Chapter 2
2
ELLE
H e’s joking. He has to be joking. Mister Sex-On-Two-Legs knows the difference between a wrap and a sandwich, right?
Damn it. I knew he was too good to be true. I just figured he probably chews with his mouth open or pours the milk in the bowl before the cereal. Not that he doesn’t know that sandwiches and wraps are different food categories.
I clear my throat and try to school my features, although I don’t think it’s working all that well. “No, sir. Wraps and sandwiches are most certainly not the same thing. If you?—”
“Peter,” he interrupts, with a twitch of his lips and a twinkle in his dark eyes. I’m almost certain I could get lost in his chocolate-brown gaze if I looked at them for too long.
“What?” I tilt my head as my brow wrinkles.
“My name is Peter. Don’t call me sir . That makes me feel like I’m sixty-years-old.” He chuckles, deep and rich. The sound reverberates up my body from the tips of my toes to the very ends of my hair in a way that makes me want more.
“Okay, Peter ,” I correct myself, and he beams at me, flashing a hint of dimples in his cheeks. “If you wanted the discount, then you should’ve left the sandwich as a sandwich. But since you switched it out for the spinach wrap, it’s not a sandwich anymore.”
“It kind of seems like you’re splitting hairs just to make me pay full price.” If anyone else would’ve said that, it would sound combative. But Peter’s tone is light and playful, which just seems ridiculous in this situation. He’s disarming me, and I don’t like it.
I cross my arms over my chest and shrug my right shoulder. “If you can’t afford to pay for your meal, I’m afraid I won’t be able to give it to you.”
“Money’s not the issue, beautiful,” he explains with a flippant wave of a hand, but my thoughts become fuzzy at hearing him call me beautiful . “It’s more about the principle of the matter, don’t you think?”
I have to stop myself from scoffing at his words. To blatantly boast about how much money he has while refusing to pay for his meal is downright rude, even if he did pay me a compliment at the same time.
Slapping my hands on the counter, I lean forward and glare up at Peter’s face. It’s difficult to look intimidating while being almost a foot shorter than the man, but I certainly try my best. Unfortunately, getting closer to him allows me to smell something faintly woodsy. It’s too light to be a cologne or aftershave. Maybe it’s his bodywash?
Whatever it is, he smells fantastic and I’m suddenly accosted by a vision of him in the shower. Bare, golden skin covered in bubbly suds, his hands sensually running over his lean, muscular chest with his head tipped back as water runs through his wavy brown hair and down his defined chin. Then his hands travel lower below his washboard abs?—
Get a grip, Elle. Stop drooling over the man.
“There is no principle, ” I tell him, perhaps more forcefully than necessary to try to get my mind out of the gutter. “You either pay full price for your wrap , or you walk out the front door right now and I get a surprise lunch.”
Rather than impose a sense of authority, my words seem to amuse him because he leans on the counter too, bracketing my hands with his own, his thumbs barely a millimeter away from my pinkies. My breath hitches and my body freezes as he drops his face close to my ear. I become engulfed in his forest scent, the fresh smell such a juxtaposition to the harsh sea salt that I’m accustomed to in this coastal town.
Peter’s voice drops from light and playful to dark and full of promise. “Are those really my only two options? You sure there isn’t anything else we could work out? I could help wash dishes if you want. I’ve been told I’m really good with my… hands .”
The squeak that escapes my mouth will haunt me for years to come and I jump back in surprise and embarrassment. My face flames as I gape at him. His charming smile has slid into a seductive smirk, and he seems so damn pleased with himself that my hand almost raises on instinct to smack that infuriating look right off his handsome face. He’s throwing me off my game and I can’t stand it.
“You know what?” I brush some flyaway hairs from my face, trying my best to collect myself. “It’s fine. I’ll apply the discount, even though your order doesn’t qualify for it.” I mutter that last bit to myself, but he still hears me. “Just… anything to get you to leave as quickly as possible.” I huff with my hands on my hips.
Then, I void his transaction and ring him up for the free sandwich deal before giving him the new total so he can tap his card.
“I don’t know why you’re trying to get rid of me so quickly,” he says—although the dimples that appear with his smile prove he knows exactly why. “I mean, I’m just going to be back tomorrow. This is my new favorite lunch spot, after all.”
I practically throw his food at him, trying to keep as much physical distance between us as possible. “What are you talking about? You haven’t even tried the food yet. You could hate it. Not that you would. We use only the freshest ingredients and we’ve worked hard on all of our—” I cut myself off with a quick shake of my head. Now, he has me rambling. “Never mind. It’s not important. What’s important is that you leave as quickly as possible and never come back here.”
“But where’s the fun in that?” He grabs his lunch and his dimples flash again as he tries to contain another smile.
“There is no fun. There doesn’t need to be fun since this is a cafe, not an amusement park.” I cock my hip and prop my hand on my side.
Even as he steps backward toward the door, Peter keeps his eyes trained on me with an unreadable yet determined look on his face. “I’m sure we could find something fun to do.”
I’m expecting another comment from him, so I’m able to steel my expression a little better. But it still makes my heart flutter and my stomach swoop at just hearing his rich, baritone voice that’s as smooth as fine whiskey.
“No, thank you, sir .” I decline his subtle invitation in such a robotic way that I can’t even blame him when he snickers. “Have a wonderful rest of your day, and see you never. Goodbye.”
Peter opens the door and gives me one last charismatic smile that I try like hell not to memorize. “Bye-bye for now, but I’ll see you tomorrow… Elle.”
“Never means never!” I yell after him, but he’s already out the door and heading down the street. I watch him until he’s out of view; then I glare at the mess I made from preparing his wrap, because I still feel like I need to be mad at something. “What a jerk,” I mutter to myself, forcefully cleaning up my workspace for the next customer.
I’m still grumbling and scrubbing the counter a bit too harshly when another regular comes in, a kind middle-aged woman with her baby in a stroller.
“Hey, Lynn. Great to see you,” I greet her before lowering my gaze. “And hello to you too, Miss Hadley! How’s my favorite one-year-old doing today?”
The precious baby girl giggles, and Lynn tells me all about their morning while I get started on her usual sandwich, a turkey and avocado BLT. She’s been coming to the cafe for years, along with many of the other regulars, so I always enjoy catching up with her and sweet little Hadley. The two of them stay for a while longer after Lynn finishes eating, but eventually they have to leave.
As I wave them goodbye, another customer comes in, and the rest of the day is uneventful but busy. Thankfully, my mind is kept occupied by orders and payments and customer-service smiles. It isn’t until the sky is dark and the moon is bright that I flip the open sign to closed and I finally get a minute to myself.
As I sweep the floors, my thoughts wander back to my most peculiar customer today. Hot, sexy, infuriating Peter. The jerk with a face that was sculpted by the gods and a body that Adonis would be jealous of.
“ See you tomorrow, Elle ,” I say out loud in a mocking tone that, if I’m being honest, sounds nothing like Peter’s deep, thigh-trembling voice. “Whatever. Being attractive doesn’t give you a free pass to be rude.” I start silently cursing him for being an asshole.
Dear Lord, please let Peter step in a puddle while he’s wearing socks. Please let his smoke detector go off at two a.m. because it needs new batteries. Please let him run out of toilet paper the next time he’s in the bathroom. Please ? —
I stop sweeping and turn to look at the door, as if Peter will somehow walk through it, despite it being locked. Then something occurs to me. I never actually told him…
How the hell did he know my name?