notice. Whatever the case may be, I can't stop thinking about his smile. I don't know how he does it, but when he smiles, he looks charming and endearing, but also smolderingly handsome. When I look at him, it's like fanning through a rolodex of my favorite book boyfriends. Except he's real. I could touch him.
Shit. Don't think about touching him!
My heart shoves aside my rationale and I try and imagine what it would be like to kiss him. Or what it would feel like to have his dark, honey brown scruff scrape across my skin as his lips leave a wet trail down my neck. My Lord, that low trimmed beard he wears is totally sexy in that rugged, I'm-a-man-and-I-won't-apologize-for-it sort of way. And he most certainly is all man . All six-foot-plus of him, with a beautiful body that looks to be void of a single ounce of fat. I wonder what he would look like in nothing but that black apron he's sporting right now...
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
Stop, stop, stop!
Too much smut. I've been reading too much smut!
I want the job, not the man. The job!
Remember the last time you wanted the man?
My heart flips me off, unappreciative of the reminder; but my pulse slows, knowing my brain is right. I want the job. I need the job. Anything else is more than I can handle in my current state. With that in mind, I snuggle Caroline a little closer and then look back over at Brandon.
The job. I want the job. Not those warm, dark hazel eyes. The job, dammit. The job.
I clear my throat, hoping my voice won’t be dripping in lust when I go to use it. “So, when did Little Bird became Home of Brandon’s Bakery?” I manage.
“A couple months ago,” he says with a smile that can’t decide if it’s shy or proud.
Kill me now.
“My team is great, but I really need some full-time help. Is that something that you’d consider?”
“Mmhmm,” I hum with a nod. “Full-time is perfect.”
“You’d essentially be training to be my assistant manager. The pay isn’t exceptional. You won’t be making six figures or anything,” he jokes.
“Not a problem,” I say with a little laugh. “Teacher, remember?”
“Right,” he replies with a grin. “So, tell me a little bit about this barista experience.”
As I list off the tasks and responsibilities I fulfilled while working over the summer, he hangs onto my words like they’re the most interesting things he’s heard all day. I can tell that he’s trying to be thorough and I appreciate that about him. When I’m finished, he fills me in on how much of what I already know would be helpful in the open position. He then proceeds to list off the additional duties that he’d need help with.
Before he can finish, we’re interrupted as Daphne rests a hand on my shoulder. “I know you two are busy with formalities,” she begins to say, winking at Brandon, “but I’ve got an aunt and uncle here who were hoping to get a peek at their goddaughter. Oh, and Logan wanted to check in with you, too, Stuey.”
What she’s said only makes a little bit of sense. As I stand, fully understanding that I’m about to see Roman, I can’t understand how Caroline has an aunt . I’m also a bit confused as to how Logan plays into all of this. I remember Logan like I remember getting gum stuck in my hair when I was eight years old. She was friends with Beckham, which is how my group got to know her—but Beckham was the only one of us who actually liked her. The rest of us could barely tolerate her. We called her the Queen Bee . She was the biggest flirt I’d ever met in my life; she was also the biggest snot.
Having admitted that, I feel like no one can blame me for losing my footing when I turn and see Roman and Logan— holding hands —as they make their way towards us.
I gasp, whether from fear of dropping the precious bundle in my arms or from the shock of seeing Roman with Logan— Holy shit! Are they married?!—I’m not sure. As I clutch Caroline tightly against my chest, someone catches me,
Shit. Don't think about touching him!
My heart shoves aside my rationale and I try and imagine what it would be like to kiss him. Or what it would feel like to have his dark, honey brown scruff scrape across my skin as his lips leave a wet trail down my neck. My Lord, that low trimmed beard he wears is totally sexy in that rugged, I'm-a-man-and-I-won't-apologize-for-it sort of way. And he most certainly is all man . All six-foot-plus of him, with a beautiful body that looks to be void of a single ounce of fat. I wonder what he would look like in nothing but that black apron he's sporting right now...
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
Stop, stop, stop!
Too much smut. I've been reading too much smut!
I want the job, not the man. The job!
Remember the last time you wanted the man?
My heart flips me off, unappreciative of the reminder; but my pulse slows, knowing my brain is right. I want the job. I need the job. Anything else is more than I can handle in my current state. With that in mind, I snuggle Caroline a little closer and then look back over at Brandon.
The job. I want the job. Not those warm, dark hazel eyes. The job, dammit. The job.
I clear my throat, hoping my voice won’t be dripping in lust when I go to use it. “So, when did Little Bird became Home of Brandon’s Bakery?” I manage.
“A couple months ago,” he says with a smile that can’t decide if it’s shy or proud.
Kill me now.
“My team is great, but I really need some full-time help. Is that something that you’d consider?”
“Mmhmm,” I hum with a nod. “Full-time is perfect.”
“You’d essentially be training to be my assistant manager. The pay isn’t exceptional. You won’t be making six figures or anything,” he jokes.
“Not a problem,” I say with a little laugh. “Teacher, remember?”
“Right,” he replies with a grin. “So, tell me a little bit about this barista experience.”
As I list off the tasks and responsibilities I fulfilled while working over the summer, he hangs onto my words like they’re the most interesting things he’s heard all day. I can tell that he’s trying to be thorough and I appreciate that about him. When I’m finished, he fills me in on how much of what I already know would be helpful in the open position. He then proceeds to list off the additional duties that he’d need help with.
Before he can finish, we’re interrupted as Daphne rests a hand on my shoulder. “I know you two are busy with formalities,” she begins to say, winking at Brandon, “but I’ve got an aunt and uncle here who were hoping to get a peek at their goddaughter. Oh, and Logan wanted to check in with you, too, Stuey.”
What she’s said only makes a little bit of sense. As I stand, fully understanding that I’m about to see Roman, I can’t understand how Caroline has an aunt . I’m also a bit confused as to how Logan plays into all of this. I remember Logan like I remember getting gum stuck in my hair when I was eight years old. She was friends with Beckham, which is how my group got to know her—but Beckham was the only one of us who actually liked her. The rest of us could barely tolerate her. We called her the Queen Bee . She was the biggest flirt I’d ever met in my life; she was also the biggest snot.
Having admitted that, I feel like no one can blame me for losing my footing when I turn and see Roman and Logan— holding hands —as they make their way towards us.
I gasp, whether from fear of dropping the precious bundle in my arms or from the shock of seeing Roman with Logan— Holy shit! Are they married?!—I’m not sure. As I clutch Caroline tightly against my chest, someone catches me,
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