Chapter 1 #2
It’s impossible not to watch as he pulls a ball of dough from the fridge and plops it onto the counter.
With a casual flick of flour, he begins kneading it like he’s giving it a massage.
His arm muscles flex and shift, hands moving with the kind of confidence that says I’ve done this a thousand times.
Maybe he has.
Maybe his massaging skills don’t stop at dough.
His dark eyes stay focused on his work, his head tilted down, and there’s this one little strand of light-colored hair that falls over his forehead.
It’s… unexpectedly adorable, especially compared to how composed the rest of him is.
His hair is so light it borders on white, which should make him look older.
But it doesn’t. Not until you catch the wisdom and intelligence sparkling in his eyes.
He flips the dough, tosses it in the air, catches it, and continues stretching it into the perfect circle.
All while wearing a white dress shirt.
And somehow not getting a single speck of flour on himself.
I’m mildly impressed. I’d be dusted like a sugar cookie by now.
“Have you been in the pizza industry long?” I blurt. “It looks like business is booming. Is it always this busy this late? You know, I live close by and I’ve never noticed this place before, but boy, am I glad I did tonight because—”
I slam my mouth shut and growl at myself. Shut up, Kal.
I don’t ramble like this. I don’t do nervous babbling, years of polite customer service drilled into my very being. But something about this man—this unreasonably attractive pizza man—has me… on edge.
He shoots me a look as he puts the pizza in the oven but I can’t tell if he’s annoyed, bewildered, amused or a combination of all three.
I work in customer service, I can read people like a book.
The fact that I can’t read him?
Intriguing.
He disappears through the swinging door that leads to the back and I blow out a breath.
I glance around the dining room again. Conversations murmur on, overlapping, but I can’t make out any specific words from where I’m sitting. No one is paying me any attention though, or even glancing my way, anymore.
I pull out my phone from the pile of work uniforms in my messenger bag, deciding to kill some time while waiting, and notice a couple of text messages from my nosy roommate, Casey.
Hotshot: Hey! What time will you be back?
Hotshot: You okay?
Hotshot: It’s pretty late and storming out, are you on your way home?
I sigh, trying to decide what to text back. Casey tends to be overprotective and in my space a lot— literally since we live together—and, although I appreciate the thoughtfulness, I’m a big girl, I can come home whenever I want.
One more year, Kallie.
I shoot him a cryptic reply with just to piss him off, then put the phone away without waiting for a reply. I’ll be home soon anyway.
Another shiver runs through me, not from the pizza man this time, and I realize I’m still dripping all over the bench and floor. Without his heated gaze distracting me I’m getting cold, though the warmth of the pizza oven helps a bit.
The amazing smell of baked bread, melted cheese, and warmed tomato sauce permeates the air and I take a breath, pushing my thick mop of wet curly brown hair out of my face.
“Here. For your hair.”
I startle at the sound of his deep voice, letting out a tiny shriek.
Damn, I didn’t hear him coming at all.
How the heck did he get back without me noticing?
Mr. Tall, Mysterious, and Handsome holds out a towel in his hands, a tiny smile curving the edges of his lips. Much to my chagrin, his suit jacket is back on and buttoned up, hiding away his delicious arms.
Sigh.
What I wouldn’t have given to have them wrapped around me.
I cough, trying to clear away my very inappropriate thoughts.
“Thank you,” I say stupidly, grabbing the towel from his hands and patting my head with it.
He turns and walks away again, movements smooth and self-assured, like he owns the damn place.
Honestly, he probably does, judging by the way a few of the customers nod at him respectfully as he moves past. He carries this kind of aura, like a single look holds more power than any words could.
He disappears through a side door I hadn’t noticed before and reappears a moment later behind the counter. I watch as he pulls the pizza from the oven and slices it with practiced ease. I think I see mushrooms, onions, and ham. It looks delicious.
He slides it into a box and pushes it across the counter toward me with a smirk.
Oh, god. He has dimples. I’m done for.
“Order up for Miss Daisy.”
I shoot out of my seat like I’m on fire, then immediately slip on the puddle under my bench and go sideways.
I’m anticipating the hurt that will come when I hit the hard tiled floor and brace myself for impact, but the pain never comes.
Instead, strong arms firmly wrap around me before straightening me upright.
Well. Fantasies do come true after all.
He tsks. “The floor’s wet. Watch yourself.”
He frowns like I’ve committed some offense just by existing, and I blink up at his ridiculously perfect face framed by white strands of hair.
Wait.
Wasn’t he behind the counter like—two seconds ago?
He reaches beside us, grabs the pizza box, and presses it into my chest.
I barely manage to grab it before he steps back.
“Hurry up home, Daisy Love. And don’t make any other stops.”
His voice is still smooth, but it sharpens—darkens—on the last part.
“There are big, bad things hiding in the shadows at night… and trust me, you don’t want them catching you unaware.”
A chill runs down my spine.
And this one has nothing to do with being wet.
Bewildered, I stare at him, blinking like a deer in headlights, clutching my pizza with both hands.
He keeps flip-flopping between being charming and terrifyingly bossy.
And weirdly?
I think I’m into both. The whole hot and cold thing is working for him. It’s definitely working for me.
Something I didn’t know about myself.
Until now.
“Say you understand, Daisy.”
That commanding tone is back, and I nod rapidly like my life depends on it.
But he steps closer anyway, his voice lowering.
“I want to hear the words come from your lips, love.”
“I… understand,” I whisper.
He flashes me a grin that is all teeth. Sharp, glinting, definitely not normal teeth.
Then he nudges me toward the door, snapping me out of my trance.
Were those… fangs?
My stomach does a somersault, and I spin on my heel, not daring to look back as I head for the exit, his warning replaying in my mind.
Why did the threatening words sound like a promise?
My heart is practically beating out of my chest and I’m not sure if it’s in fear or excitement.
Maybe both.
I burst into the rain, jogging the rest of the way home like the city might swallow me whole.
It’s not until I’m safely inside, door locked behind me, drenched and shivering…
…that I realize I never paid for the pizza.