“What’s up, babe?” she asks, clearly oblivious to my current state of panic.
“The Beard,” I whisper-shout. “He caught me staring, and now he’s coming over here. Oh, my god, kill me now.”
Jill only laughs before she comes to stand right next to me. “Be brave, Corie Flynn—be brave.” She hip-checks me and then starts to back away from my side. With wide eyes, I look at her from over my shoulder, wondering why in the world she’s leaving. She just smiles at me wickedly before waggling her fingers and disappearing behind the swinging kitchen door.
I cough out a sigh, appalled that I’m about to find myself alone and face to face with The Beard. Then I shut my eyes closed tight and try my hardest to cling to Jill’s words. The truth is, she’s right. He’s just a guy. A really, incredibly, unbelievably hot guy—but a guy, nonetheless. It’s time I stopped hiding behind my apron and the same four sentences we exchange every day.
I draw in a deep breath and then open my eyes just as he approaches the counter. Without his coat on, he looks even more appealing than he did before—his long-sleeved, black t-shirt serving as his PSA announcement that The Beard knows his way around a set of weights.
“Hi,” he says, his voice deep and rumbly.
I squeeze my thighs together, silently laughing at myself, causing a smile to pull at my lips.
“Hi. Did you need something? A refill, maybe?”
“No,” he replies, easing his fingertips into the front pockets of his jeans. “I’ve got my caffeine fix for the day. Thanks, darlin’.”
“Oh. Okay,” I murmur, my nerves strangling my lungs as I realize he’s no longer talking to Corie—the barista. No, he’s talking to Corie—the woman.
“How would you like to come over for dinner tonight?”
My jaw drops open before I can stop it, and I find myself pressing a hand against my belly. I’m pretty sure my stomach just went cliff diving.
“Um,” I manage, regaining control of my jaw. “Dinner? At—at your place?”
He chuckles softly before he reaches up and runs his hand over his lips and down his thick beard. “I reckon that might sound forward, but I’d rather stay in than go out—and tonight, I’d like your company.”
“My company,” I repeat dumbly. He grins at me and my stomach clenches. “You don’t even know my name. How do you know you want my company?” The question tumbles from my lips before I think better of it, and I regret it almost immediately.
Dinner with The Beard? Yes, yes, yes! Why am I questioning him?
Crap. What if he changes his mind after he realizes that I’ve made a completely valid point?
I suck in a breath when he plants his hands on the counter, leaning toward me before he says, “Know your name, sugar. I like it, too. Never met a girl named Corie before.”
I open my mouth to question how he knows my name, and then I see his eyes flick to the corner of my apron. I seal my lips closed and hum an embarrassed laugh as I remember that I wear a nametag.
God, I’m an idiot.
“I don’t know your name,” I admit softly, taking a step closer to the counter.
“I’m Ashley.”
For reasons that I don’t even care to figure out, this new knowledge puts me at ease and makes me feel safe—almost like he’s trusted me with something personal, and I shouldn’t be afraid to follow my heart right now.
Ashley.
It’s just a name, but it’s his name.
Suddenly, there are so many other things I’m dying to know about him.
“I like that. Never met a guy named Ashley before.”
“You got a pen, sugar?” he asks.
It doesn’t escape me that this is the second time he’s called me that.
Sugar.
“Yeah,” I mutter, trying to stay in the moment instead of wandering around aimlessly in my thoughts. I reach behind the register and grab a pen, handing it to him without delay.
“Paper?”
I hurriedly grab a slip of receipt paper, tearing off a blank piece and setting it before him.
“Do you like steak?” he asks as he writes.
“Sometimes.”
I watch as a smirk twitches at the side of his mouth while he continues to write.
“You’ll like mine. I promise.”
I bite my bottom lip, fighting a huge smile before I say, “I haven’t said yes yet.”
“It’s my birthday,” he tells me, his eyes finding mine as he slides the paper across the counter. “You’re not goin’ to let me eat alone, are you?”
“You’re all alone for your birthday?” I gasp.
“If you say yes, I’m not.”
“Yes,” I insist, nodding my head emphatically.
“Seven?”
“Yes.”
“Good,” he replies with a wink.
He starts to walk away, and my eyes immediately fall to take in that fine ass as my insides overflow with giddiness. Then, suddenly, he turns around and marches back toward me.
“Forgot somethin’,” he grumbles before he extends his arm over the counter and reaches for me.
His fingers curl around the back of my neck, and the space-time continuum shifts as he gently pulls me toward him. Then I feel the tip of his tongue against my lips before he closes his mouth around mine. Time stops. I plant my hands on the counter, leaning into him further, unable to help myself. I feel drawn to him like a magnet, and not one single part of me wishes to ever pull away.
When he severs our connection, I’m afraid to open my eyes—afraid that if I do, everything that just happened will turn out to be nothing more than a dream. Then he speaks.
“Been wantin’ to do that for a while now. Figured you wouldn’t mind.”
I peek my eyes open just enough to make out his lips, still so close to mine, surrounded by a beard I now long to feel all over my body.
“You figured right,” I whisper, my cheeks heating in a blush.
“I’ll see you tonight, sugar.”
He presses a light peck against my lips before he lets me go and heads back to his table to gather his things.
This time, when he looks back at me, I don’t bother hiding the fact that I’m staring. As I watch him leave, I can’t stop myself from reaching up and tracing my fingers across my lips.
I was right.
Those lips were made for kisses.
I almost pee my pants when I turn into the driveway of the address that Ashley gave me this morning. I should have known by the unfamiliar street name that the neighborhood would be a foreign one, even to me—the townie that I am—which could only mean one thing. Money. As I put my little coupe into park, I start to question if this is such a good idea. I’m fairly certain that I don’t belong in that house.
Then I remember the cupcakes I baked this afternoon, now sitting in the backseat. Lemon poppy seed, with copious amounts of blueberry frosting, because every birthday should come with frosting. Knowing that I can hardly justify standing the man up on his birthday, I pull in a deep breath and climb out of my car, cupcakes in hand.
The Ashley Manor—which I have dubbed his not so humble abode—is beyond breathtaking. More like soul crushingly beautiful. It’s a stone-faced structure with three peaked roofs and a chimney. As I was driving up, I noticed an amazing wrap around porch out back, and a balcony just outside the second story. There are windows everywhere, and I can tell he’s got just about every light on in the place. It’s lit up like a Christmas tree.
As I approach his front door, I reach out to ring the doorbell and notice that my hands are trembling. I pull back, deciding to give myself a moment. It’s freezing out here, but I need to calm down.
I close my eyes, remembering the feel of his lips pressed against mine. It’s an incredible memory I wish not to forget. Furthermore, I won’t deny that I desperately long to experience the pleasure of his touch again. His wealth doesn’t change the moment we shared earlier; it doesn’t alter each exchange between us that we’ve shar
ed over the last month, all of which have somehow brought me to his doorstep. In the same vein, I must also accept the fact that my lack of wealth is just as insignificant.
Yes, I’m twenty-four years old and stuck working at the only local coffee shop in my hometown, but this doesn’t define me. It’s not who I wish to be, and I have every intention of getting out of Dillon, Colorado as soon as I can. Just because I’m here now doesn’t mean I always will be. I refuse to accept that. I have to. If I don’t, I’ll turn into the person I always promised myself I wouldn’t be.
I open my eyes, resolved to the fact that tonight I will be the girl who goes after what she wants. Tonight, I want Ashley; so I gulp down a breath of cold air, and I ring the doorbell.
Be brave, Corie Flynn—be brave.
Ashley
At the sound of the doorbell, I look away from the skillet, my heartbeat speeding up a notch in anticipation. I flip both steaks, sure that they have at least another fifteen minutes before they’re ready, and then make my way to the entrance of the house.
I smile to myself, realizing that I’m a little nervous, and tug up the sleeves of my dark green sweater. I then run my fingers through my hair, still a bit damp from my shower, before I take a breath and open the door.
My God, this woman is a vision to behold.
Corie is shivering out on the porch, a domed rectangular container in her glove covered hands. Her hair, now loose and brushing the tops of her shoulders, is spotted with snow, and I wonder how long she’s been standing outside.
“Hey, there,” I greet, anxious to get her inside and out of the cold. “Come on in.”
“Thanks,” she murmurs, stepping over the threshold.
I close the door behind her, immediately reaching for the handle of the container before taking it away from her. She looks up at me curiously, and then I wrap my arm around her back, pulling her against my chest. When she sucks in a sharp intake of air, I wonder if I’ve made her uncomfortable; but then she rests her hands against my chest, leaning into me as if in my arms is a familiar place to be.
“How long you been here, sugar? You’re covered in snow.”
She blushes, but doesn’t pull her gaze from mine, allowing me to explore her pretty brown eyes.
“Your house is huge. I may have been a little intimidated,” she confesses.
I smirk down at her, tightening my grip around her back. Her body feels good pressed against mine. Soft and warm.
“Not my house, sugar.”
“Um—what? Are you, like, squatting in someone’s vacation home or something?” she asks, her eyes growing wide in worry. It makes me laugh, really laugh—something I haven’t done in a while.
I don’t answer her right away. Instead, I dip my head and press a kiss against her luscious lips. The taste I had this morning about knocked me on my ass, and I’ve been waiting all day for the chance to kiss her some more. Tonight, I have every intention of savoring the flavor of her mouth. Bet she’s sweet as apple pie.
“I’m not squattin’, I swear,” I assure her, my nose touching the end of hers. I can feel the short bursts of air that mark each one of her exhalations, and her excitement makes my dick twitch. “A friend o’mine owns the house. She’s lettin’ me borrow it for a while. Needed a place to lay low.”
“Oh. That’s awfully nice.” As she speaks, I can feel her melting into me further, and I know already that my gut instinct was right. No way could I leave this town without getting to know the gorgeous girl behind the coffee bar.
“What’s this?” I ask, holding up the container.
I don’t bother looking at it, and neither does she, both of us still content with our current view.
“Cupcakes. Every birthday should be celebrated with frosting.”
“You made me cupcakes?” My eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and I hold her tighter still.
“Yeah,” she whimpers. “Lemon poppy seed with blueberry frosting. I wasn’t quite sure what kind you’d like, but they’re my favorite.”
I kiss her again, resting my forehead against hers as I pull away. “Thank you, sugar.”
“Don’t thank me until after you’ve tried one,” she insists with a nervous giggle.
She’s too damn cute for her own good.
Too damn cute for my own good.
“Let me take your coat. The steaks are still on, but dinner should be ready soon.”
“Okay.”
I hang up her coat as she steps out of her boots, and then I take her hand, leading her to the kitchen. I let her go, setting the cupcakes on the kitchen island before hurrying to the stove to flip our steaks. I then head to the fridge, grabbing the butter I need for this particular recipe.
“Can I help with anything?”
“No,” I say with a smile and wink. “Have a seat. Keep me company.”
“So, you’re a man who likes to cook, huh?”
I chuckle, dropping the butter in the skillet. When it melts, I’ll add a bit of garlic and some thyme, and these babies will be just about ready.
“I like to cook, but my repertoire isn’t all that impressive. Steak, I can do.”
As soon as I’ve added all the necessary ingredients, I turn from the stove, my attention drawn to Corie. She’s fidgeting with the sleeves of her white sweater—her white sweater with a wide neck, offering me the perfect peek at the tops of her tempting tits. My mouth waters and my pants suddenly feel too tight, but I tamp down my lust for the moment, reminding myself that I’m a gentleman.
“Are you a preacher?” she asks, titling her head to the side.
I choke out a laugh as I furrow my brow in confusion. “No, sugar, I’m no preacher. Far from it.”
“Just checking,” she says bashfully. “You always have that with you when I see you.” She points to the edge of the counter, where I’ve left my tablet, my journal, and Grandma Joan’s Bible.
A sad smile plays at my lips before I nod in its direction and explain, “It belonged to my grandma. She passed a little while back. I like to have it on me, especially when life gets stormy. She always said: all the answers you’ll ever need can be found in the Good Book. She wasn’t wrong, either. Might not always find the answers you want, but that’s life.”
“That’s beautiful,” she whispers.
“So are you, sugar. I think she’d approve,” I reply with a wink, hoping to lighten the mood.
“Thank you.” She tucks her hair behind her ear as she speaks, looking away from me. That, right there, let’s me know she has no idea how gorgeous she really is.
“Can I get you something to drink?” I offer in an attempt to change the subject and get her to bring her eyes back up. “I’ve got wine, beer, coke, tea…”
“Actually, a beer would be great.”
A grin spreads wide across my face when her pretty brown eyes lift to meet mine. Sitting before me is a woman who thinks birthdays should be celebrated with cupcakes and beer. All of a sudden, I think the shit storm I’ve endured, which brought me here, may just have been totally worth it.
“One beer, comin’ up.”
Corie
Note to self, Ashley doesn’t break his promises.
Dinner is delicious. Our salad may have come from a bag, and the dinner rolls from the grocery’s bakery, but the steak is amazing. It isn’t just the food that’s left me full and happy, either.
Ashley and I sit side by side at the kitchen island, foregoing the formal dining room as we eat and drink and talk. And talk. And talk. I thought I loved the sound of his voice before. Now I’m quite certain that I’m addicted. Not to mention the sound of his dark, sexy, belly laugh; coupled with his handsome smile, it’s enough to make a girl swoon.
“Can I get you another beer?” he asks as he stands, taking our long abandoned plates to the sink.
I note the time, surprised to see that it’s already well past nine. The last thing I want to do is go home, but I don’t want to overstay my welcome, either.
“You’re not goi
n’ anywhere, Corie,” he states, his tone both gentle and authoritative. “It’s snowin’ pretty heavy.”
He nods out the window, and I feel both relieved and nervous when I see that he’s right. I’ve definitely seen my fair share of snow; driven through some dangerous storms, too—life of a Rocky Mountain girl—but I won’t argue with him. I don’t have work tomorrow, and I don’t want to leave. If he says I’m staying, I’m staying.
“Okay,” I agree, reaching up to tuck my hair behind my ears. “I’ll take that beer.”
He nods once more, turning to pull two beers out of the fridge. He pops the caps off before he returns to my side. Though, instead of sitting, he holds out his hand.
“C’mon, sugar. I can offer you a more comfortable seat than that one.”
I don’t hesitate to slide my palm against his, and my stomach fills with a bunch of frenzied fireflies as he wraps his fingers around mine and holds on tight. He feels good—really good—and as we fall deeper and deeper into the night, I find myself getting lost in all that is Ashley.
He’s incredibly sweet, really funny, and thoughtful, too. There’s something about him that encourages me to feel at ease, like I can tell him anything. I think it’s his eyes. They’re familiar, somehow. I can’t explain why or how, it’s just an inkling I have. Those gorgeous hazel eyes make me feel safe and warm. And yet, at the same time, he has me on the verge of coming unhinged. His personality makes him that much more attractive, setting my entire body abuzz with nerves and an undeniable desire the likes of which I’ve never known.
He leads me into an absolutely fabulous sitting room. There’s a fireplace, an assortment of plush, cream colored couches—decorated with an array of warm-colored throw pillows—and a wall covered with huge windows overlooking the backyard. I’m sure the view is absolutely stunning when it’s not pitch black outside.
Ashley hands me my beer as I sit, then he occupies the space right next to me, resting his arm across the back of the couch behind me. It takes every ounce of will power that I have to stop myself from curling up into his side. When I first arrived and he pulled me into his arms, it felt so right. Now, with the little bit of alcohol in my system, I’m not sure I can trust myself to behave while pressed up against him.