I have died, and I’m being punished. That’s the only explanation for the events that are unfolding right now, in my actual life. There can be no other explanation for why this gorgeous man—this choir-of-angels-singing, ripped-as-fuck man walked into my coffee shop at the moment I’d succumbed to the fantasy of being a good dancer. A dancer at all, really.

It doesn’t matter that the air here is supersaturated with the scent of coffee. I can still smell him as I brush by. Clean. Manly. Responsible.

It could be the baby in his arms that’s making him look so responsible that my panties are damp already, but I can’t make that call right now. I’m busy surviving this.

Back behind the counter, I move to the handwashing sink and take my sweet time. After I shut off the water, I whirl around as fast as I can. If this were heaven, he would be gone, and I would be left to die of embarrassment on my own.

“You’re still here,” I say, because this is my brain on a sexy man.

He gives me the world’s most attractive grin. Not for me, my mind screams. Not for me. He is certainly not for me. For one thing, he is a coffeehouse patron. For another, he is here in the afternoon. Only people who truly love coffee buy it in the afternoon, long after there’s any real need for it. Fall for a coffee-lover? No way. “You sound a little disappointed.”

“I’m not,” I say, shaking my head too fast. “I’m completely not disappointed. But the longer you’re here, the longer it’ll take to cleanse my mind of that incident.”

“I don’t remember any incident.”

“The incident where you saw me trying to twerk, and then I called you hot? You don’t remember—” Cool. Yes, this is cool. I waggle a finger at him. “You’re trying to bait me. I don’t know who you are, but I’m not falling for it.”

“Bait you?” His laugh might as well be golden for how beautiful and sultry and smooth it is. “Look, I came in for some coffee. This is your show.”

“It wasn’t a show,” I grumble.

“What song were you dancing to?” He cranes his neck, looking around. There are speakers in here, but they’re not on.

“The sanitizer.”

He comes over to the counter and stands in front of it like a normal customer. Only his green eyes are locked on me, not on the menu above me. “Is that a new band?”

“Sure. It’s Bill Sanitizer and the Squeaky Cleans.” Oh. My. God. I can’t stop myself. This is a disaster happening in real time.

“No way.”

“Correct. That is not a real band. I—made it up.” I sigh helplessly. “I was dancing to the beat of the dish sanitizer. It makes this swish swish swish sound, and—” Can the earth swallow me up? Is that a thing? Three, two, one, now. It doesn’t happen. I’m still here, digging my own grave.

He nods solemnly. “There’s something to be said for the beat of your own drum.” 

“We don’t have to say anything else about it, though.”

“Let me say this…” he rushes the words out. “You weren’t bad.”

I suck in a deep breath and put a customer-service smile on my face. “Welcome to Medium Roast, Lakewood’s premier and only coffee shop,” I say it loudly, for the benefit of the hidden cameras. There are hidden cameras, right? That’s what this is. A big, enormous prank, starring a supermodel disguised as a dad. “What can I get for you today?”

He looks at me, gaze steady, mouth quirked in a smile. “Here’s what I don’t want to do.”

“Let’s focus on what we do—”

“I don’t want to hit on you.”

A small part of me deflates like a punctured balloon, complete with whining sound. “You don’t?”

“No,” he says, but the fire in his eyes doesn’t convince me. “I do not want to hit on you in your place of employment.”

My eyes bug out a little bit. “This,” I look around behind him, “this isn’t real, right? I mean, you kind of already hit on me, and—”

“This is real,” he says, his tone going serious. “The dancing got the best of me before, but I’m trying to be an upstanding citizen. From now on, at least.”

Challenge accepted. “Were you not an upstanding citizen before?”

“I’ve always been upstanding.” I’m sure he has. I let myself risk a glance over his body. Oh, yes, he’s upstanding. “But I’m new in town, so I don’t want you to think I spend all my time walking into coffee shops and hitting on women who happen to be dancing inside.”

I snap my fingers and point at him because that is where I am at in my life. “And I don’t spend all my time dancing in coffee shops.”

“Touché?”

“Totally.”

“All I want,” he says, pointedly keeping his eyes above my chest, “is a coffee. Black.”

I narrow my eyes and look at him across the counter.

He looks back at me.

“...and your name.”

“There it is,” I say, slapping a hand down on the counter. The baby in his arms, so far silent, jumps a little bit and frowns at me, her eyes huge and already welling with tears. “Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare your baby.”

He cuddles her in close, shushing her with a smile. “It’s fine, Rosie. She’s playing.”

“I’m working here, sir.” I don’t know why this man is unleashing the prim Englishwoman inside of me, but it’s happening, and I can’t stop it. I also can’t resist. Fish, meet hook. “And my name is Ellery Collins. Everybody calls me Ellie.”

He digs into his pocket, coming up with a crumpled five-dollar bill. “Ellery,” he repeats.

“Don’t forget it,” I say with a laugh that’s so weird and awkward I want to shove it back into my mouth and swallow it whole. While I ring him up and get his change, he goes for the stack of to-go cups next to the register.

“Oh, I won’t,” he says as I drop the change into his waiting hand. I don’t dare touch him. If I did, I might explode. “I’ll have plenty of chances to practice.”

I can’t think of a damn thing to say while he fills his cup and reaches for a top.

“Can I—let me help.”

“No need,” says this prince among men who can do three things at once without batting an eye. Then he heads for the door. “See you tomorrow, Ellery.”