by Rye Hart
This was one of those moments, and I was fucking sorry it was.
He was a beautiful specimen. Tall and lanky, but you could tell by the breadth of his shoulders that he was strong. His striking hazel eyes complimented his golden hair, and the bright smile strewn across his cheeks made my heart palpitate. He was delectable, and I was going to really enjoy helping this man get whatever the fuck he wanted.
“Hello there,” he said, smiling, “do think you can help me. What is your house special?”
“We’re known for a special concoction of ingredients I cannot disclose unless you wish to put your life in jeopardy,” I said.
“But who can resist a good secret, am I right?” he asked.
“The customer always is.”
“Well then, give me a medium secret concoction, and I won’t make you liable for murder today,” he said.
“Fantastic. Would you like that secret concoction warm or chilled?”
“Can you do blended?” he asked.
“I can, but it ruins the taste. I’d much rather you have it chilled if you’d like something cold in this blustery weather.”
His eyes seemed to sparkle with our banter, and I was thoroughly enjoying it. His gaze met mine as he leaned his forearm against the counter, seemingly leaning in to tell me a secret of his own.
We didn’t have a house special, but I was going to pull one out of my ass just for him.
“Then give it to me however you wish.”
I could practically hear Angela groaning in the backroom. I rang him up for the mystery drink and got to work, combining full-fat milk with raspberry and chocolate syrups before offering up three shots of our finest espresso. I topped it off with a pistachio whipped cream, drizzled it with a little more raspberry and chocolate, then handed it over to him and watched him take his first sip.
“Oh, this is awesome,” he said.
“I’m glad,” I said, giggling. “I do hope you enjoy the rest of your day.”
He nodded at me, still drinking his coffee before he turned and walked away. I was sad when I saw him walk out those doors, but Angela was soon on my heels. She was giggling and ranting, talking about how he was flirting with me and how I should’ve given him my number. But even though I knew we were flirting, and even though he was absolutely gorgeous, I was at work. And while I was loud and proud, I was also professional.
Which meant not giving my number out to mysteriously beautiful customers.
The shift picked up during lunchtime, and the stranger almost fell from my mind. Regular coffees and iced chai tea lattes were churned out like Angela and I were part of a factory team. But the good thing about it being just the two of us was the fact that we only had to split the tips two ways.
That meant I’d get a decent chunk of money in my pocket by the time the day was over.
The lunch rush was just winding down as the bell above the door rang again. I sighed and switched places with Angela so her wrists could get a rest, but soon she was slapping me on my arm.
“What? What is it?” I asked.
“He’s back,” she said, whispering. “Look.”
My eyes rose to find those glowing hazel beauties staring back at me, and they rooted me to my spot.
“Hello again,” I said. “Back for another surprise drink?”
“Two things,” he said. “One, I raved about your secret concoction, only to find out you guys don’t actually have a house special.”
“Guilty as charged,” I said, giggling.
“Good,” he nodded. “That brings me to my second point. You were obviously flirting with me,” he said confidently.
“Obviously?” I asked, raising my eyebrow.
“I mean, come on. You made up a special drink just for me. You obviously want to give me your number so I can ask you to dinner,” he said, flashing that irresistible smile again.
I hesitated for a moment before answering. While the man was gorgeous, he was also a stranger. Angela didn’t seem to know who he was, and I had no clue either. I started to try to find a polite way of saying so when Angela spoke up from beside me.
“She would love to give you her number,” Angela said.
“Hey. Do you mind?” I asked.
I turned my gaze back to him, and there was something about his smile. It reached his eyes and set them sparkling. There was no way you could fake that type of kind, genuine smile. I ran my eyes down him one last time before I drew in a deep breath, and then I resolved myself to my answer before I nodded my head.
“Let me get a pen,” I said. “I’m Layla, by the way. Layla Westin.”
“Daniel Jones,” he said. “It’s wonderful to meet you.”
I jotted down my number and handed it over to him. He looked it over before he folded it up, and then he stuck it in the breast pocket of his button-down shirt. His smile was contagious, and I couldn’t help but return it.
“Great, thank you, Layla. I look forward to talking with you again very soon,” he said.
His voice was low and rumbling, like a train rolling in from the distance. I could feel the electricity coursing between our bodies, thickening the air around us. It became hard to breathe as his hazel eyes swallowed, and I swallowed hard before I released the breath I was holding. All I could do was nod in response.
I watched him walk away, my jaw unhinged, speechless. For the first time in my life, someone had left me breathless. There were people sitting at tables who were now staring at me, and I could feel Angela tugging at my arm, trying to drag me into the back room so she could shriek and giggle and scream with me.
But the only thing I could see was his tall, strong form receding from the coffee shop—and all I wanted to do was follow him.
CHAPTER 2
Daniel
I couldn’t get that woman from the coffee shop out of my mind. She was sexy as hell. Gorgeous blond hair, long ass legs, curves in every area of a woman’s body you could want. Her light-blue eyes were set into lightly tanned skin you’d normally find at a beach, but here she was, in all her beautiful glory.
In the middle of fucking Montana.
Unwrapping her number, I sat on the edge of my bed and called her. Normally I waited two or three days to call, just to keep them hanging on and wondering if I was going to resurface or not. That was how the game worked. It was a game of never giving too much but always giving just enough. And though I wasn’t always good at it, I’d become a pro. Women would eat shit out of my hand if I asked them to, which made it even easier to get them to suck my cock.
But Layla was in my dreams without even knowing what her pussy felt like against my skin, and I had to know why.
“Hello?” she asked.
“Layla? It’s Daniel,” I said.
“Well hello there, Daniel. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Those beautiful eyes of yours,” I said. “They mocked me in my dreams last night.”
“Already dreaming of me, huh? Does that make me special, or does that make you an easy target?”
“Depends on what you wear on our first date,” I said.
“This first date that has not been proposed or accepted yet?”
“Well, I’m proposing it now. I’m from out of town, so I’m not familiar with the area. So you get to plan the first date.”
“Sounds like a cop-out to me. Ever heard of the internet?” she asked.
“Pick whatever you feel is the best place in town, and I’ll take it from there. Money is no object either.”
“Oh, this sounds like fun. A game to be played where money is no object. Well then, Daniel, you will be taking me to Saffron Table. I’ve always wanted to go, but it’s completely out of my price range.”
“Not when you’re with me. Saffron Table it is. When is your first evening off work this week?” I asked.
“Tonight,” she said.
“Well, how do you feel about meeting me tonight?”
“You won’t pick me up in your fancy Jaguar or something?”
>
“I figured a beautiful woman like yourself might feel a bit more secure in meeting me rather than me knowing where you live right off the bat. Did I misinterpret that?”
“Nope. Not one bit. See you there around seven?” she asked.
“Perfect.”
Hanging up the phone, I looked up the place and gave them a quick call. I reserved a dimly lit table for two in the corner that housed the best view from the restaurant, and then I preordered a wonderful bottle of red wine for the table. I told them to have it open and aerated by the time we got there. I promised a very generous tip to any waiter or waitress willing to dedicate all of his or her time to us.
They told me they would make it work, and then I went about preparing for my date.
“Where you heading out to in that suit?”
“I’m going out on a date with a beautiful woman, Grandma.”
“Does this woman have a name?” she asked.
“Layla Westin.”
“Oh! The Westins. I know them very well. I was best friends with Layla’s grandmother until she passed away.”
“When did she pass?” I asked.
“About ten years ago. That woman was a spitfire. Layla’s the exact same way,” she said.
“What else can you tell me about Layla?” I asked.
“I can tell you she’s strong and educated. Got a degree in business management when she was in college. She works at that coffee shop in town. Oh, what’s the name of it?”
“Java and Hutt?” I asked.
“That’s the one. Loves that place with all her heart. Her grandmother, Erma, was like that. Always did everything in an all-or-nothing sort of style. You be careful with her, Daniel.”
“I will, Grandma. I always am.”
I kissed my grandmother goodbye and headed out to meet Layla. The moment she walked into the restaurant, I could feel the room grow silent. Men with their dates were staring at her legs as she walked by. Her tits bounced beautifully in a bra that did her wonders. Where most women would’ve defaulted to a red or black dress, she was in royal blue and silver—an elegant combination that enhanced the graceful curves of her body.
It was hard not to stare at her.
“You are an image of beauty,” I said.
“You look quite nice in that suit yourself, Daniel,” she said.
“And your smile is radiant.”
“Okay, okay, you can cool it with the compliments,” she said, giggling. “You’ve got me out to dinner.”
I pulled out her chair and coaxed her to sit. The waitress came over and promptly poured the red wine, aerated to perfection just the way I wanted it. We each ordered the steak special of the night as well as Caesar salads, and then the waitress was off.
Now I could really have some time to get to know this gorgeous woman in front of me.
“So you said you’re from out of town. Are you visiting family?” she asked.
“Yes. My grandmother,” I said.
“Maybe I know her. What’s her name?”
“Gertrude Wallander,” I said.
“Your grandma is Gerdie?” she asked.
“Is that what everyone calls her around here?”
“It’s what my grandmother called her. That woman was my grandmother’s best friend. Holy hell, your Gerdie’s grandson! How’s she doing?”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Well, we all know she hasn’t been feeling well. She’s not a fan of the strong coffee we serve, but she used to come in multiple times a week for our lemon bars. She stopped coming, and then rumors started circulating that she wasn’t doing very well. Nothing’s gone wrong, has it?”
I swallowed hard and tried to keep my composure before I answered her question as best as I could.
“Everything’s going smoothly,” I said. “She’s just getting a bit older in years. People slow down as they age. It’s normal.”
“Well, if there’s ever anything she needs, tell her she knows she can call me.”
“I’ll let her know,” I said, grinning. “Now, tell me about yourself. What makes Layla Westin tick?”
I reached out and took her hand, caressing my thumb against her skin. I watched as goosebumps trickled up her arm. I was wholly pleased with the reaction. She was good at keeping a straight face, but she knew I’d seen the reaction.
And the flush that rose in her cheeks was alluring.
“Well, I work full time at the coffee shop. I’ve been there since high school and was just never able to leave. I love it here. I got a business degree from the University of Montana and came back to run the place. Hell, who knows, maybe I’ll even own it someday,” she said.
“Hmmm, I like a woman who knows exactly what she wants,” I said, nodding appreciatively.
Her giggle fluttered over my ears and filled my body with a pleasant hum. She was relaxed and comfortable, which was very different from many of the other women I’d taken on dates before. They always tried to put on a mask, hide their secrets, or paint themselves to be what they thought a man like myself wanted them to be—all giggles, smiles, and sex appeal, with no brain or personality to speak of.
Layla was refreshing, and I was enjoying her a great deal.
Our food came, and we talked a bit more while we enjoyed the meal. I told her about the publishing company I owned in Seattle, and she talked to me about her own dreams of owning Java and Hutt and running it until the day she dies.
And with the drink she made me yesterday, I knew her own shop would be a fucking smash.
The food ran out, and we drained the bottle of red wine. She looked like she was glowing underneath the moonlight streaming through the window. I offered her my hand and escorted her to her car. I stopped just shy of her door before I squeezed her hand and turned her to face me.
“I had a lovely time tonight, Layla.”
“I had a nice time too,” she said.
“Thank you for doing me the honor.”
“The pleasure was all mine, I promise,” she said.
She took a small step toward me, her head craned back just enough to keep my lips in view. I looked down at her, allowing her blue eyes to draw me in. I wrapped my arm around her waist and closed the distance between our bodies while the stars twinkled above our heads in the valley town of Bozeman.
Our lips were mere millimeters apart before my fucking phone rang.
And I recognized the ringtone instantly.
“Damn it,” I said, muttering. “I’m so sorry. It’s work.”
“I understand. Don’t apologize,” she said.
“I really had a great time.”
“Me too,” she said as she opened her door.
“Let me help you in.”
