Page 13 of Keeping Katie

Why does that feel like a threat? Does he know I’ve only been wearing my favorite jean jacket?

“Um, do you want coffee?” I ask, my voice strangled.

“Aye. Same kind. And a pastry. You pick it.”

I glance up at him, wanting to figure him out. I don’t understand why he’s here again. Twisted Bean is near and dearto my heart but it’s not as if it’s some magical place where a man like Grady O’Brien would want to hang out on the regular.

When I slide his cup across the counter, he sets down a hundred-dollar bill and returns to the same table as yesterday. My lips twitch as I go about warming his pastry. Surely, I’m not imagining this tension between us. I might not be as experienced as some women, but I can feel the pull between us. It’s like a dance, but I don’t know the steps.

“This is a cranberry pecan scone.” After I set the plate in front of him, along with his money, I slowly start to back away.

“Did you make it, lass?”

“Yes. I make all the pastries. I have a full kitchen in the back.”

He nods and slowly slides his gaze over me, his tongue dipping out to wet his lips. It doesn’t feel slimy like when Calvin does it. Instead, it feels like a gentle caress over my skin everywhere Grady looks.

“You were painting last night?”

I suck in a breath. How does he know that? Is that his black Escalade I keep seeing?

“You have paint on your hands,” he adds.

Oh, duh. God, I’m losing it.

“Uh, yeah. I’m painting my parents’ house so I can sell it.”

He flexes his jaw and nods. “Busy girl. When do you find time to sleep?”

Warning flags fly high in my mind. This feels like a trap. But I’m not sure how or why.

“I don’t need very much sleep,” I reply, waving my hand dismissively.

The door chimes, and I’m once again pulled away from him, distracted by an ongoing string of customers. For the next hour, every time I glance up, his eyes are locked on me, tracking my every move. Then, he rises, and it’s my turn to watch as he strides out of the shop, giving me an earth-shattering half-smileas he passes the counter. As soon as the door closes behind him, my heart sinks. I shouldn’t miss a man I don’t even know.

When I go to clean off his table, there’s another of his business cards under the plate, along with the money.

Go to bed by nine at the latest and eat the scone.

And somehow, I find myself in my office, eating the scone while replaying our interaction in my mind. I’m also in bed by eight-thirty.

This time, when the door chimes right after I turn on the open sign, a smile touches my lips. I don’t have to turn around to know it’s Grady. It’s almost as if the air in the shop warms, followed by that deep amber scent of his.

“Morning, lass.”

“Morning,” I answer as I continue to make my way around the counter. “What kind of coffee?”

“Same as yesterday. Pick a pastry, too.”

I stop to look at him, trying to ignore the way my breathing halts every time I do. “You don’t eat the pastries.”

His eyes sparkle, the gold ring around his irises practically glowing in the morning light. “No, but I like knowing you’ve eaten something because I have a feeling you forgot to have breakfast.”

Well, he really didn’t need to call me out like that. “I don’t forget,” I answer slowly. “I just…get busy with other things.”

“Uh-huh. Too busy if you ask me.”

I lift my chin in defiance. “Good thing I didn’t ask.”

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