He comes in the next day, and the day after that. It becomes a ritual, one I start to look forward to every morning. Soon I’m making his Chocolate Caramel Latté the moment I see him walk past the front window. Each day I fall a little harder. He’s so nice, always flirting with me, despite the fact he’s all gussied up in a suit and tie and me…well, I’m in an apron with ground coffee staining the front. Everything about him is so damn gorgeous—I love the way he watches me over the top of his mug, the way his gaze lingers down my body while I make his drink, the way his hand brushes against mine when he pays.
One morning he’s late. I’m not worried, I tell myself, but that’s a lie. When nine o’clock comes and goes with no sign of Seth, I toss down my washcloth and try to come to terms with t
