for the handle of the cart.
She glanced down to maneuver around Bentley’s expensive-looking shoes. “That’s al right—”
His fingers brushed hers, nudging her hand aside. For some reason, the touch seemed more intimate than either time he’d lifted her into his arms. She pul ed away so quickly, she nearly threw herself off balance. Then she sidled past him as graceful y as she could with her clubby ankle, and indicated her favorite work counter, where he parked the cart.
Keenly aware of him fol owing her, Piper crossed the checkerboard black-and-white tile floor to the coffeemaker. She poured herself a cup of black decaf coffee and refreshed his cup as wel . Striving for nonchalance, she conjured up a smile. “Do you know how intimidating it is to serve coffee to a man who owns some of the most successful coffeehouses in the country?”
“I’m a simple man—I like my coffee black and strong.” Bentley lifted his cup and took a deep swal ow. “This is actual y quite good.”
Calmer now, Piper pointed toward the corner of the lab where a white rectangular table sat surrounded by six sterile-looking chairs. Her foot was beginning to throb and she
needed to rest before pul ing out the mixing bowls. “Let’s sit and discuss the finished product.”
Piper approached a set of tal file cabinets, opened a drawer, walked her fingers across tabs, then withdrew the thick folder she’d compiled on the Bentley Group. Slowly she made her way over to the table and stood awkwardly, shifting good foot to injured foot and back, waiting for Mr. Bentley to sit so she could situate herself as far away from him as politely possible. But he pul ed out a chair for her on one side and she felt obliged to take it. Alarm struck her when he tugged on the chair directly next to her, but he simply smiled and indicated the seat with a nod.
“For your foot.”
Feeling sil y for thinking he meant otherwise, Piper lifted her foot onto the chair. Mr. Bentley set his cup of coffee on the table and captured the seat across from hers. She withdrew a pad of paper and a pen from a drawer in the table, and opened the manila file. “Now then, wil the coffeehouses be franchised under the current name?”
He sipped and nodded. “Talk of the Town Coffeehouse.”
“And do you have a name in mind for the dessert?”
Mr. Bentley shook his head and splayed his hands. “I’d like to hear your ideas—you look like a contemporary consumer.”
She shrugged and pursed her lips. “As much as one can be in Mudvil e, Mississippi, I suppose.” Piper waited, hesitant to discuss her elementary-sounding ideas with a master
food marketer. “Wel …”
“Go on,” he urged.
She took a deep breath and plunged ahead. “I visualize a large dessert, one that can be shared.” When he didn’t laugh, she continued. “A subtle, rich flavor that lends itself to an accompanying drink, but doesn’t compete with exotic coffees.” When he stil didn’t laugh, she continued. “Presented in a unique dish that wil attract attention when it’s served.”
He brought his coffee to his mouth for another sip. His clear eyes were unreadable, but one eyebrow twitched as he mul ed over her ideas. He had a slight cleft in his square chin that she hadn’t noticed before, but it appeared when he pressed his lips together. Other details jumped out at her, details she’d been too self-conscious to notice when they’d been practical y nose to nose. A smal concentration of gray compromised his thick dark hair front and center—probably premature since he didn’t look to be much past thirty-five. A tiny pale scar on his lower lip left her wondering about the injury.
To cover her blatant perusal, she blurted, “What do you think?”
His mouth quirked, then curved into a smile as he leaned forward. “I was about to ask you the same thing.”
Her lips parted and humiliation washed over her. Was she forever destined to make a fool of herself in this man’s
She glanced down to maneuver around Bentley’s expensive-looking shoes. “That’s al right—”
His fingers brushed hers, nudging her hand aside. For some reason, the touch seemed more intimate than either time he’d lifted her into his arms. She pul ed away so quickly, she nearly threw herself off balance. Then she sidled past him as graceful y as she could with her clubby ankle, and indicated her favorite work counter, where he parked the cart.
Keenly aware of him fol owing her, Piper crossed the checkerboard black-and-white tile floor to the coffeemaker. She poured herself a cup of black decaf coffee and refreshed his cup as wel . Striving for nonchalance, she conjured up a smile. “Do you know how intimidating it is to serve coffee to a man who owns some of the most successful coffeehouses in the country?”
“I’m a simple man—I like my coffee black and strong.” Bentley lifted his cup and took a deep swal ow. “This is actual y quite good.”
Calmer now, Piper pointed toward the corner of the lab where a white rectangular table sat surrounded by six sterile-looking chairs. Her foot was beginning to throb and she
needed to rest before pul ing out the mixing bowls. “Let’s sit and discuss the finished product.”
Piper approached a set of tal file cabinets, opened a drawer, walked her fingers across tabs, then withdrew the thick folder she’d compiled on the Bentley Group. Slowly she made her way over to the table and stood awkwardly, shifting good foot to injured foot and back, waiting for Mr. Bentley to sit so she could situate herself as far away from him as politely possible. But he pul ed out a chair for her on one side and she felt obliged to take it. Alarm struck her when he tugged on the chair directly next to her, but he simply smiled and indicated the seat with a nod.
“For your foot.”
Feeling sil y for thinking he meant otherwise, Piper lifted her foot onto the chair. Mr. Bentley set his cup of coffee on the table and captured the seat across from hers. She withdrew a pad of paper and a pen from a drawer in the table, and opened the manila file. “Now then, wil the coffeehouses be franchised under the current name?”
He sipped and nodded. “Talk of the Town Coffeehouse.”
“And do you have a name in mind for the dessert?”
Mr. Bentley shook his head and splayed his hands. “I’d like to hear your ideas—you look like a contemporary consumer.”
She shrugged and pursed her lips. “As much as one can be in Mudvil e, Mississippi, I suppose.” Piper waited, hesitant to discuss her elementary-sounding ideas with a master
food marketer. “Wel …”
“Go on,” he urged.
She took a deep breath and plunged ahead. “I visualize a large dessert, one that can be shared.” When he didn’t laugh, she continued. “A subtle, rich flavor that lends itself to an accompanying drink, but doesn’t compete with exotic coffees.” When he stil didn’t laugh, she continued. “Presented in a unique dish that wil attract attention when it’s served.”
He brought his coffee to his mouth for another sip. His clear eyes were unreadable, but one eyebrow twitched as he mul ed over her ideas. He had a slight cleft in his square chin that she hadn’t noticed before, but it appeared when he pressed his lips together. Other details jumped out at her, details she’d been too self-conscious to notice when they’d been practical y nose to nose. A smal concentration of gray compromised his thick dark hair front and center—probably premature since he didn’t look to be much past thirty-five. A tiny pale scar on his lower lip left her wondering about the injury.
To cover her blatant perusal, she blurted, “What do you think?”
His mouth quirked, then curved into a smile as he leaned forward. “I was about to ask you the same thing.”
Her lips parted and humiliation washed over her. Was she forever destined to make a fool of herself in this man’s
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