my palm, inching up to brush against the inside of my wrist.

The movement was soft yet weirdly sensual. Our eyes locked as his thumb rested on my wrist, just above my racing pulse.

And my whole world seemed to stop. The people shopping around us, the noise, the time—it all fuzzed to a blur in the background. It was as though a spotlight was focused on just the two of us.

For a brief moment, I drowned in his eyes, noticing how his warm-brown irises had specks of green in them, submerging in their depths. I couldn’t help but compare the differences to Hawke, whose beauty was instant and ruggedly hot compared to this stranger in front of me.

Josh’s appeal wasn’t like that. You would notice him at first glance, but the longer I stared at him and took him in, two words formed in my brain. Not hot, but beautifully handsome.

“What’s your name?” His voice came out barely above a whisper, his breath gentle and soft.

He radiated a vitality that drew me in like a magnet, a force that had me leaning toward him.

I inhaled deeply and slowly retrieved my hand. A coldness hit as soon as I withdrew my hand from his. “Samantha.” My heart beat louder in my ears, like a clock ticking.

“Size seven and a half?” He smiled, dimples on display.

And then I reciprocated. It was as if, when Josh smiled, there was no way I couldn’t. The gesture was automatic.

His smile snapped me out of my semi daze. “Wow, Mr. Josh. I’m impressed.”

He was spot-on with my size.

“You should be.” He smirked. “I totally pulled that out of my ass. You can’t tell a person’s shoe size from the size of their hand.” He looked just a bit embarrassed for admitting his game, but in the next second, his features relaxed, and he laughed.

“You tricked me?” I laughed along with him.

I shouldn’t have believed that crap, but he’d said it with such a straight face.

He shrugged, unapologetic. “I just wanted to see if your hands were as beautiful as you were.” He turned away, as though he wasn’t supposed to let that comment slip. “And they didn’t disappoint, Miss Samantha. They didn’t disappoint.”

The blush from my cheeks spread to the tips of my ears, and I was glad he couldn’t see.

“Follow me,” he said. “We’ve got shoes to shop for.”

This was where you didn’t judge by looks alone. His appearance screamed seriousness, good boy, guy next door, but he was a jokester through and through. Not to mention, a big flirt with his shoe-size game.

He gestured to a plush bench. “Sit down, Princess. I’ll be back.”

He sat me next to a bunch of black pumps, and I dropped to the seat.

A little later, he emerged from the stockroom with a stack of boxes. Shoe after shoe, Josh kept on pulling out more from the back. Just when I thought that I’d found the pair, he’d tell me he had another for me to try.

“I think you’re having fun doing this.” I tugged on another pair—black platforms with a red bow in the middle.

“Fun?” he asked, face set, tone serious. “This is my job. Fun and work don’t mix.”

“Uh-huh. Sure,” I said, my voice heavy with sarcasm.

When he headed away for another pair, I groaned. “Seriously, Josh, the salesman, please! I just want a pair of black shoes.” The whine in my tone could rival a toddler’s. I was butt-tired from my rock-star experience last night, then work, and now, shopping. I was ready for bed.

“What’s your date wearing to the wedding?” he asked.

“I don’t know how that’s relevant.”

His dimple set deep on his cheek. “See, that’s where you’re wrong. Whatever he wears has to match whatever you wear, and shoes matter.” He nodded toward my platforms. “Say he’s wearing a red tie. Then, the shoes you’re wearing now would match perfectly.”

“Well then, issue solved. I don’t have a date. I get to wear whatever I want.”

He leaned in, so close that I could smell the mint on his breath “So, what do you want me to wear for the wedding?” He winked, playing for cute.

I tried to bite back a smile but failed. “That was smooth. Are you this debonair with all the women you sell shoes to?” I guessed, last night, I had improved my previously nonexistent flirting skills. “You got the sale. You don’t need to use your best lines on me.”

He laughed and averted his eyes, seeming sheepish, his game a little off. “I’m not usually this upfront.”

When his stare met mine again, his smile faltered, and the noise around us quieted to a light hum. What filled the noise was a shared intimate stare between us. His eyes were compelling, magnetic, and familiar, as though I knew him from somewhere, but he was a mere stranger.

I swallowed hard, and my pulse picked up speed.

Breathe, Samantha.

I cleared my throat and broke us from this trance we were both under.

With his pointer finger, he tapped his chin and tilted his head. “I have the perfect pair.” He walked past me to the back of the store, behind the register.

A moment later, he strolled back, holding a black shoebox. The white lettering on the box could have been a designer name; I had no clue.

He knelt down in front of me and trailed his skilled fingers down my calf. His strong hand cradled my ankle and slowly slipped off the previous black heel. I swallowed hard, letting out a long, silent sigh, from the sensual nature of his tender touch.

After he opened the box, he took out the oddest-shaped pair of shoes I’d ever seen. “Here’s your shoe.”

When he slipped it on my foot, I flinched from the coldness, but he rubbed my ankle, bringing warmth back to my foot.

“It’s a glass slipper,” he said, his brown eyes staring at me.

The corner of my lips tipped up, and a low laugh escaped. “And let me guess; you’re supposed to be my Prince Charming?”

“How did you know?”

My insides swooned a little because he was just that adorable. “I bet you have a book filled with those pick-up lines. You played the superhero when you were younger, didn’t you?”

He laughed. “Not really, more like the villain. I used to paint my face and pretend I was The Joker from Batman. But you…I bet your childhood bedroom was filled with stickers of Cinderella and all the other princesses.”

I shrugged. “Yeah, me and every other little girl in the whole world.”

I did believe in fairy tales, even after everything I’d gone through.

Fairy tales had been my escape as a kid, what I’d hung on to. My parents’ story had been made for the books, their own little fairy tale—until it wasn’t. But…but what if it was all for nothing? That all this hope deep inside would only end with tragedy. I was sure my mother would never have predicted that my father would leave her for another woman.

“What if none of that stuff ever happens? What if I don’t believe in all that bullshit?” I wasn’t able to hold back the thoughts in my head.

“Ridiculous,” he scoffed. “What kind of woman doesn’t believe in fairy tales?” There it was again—this undeniable connection, like an electric wire strung between us. “Maybe you haven’t met your Prince Charming yet.”

My breath caught, jammed in my throat like a piece of bread. The very air around us seemed electrified.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” he asked, hope in his eyes, the very same hope that was terrifying me right now.

I blinked. “What?”

He shifted, looking a little nervous now, but he blurted out, “Forget tomorrow. What’re you doing for forever?”

The corner of my mouth lifted, slowly at first, and then the smile turned into a full-on chuckle. His corny question made my lips twitch. “Please tell me you don’t roll these lines out to every girl who’s shoe shopping?”

His eyebrows scrunched together. “No. No, I don’t actually.” It was as though he were speaking to himself.

With one hand on my heart and the other one fanning myself, I said, “So, I’m special, Josh Stanton?”

He stood and extended his hand. “Special? Yes. Beautiful? Definitely.”

His stare never left my face, even when I slipped out of the glass slipper, almost forgetting it was on my foot.

I picked up the black shoes with the red bows. “I’ll take these.” My ears burned from his intimate stare that made me want to kiss him and dart away, like a girl playing Spin the Bottle.

“You never answered my question,” he said.

I smiled, and my eyes dropped to the ground. I was never one for rejection—on the receiving or giving end.

“That was on purpose.” I walked to the register, and he followed. “I can’t.”

“Are you not into men who sell shoes by night and are in law school by day? Are you only into the rich and famous rock-star type?”

I staggered to a stop and studied his face, wondering if he had intel.

Had he been at the hotel last night in the mass of people?

No. It had to have been a random comment.

His voice sped up as I approached the register. “Are you dating someone?”

Seriously, things like this never happened to me. Two good-looking men asking me out in a matter of a day? That was Chloe’s life, not mine.

If I looked into his face one more time, I’d most likely give in. “Maybe,” I said. I wasn’t dating anyone. But it didn’t feel right, jumping from a one-night stand into a date with someone else.

When his gaze met mine, my heart turned over and over again, like a gymnast doing cartwheels.

After a beat, he released one low whistle. “Whoever he is…he’s one lucky guy.” He set my shoes on the counter, still smiling, but there was a hint of disappointment in his eyes. “It was nice meeting you, Samantha.”

“You, too,” I said softly. “Thanks for helping me.”

I went to shake his hand, but he brought his lips to the top of my hand instead.

“Have a great night.” And then he winked and was gone.

After I paid, my eyes did a search of the area, secretly looking for the boyish salesman with the killer smile, but he was nowhere to be seen.

With a sigh, I swung my bag over my shoulder and walked casually out of the department store and onto the street, heading for the bus, when my phone rang in my pocket. Again, it showed up as an unknown number.

I never picked up for unknown numbers, but this time, I picked up on the first ring.

“Hello?”

“Sunshine.”

Loud music blared in the background. The bass and chaos of people filled my ears.

“Hey.” I tried to sound cool and collected, pretending like my heart hadn’t just leaped from my chest, onto the floor, and back again.

When a rock star you’d just slept with told you he’d call, you were supposed to believe he wouldn’t. Even with my little girl hopes, I never believed he’d call for real.

“What’re you doing right now?” he asked.

“Shopping.”

“Something for me?” There it was—the flirtatious tone in his voice that turned my breathing erratic.

“Do you need something?” I asked, flirting back.

“You.” Blunt, no hesitation, no humor, no shame.

Silence filled the air between us. He must’ve ditched whatever party he was at or moved to somewhere quiet because the ruckus around him ceased.

“Sunshine, come to my concert tonight. It’s the last night I’m in Chicago.” His voice dropped, subtly sweet. “I got you and your friend VIP tickets, front row.”

Don’t hope. Don’t. He’ll break your heart.

“I can’t. I have to work tomorrow.” I looked to the sky and threw up one hand. I couldn’t believe those words of rejection had flown out of my mouth.

Wow.

“You had to work today. What’s the big deal?” His voice turned seductively soft. “Don’t you want to see me?”

If I saw him, I knew what we’d be doing tonight.

“Do you want me to beg, Sunshine? That’s not my usual style, but I would. For you.”

I closed my eyes and tried to block out the way the sound of his voice affected me, but I was failing. Failing and falling for a rock star.

Chloe’s life theme rang loudly in my head.

You only live once. Don’t live for anyone else.

I had skipped part of my childhood, functioning as a mother to my own mother. Chloe was right. I had come to Chicago to start anew and follow my dreams. There was no reason I couldn’t have fun along the way.

I found myself agreeing to his little get-together simply because I wanted to see him. “Okay.”

I didn’t know how long this ride would last, but I wanted to hang on for as long as I could.

“Good,” he said.

I could sense the smile in his voice, his signature crooked smile.

“I’ll have Tilton pick you up at eight. Be ready.”

“Sure.” I bit my bottom lip, still shocked at the thought of seeing him again.

“I cannot wait to see my Sunshine.”

My heart skipped a beat at the my. I wondered if he’d meant that or said it as a slip, but his nickname reminded me of that classic childhood song. The way he’d said it, however, was anything but innocent.