9. Male Logic
MALE LOGIC
SAWYER
On the one hand, I’ve definitely entertained some very excellent dreams over the last month about the mysterious, funny, cinnamon-scented Chloe.
She’s the bold and fiery redhead I haven’t been able to stop fantasizing about since the morning I reached sleepily across a hotel bed, expecting to find a warm, lovely woman, and coming up empty. Just a wrinkled sheet, the fading smell of hotel shampoo on the soft pillow, and a note saying thanks.
Admittedly, that had been disappointing. I’d been hoping to at least take her out to breakfast. To maybe grab her number for…I dunno…next year?
To set a time and a date for an if-we’re-still-single-in-a-year kind of thing.
But I shrugged off those feelings, since we had a deal. It was a one-time occasion.
Now this—her showing up here? This is either one hell of a coincidence…or this is stalking. Like, world-class-level stalking.
Because standing inside my new business is the woman who took a photo of my driver’s license. Is she…pregnant?
No.
Just no.
We used a condom. It didn’t break. I’m not going to let myself think that.
“Chloe?” I ask, needing to be sure my eyes aren’t playing tricks on me.
Her brow knits briefly, but then a small grin forms as she asks, “Sawyer?”
I take a beat, trying to figure out what the hell I’m feeling as a cheery Chloe holds out a box of delicious-smelling pastries—donuts? Rolls?—while wearing lip gloss and a hopeful smile.
I’ve heard of this kind of thing but never experienced it. Someone showing up after a one-night stand, determined to make it two. Or more? She knew my last name from my ID. She could’ve looked me up. Do I like that? Or is it weird? I don’t know what to think.
I’m kind of turned on by her sheer determination…and also a little freaked out.
It’s my first day at the newest location for Dog Tails—my eighth.
I’ve been steadily growing the dog daycare business over the last two years, setting up each new location, then turning them over to the managers for the day-to-day, but the last thing I expected was a blast from the recent past. Even her.
I lift a finger, trying to connect the dots—her appearing here, out of thin air, on my first day.
Yes, I maybe thought about seeing her again. I even fantasized about it. But not here. “Did you show up because you knew it was my first day?”
She hesitates, her lips parting like she’s searching for the right words. “Well…yeah. I mean, I knew you’d be here today.”
My pulse skitters. She’s been waiting to ambush me?
At work? That’s…hot? No, it’s creepy. It’s seriously creepy.
I swallow hard. “So you knew I was starting this morning?” I ask, trying to make sense of her appearance out of the blue.
She could have picked any of the eight locations I own, but she chose this one—the one that’s specifically my new home base.
After she sets down the box, a backpack, and a bag—she’s really making herself at home—she gestures vaguely toward the front counter, filled with the dog treats, dog bags, and stickers we sell, then to the small nook by the window.
“Of course. I thought it would be the nice thing to do. And to bring some…um…goodies,” she says, her gaze swinging to the box. “I got some sweet breads.”
She says all that like it’s normal to show up with a box of baked goods after we slept together a month ago. “Breads?” I ask.
Chloe glances down at the box, then back up at me, apologetic, but also…upbeat. Like she has a plan to win me over. “I thought it’d be nice. You know, since we’re both starting something here,” she says, smiling.
Here? What are we starting? What is she even talking about? “You brought me bread.” My voice goes flat as I reach for the box, warily, unsure if I want to touch it but knowing I have to.
“Well, not just for you. Anyone here. It’s just a nice gesture.” She’s floundering. “Unless you’re gluten-free. Are you? Because if so, I should’ve thought of an alternative. But you ate bread that night…”
Holy shit. She remembers everything. The bread. The fries. The stupid speech I gave about avocado toast. It was one night. And she’s held on to all those details and gleaned all sorts of new ones. My full name, my location, and…what else?
Maybe I dodged a bullet by her disappearing act that morning. Except…nope. She didn’t disappear at all. She fucking waited to reappear.
I flick at the box, like it’s a bomb I need to defuse by opening it very slowly. I lift a corner and my blood goes cold. “This is…coconut bread,” I hiss.
“It sounded good,” she says, her voice rising an octave.
“Coconut,” I repeat, like it’s poison. I can’t believe she’s here, with something she knows I like. No, love. This is not how I pictured running into her again. Not one bit. What the hell is happening?
“But you like coconut,” she says, clearly confused.
No shit. I told her everything—and now she’s just showing up with my favorite things?
My chest feels tight, like I’m in a straitjacket.
My gaze lands on her shirt. Light blue. The color of the dress I bought her.
She planned every detail, down to her clothes.
This isn’t a morning-after breakfast. This is a sneak attack, weaponized by pastries and color.
“That blue,” I say, like it’s the evidence at a crime scene. “It’s…”
But I can’t even finish. She knows. She dressed in the color I said looked good on her. She brought the food I love. And now she’s…what? Trying to seduce me into another date by showing up at my place of business unannounced?
She blinks, shakes her head, then resets, pasting on a fresh smile, like she keeps a dozen of them in her pocket. “I think we got off on the wrong foot. I’m Chloe Rivers, and I’m going to be working in the space I just leased.”
I step back, choking out the words. “You leased the space?”
“Obviously,” she says, frowning.
I drag a hand down my face. Zuri said she’d leased the training nook to someone local.
A dog trainer. But this? This is the woman who took a photo of my ID and then…
looked me up, tracked me from San Francisco, and rented space in my building.
I narrow my eyes. “Is that why you took a photo of my license?”
“What?” Her eyes go wide. “Wh-what are you talking about?”
“Is that why you did it? So you could…what? Find out where I was setting up shop? Lease a space in the same building? Be close to me?”
She’s still for a long, quiet beat. The silence is long enough for me to wonder if I’ve gotten this wrong somehow.
If I’ve twisted everything in the wrong direction.
Confusion, then disappointment, flashes in those pretty hazel eyes.
But the flecks of green in them are on fire.
In a calm but deadly tone she asks, “Are you serious?”
“You did take a photo of my license,” I point out.
“Yes,” she says, her voice lethal. “Because I was going to a room with a stranger in a hotel, and maybe I wanted to make sure my friends could find you if you turned out to be a murderer!”
The words hit me like a slap. Of course that’s why she did it. “Sure, I know that’s important, but—”
“But,” she continues, cutting me off with a ferocity that’s scarily sexy.
“Know this, Mister Biggest Ego I’ve Ever Seen.
I deleted it the next day.” She stabs her finger against the counter to make her point.
“Didn’t save your name. Didn’t google you.
Didn’t stalk you. I don’t even know what your last name is!
And before you even think it, mister—I’m not pregnant. So don’t even ask.”
She’s a mind reader. “I didn’t ask,” I say. Thank fuck.
“The fact that you think I actually took a photo of your license just in case you might someday open a dog daycare in my town says more about you than me.”
I swallow uncomfortably as a morsel of shame courses through me. But I dig my heels in. Because…she’s here. I hold my hands out wide. “What else am I supposed to think?”
She draws a deep breath—the kind that says she’s trying to keep her cool. “Have you ever heard of coincidence, Sawyer?”
“Yeah, but this is a huge coincidence,” I say.
I wanted a fresh start here in Darling Springs.
I wanted a new life. I wanted to get out of the city.
I wanted to get away from a shitty relationship.
“You also smiled when you asked if it was me. A few minutes ago. When you just walked in here,” I say, trying to prove my point.
Her jaw drops. “Because I’m not a dick!”
Sounds like she thinks I am.
She holds up a hand, and I take that as my cue to shut up for a beat.
She releases a long breath, the kind that says she’s letting go of her rage.
Or maybe her hurt. Her lips part. But she clamps them shut, turns around, then turns back to me as she blows it out.
“The fact that you think I hunted you down and leased a workspace to be near you? That is the most male thing I’ve ever heard. ”
I open my mouth to protest. Maybe to apologize. Because, shit…She might be right. I might be the ass in this scenario. “I—”
“Nope,” she says, holding up a hand. “Don’t even try.
If I lose this space over your fragile ego, I’ll survive.
I will find another one. But don’t forget this, Sawyer Whatever-Your-Last-Name-Is.
I did not look you up. And we both know I could have.
Let’s be honest. I’m the only one who even could’ve looked up the other. And did I? Did I call you?”
Talk about putting me in my place. With her hands parked on her hips, she waits for me to answer.
I gulp out a “No.”
“Did I text you?”
“No,” I mutter.
“Did I slide into your DMs?”
“No.”
Her smile is of the take that, asshole variety.
“Think about that. Because I haven’t even thought about you again.
I definitely didn’t put together a care package for you.
And I wore this color,” she says, plucking at her shirt, “for…me. Not you. Not any man. Because I like it. So I swear to God, if you try to tell me this is anything other than a coincidence, I will take these slices of coconut bread and shove them where the sun does not shine.”
She spins on her heel, muttering something that sounds a lot like “unbelievable,” and stalks toward the nook like it’s hers—which, I guess, it is.
And I just made one hell of a first impression on my brand-new co-worker.