Chapter 3 #2
“Uh, well… we just finished a meeting, and I couldn’t wait—I have this amazing idea and it’s all about the Nordic theme and the drinks and the decorations and I just had to tell you right now—”
“What in hell are you talking about?” he asked.
“Can I come in?” I tried again.
Hunter dragged a hand over his face. “It’s ten o’clock, Wesley. Ten. At night,” he said for the third time, as if repetition might knock some sense into me.
“Five minutes max,” I promised, holding up my hand as if swearing an oath.
He stared at me, unimpressed, but finally stepped back from the doorway. “Five minutes. Then you’re out.”
I’d come in the back way to The Real McCoy plenty of times, but it felt different in the half-dark.
He’d switched on a single lamp, and it cast eerie shadows across the stainless steel counters and stacked equipment.
I trailed after him, trying not to notice how loose his pajama pants hung, draping low on his hip bones.
The fabric shifted just enough to give me a maddening glimpse of the curve of his ass.
My pulse kicked up, because I’d never followed him in here like this—when he was rumpled, half-awake, and devastatingly sexy without trying.
I closed the door behind me, and Hunter leaned against the counter, arms crossed over his chest—a crying shame, because that chest was broad and firm, dusted with a hint of dark hair that caught the lamplight.
His shoulders were wide, his stomach lean, and the lazy way he stood there made him look both powerful and so tempting.
That chest was something else, and I couldn’t stop my eyes from lingering.
I’d learned long ago from Callum, who’d told Bailey, who passed it on to Lucas, that he’d once been a college professor—technically still was, though these days he was the owner-manager here—and I swear, if he’d been the one lecturing me, I might have actually enjoyed Civil War era history.
“And?” he asked, his tone edged with irritation, eyes shadowed and grumpy. And yet all I could think was—I bet he’d be gorgeous if he smiled. I wanted that smile. I was going to make him smile if it killed me.
I blurted out a joke, one that never failed to crack me up. “Why don’t scientists trust atoms?”
He stared at me, and I added jazz hands.
“Because they make up everything!” My own laugh bubbled out before I’d even reached the punchline.
Hunter, though? Not a twitch. Not a smile, not a smirk.
Nothing. Heat crept up my face as I realized I was getting further and further away from the point of even being here.
I cleared my throat, embarrassed, and tried to reel myself back in.
I hopped up onto the facing counter, and he looked pissed.
Belatedly, I wondered how hygienic it was for me to plant my ass there, but forged ahead anyway.
“We had a planning meeting for the Parade of Lights,” I began, trying to sound businesslike although my voice carried too much excitement.
“And I might have expanded on the role of the bookstore and volunteered you and me for a combined Nordic-themed stop—your coffee shop and my bookstore together. Drinks, decorations, the whole package, and I—”
“No.”
I hesitated, then pressed on. “I knew you’d say that, but I have reasons why it would be a great idea for you to join in.
Five of them, in fact.” I held up a finger.
“One: community spirit.” Another finger.
“Two: extra customers.” A third. “Three: showing off your coffee.” Fourth.
“Four: bringing together the town.” And with a sheepish grin, I lifted my thumb.
“Five: making me look good in front of the brothers.”
Hunter listened to all of it in silence, face unreadable, arms still folded, utterly impassive.
“No.”
I pouted, turning on my best wide-eyed look from under my lashes, but that wasn’t getting me anywhere. His expression didn’t so much as flicker, and it made me push harder.
“Why are you being grumpy?” I teased.
“I’m not grumpy, I’m tired,” he said.
“You sound grumpy to me. Extra-grumpy. Like Ebenezer Scrooge before the ghosts show up.” I was fixed on the Christmas track now.
His brow lifted. “You’re volunteering me for things I don’t want to be part of.”
“You’d love it,” I shot back, all mock seriousness. “Community, cocoa, candles—the whole Nordic vibe.”
He stared at me, blinking once, then said with unshakable certainty, “No.”
“Okay,” I said, “I’ll leave you to think about it then, and you let me know when you’re ready to start planning.
” Then I slid off the counter, stumbled on the landing, tripped over my own feet, and fell right into him.
His hands shot out, catching me before I could crash to the floor, and for a breathless second, I was pressed against a warm, half-dressed Hunter, my pulse hammering as I stared up at him.
In that instant, I got a close-up view I wasn’t ready for—eyes the color of sky, sharp and clear in the half-light, and lips that were soft-looking, tempting, pressed into a thin line of annoyance.
My breath caught; all I could think was how unfair it was for someone to be so damn gorgeous when I was the one falling all over the place.
“Oops,” I offered, then pulled myself together to step back, tucking my long hair behind my ear and wincing at the sudden ache in my knee.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m okay,” I insisted quickly. He didn’t move, only watched me, waiting with his hand stretched toward me, as if he wasn’t convinced.
When I finally edged toward the rear entrance, he followed me, stern and silent, until I stepped out into the alley and opened my back door.
I heard his own click shut, then I closed and locked mine.
Leaning back, I muttered to no one, “That could have gone better.” Then I hop-limped to the stairs up to my apartment.
Still, there was one positive thing that came out of tonight—I got to see Hunter McCoy in his pajamas.