Sutton
Why do I find myself savoring the way Foster’s eyes lock onto me, always paired with that slow, confident smirk?
And is this really Foster, out of his usual suit?
His dark coat is tailored and expensive, yet somehow inviting.
He’s in dark jeans, too. I have a soft spot for any man bold enough to wear a scarf.
You’d be surprised how many refuse. The charcoal gray sets off his espresso-brown hair perfectly.
But no matter what he wears, Foster’s chestnut eyes always seem to command the room—and right now, they’re fixed on me.
This time, his gaze lands on me with a spark that tugs a smile from my lips.
“So, you’re supposed to be my tour guide now, it seems.” He’s amused at the sudden turn of events.
I quickly glance over my shoulder to see that Hayes is down the street. Turning back to face Foster, who towers a little over me in height, I widen my smile. “I guess so. Where is it that you’re heading? I’ll point you in the right direction.”
He rubs his hands together briskly in front of him, trying to generate warmth against the freezing breeze. “I wasn’t heading anywhere in particular. I may be looking to grab a gift for an old lady in my building.”
I stuff my hands into my pockets. “That sounds like a story. Thanking her for watering your plants or something?”
He grins. “Yeah, something like that. She always bakes me cookies.”
“Lucky you. I need to find a neighbor like that.”
“That’s right. You just moved to the city. Elodie mentioned.”
I used to be buried in corporate law at a big Baltimore firm, but I was craving a change—a place closer to friends and family.
With my thirtieth birthday just passed, I wanted to actually live, to travel, to find work I could love.
Then Olivia, who’d been a few years ahead of me at school in Everhope, called about a role at Haven Crossroads where she worked in HR.
I took a chance. The offer was too good to pass up.
I nod. “Yeah, after living on the East Coast. I’m originally from this little town, though.”
“Then you could tell me where to get a good cup of coffee? I heard something about Foxy.”
“Foxy Rox,” I correct him. “Damn good coffee.” Remembering, I wince. “But it’s also probably where Hayes and Elodie are now having their lovers' tiff, so it’s either walk in on awkwardness or pretend not to be spying.” I hold out my hands as if to balance the options.
His thumb touches his chin as he briefly considers. “Fox Roxy it is not then.”
“Ooh, sounding Shakespearian.”
“It’s the weekend. I have special talents on my days off.
” In two seconds, I’ve learned that Foster saying that with his eyes fixed on me won’t help de-escalate the instant attraction that hit me from moment one, and I’ve only spoken to him once before in an elevator.
But confidence hasn’t been my issue in life, which is why I’m very aware that he gave me the once-over then and approved.
“Interesting.” My expression is stoic, but a faint smile remains as our eyes hold for a few seconds. “Anyhow, the travesty of missing Foxy Rox is fixed by the fact that there is a donut festival in town. There’s a coffee truck there.”
His lips quirk out, and his brows rise. “Sounds promising. I’m a fan of donuts, too.”
“Really? Because you look like a guy who hits the gym and considers protein shakes breakfast.”
“I’ll have you know that someone in finance brings donuts from this Polish bakery once a week, and it’s the highlight of my workweek.”
“Well, it seems you are saved then. It’s that wa—” He interrupts me as I begin to look in one direction.
“You won’t walk with me?”
Now, I’m a smart woman with a law degree, and I passed the bar in two different states. I’m able to sense when to push buttons or not. I also have talent for reading the fine print. Even without a contract, I’m aware his tone and look are an invitation.
I lift a shoulder as if it’s nothing. “Sure. I don’t have any plans.”
“Good.”
We linger for a moment, both quietly admitting this is a pretty good place to be. Conversation just clicks between us, maybe because we’re now orbiting the same social circle. His best friend’s fiancée is my best friend. If we’re going to survive group dinners, why not get to know each other first?
But I also find myself in a complicated predicament.
I’m aware he’s single because my best friends, Elodie and Savannah, shared it once.
Normally, that would mean an attraction crackling under the surface is safe.
But Foster is also the CFO at the company where I started working.
I’m a professional. There’s nothing wrong with an innocent coffee and donut, though.
“How are you liking it at Haven Crossroads?” he asks as we begin to stroll down the sidewalk.
“A lot. So many existing and new clients. When you’re dealing with importing and exporting, there’s a lot of tape that you can’t cut through. Most people assume contracts are boring.”
He chuckles. “Most people think numbers are boring. You’re in good company.”
“I would hate to waste my time on coffee, carbs, and conversation with a dull human.”
He stalls, giving me a solid appraisal as he smiles wryly. “Where have they been hiding you?” he reflects.
My forehead creases. “As in?”
“Our friends. You’re not exactly dull. I might need you too, to help me survive dinners and wedding season.”
I like that comment a lot and shrug as we continue to walk. “They always hide the best. But never fear, in the office, I’m tough as nails when needed.”
“I don’t doubt that. You miss Everhope?”
“Nah, I can always visit, and I enjoy having a bit of freedom away from my family. Don’t get me wrong, I love them, but sometimes we need space and to explore the world our own way, you know?”
Foster stays quiet for a few seconds longer than expected, almost lost in thought. “Oh, I do. I didn’t follow in my family’s footsteps, but I’m not complaining, well, mostly.”
“Real estate, right?” Not just that. It’s a company worth many figures.
But I don’t care about that stuff, mostly because very few know how to remain humble.
Nothing is worse than being out with friends when some guy at a bar tries to flaunt his bank account while still acting like a frat boy in his thirties.
“Savannah and Elodie have been talking about me?” He grins cheekily.
I nudge his arm with my own. “They only wanted to provide me with information to ensure my first month at Haven Crossroads was a success and the downlow on who is invited to Savannah’s wedding. Not sure they needed to give me your backstory, but they did.”
He laughs. “That story sounds about right and checks out.”
“Anyways, I am back for the weekend. Leave it to my parents to announce they’re selling their house and retiring to Florida, the same time I announce I’m moving back to Illinois.”
“Probably means there is likely another reason you were meant to move back then.”
We arrive at the park with the gazebo and the view of the steamboat on the river, a restaurant called the Riverbell. Tents and food trucks sprawl across the park with portable heaters hanging at each tent.
I splay my hands out in front of us to present it. “Ta-da. Festival destination.”
He seems impressed. “Looks and smells delicious. Where do we begin?”
“We?”
“Yeah, you can’t walk me three blocks and not be thanked with a coffee,” he states breezily. The corner of his mouth tugs, and his eyes find mine, commanding and persuasive.
The answer is simple: it’s a lazy Saturday, no plans, just letting the day carry me wherever it wants.
“Who could say no to that?”
He extends his arm, indicating for me to lead the way. I feel his hand innocently touch my lower back as I walk past, and it sparks something, as though my chest bounced. We reach the coffee truck, and he briefly skims the board, then glances at me.
“Let me guess, you’re a latte with almond milk type?”
“Nope,” I answer. “I’m a classic black coffee kind of gal. You? Double-shot espresso or a macchiato?”
“Well read. A macchiato it is.”
He steps forward and orders, and it’s too crowded to continue to chat while we wait on the side for our drinks. Luckily, we didn’t order anything too complicated, and we don’t have to wait long. With our coffee in hand, we begin to stroll through the aisle of tents.
“What is your donut of choice?” he asks. “Let me guess. Could be a simple one with white icing and sprinkles, and if you say that, then I might have to walk away.”
“Nah, I’m not a vanilla person.” I repeat that sentence in my head as I pause in place and realize that if innuendo floats through his head, then I just fueled his imagination.
The way he stands, sipping his coffee and fighting a devilish smirk at the same time, proves it.
“Old-fashioned then?”
I shake my head. “Not traditional.” The way I say it has a bit of a challenge because I can’t seem to turn off the switch that controls my flirting mode.
“Depends on the mood and time of day and place then,” he counters, and now it’s confirmed that we are aligned.
Our eyes sweep together to the side, and I bite the inside of my cheek. Foster has me very curious about him, but for now, I won’t deliver a rebuff that could drive us further into flirtation territory.
“I meant the donut. Old-fashioned. You know, made with sour cream and glaze?” He redirects us, but I can see it’s a lazy save.
Clearing my throat, I continue to move with my lips still pressed from a smile that doesn’t faze, and he follows my pace.
“Legitimately, are there old-fashioned donuts here? Because those are the best. Chocolate or maple glaze.”
I spot the stand up ahead and point. “You’re in luck because you don’t need to search long. The Jolly Joe’s stall has old-fashioned donuts. Stationed conveniently next to the stall with donut holes. Whoever thought of those is a true master.”