Page 11 of Sweet Spot

Chapter Eight

Macy

I was morethan a little annoyed at myself for keeping a watchful eye on the apartment building across the plaza. I assured myself that I wasn't waiting for Chase to emerge, but I knew that was a lie. When he'd asked me to have dinner with him, I had no choice except to turn him down, as hard as that was to do. The Trevor disaster was only three months old, and I just hadn't recovered enough. Even though the blame was all on Trevor's side, I still hadn't forgiven myself for being so ignorant and foolish. I was determined to make a go of things all on my own, with no one and, especially no man, to mess up my life. My business was moving along nicely. Slowly but surely, the sting of what had happened was healing. The last thing I needed was to walk into a hornet's nest again. Especially one that was so darn tempting.

The morning rush had finally slowed. I turned to the back of the kiosk to refresh the coffee pots when I heard someone approach the counter. "I'll be right with you," I called over my shoulder.

"No hurry."

How was it possible that I already knew the sound of his voice? I turned around. The man wore a business suit like no one else. I had no doubt it was an expensive suit, but his physique made it look spectacular.

"Hello," I pushed out an airy tone, but a few butterflies had crawled into my stomach. "What can I get you?"

Chase's strong jaw slid back and forth in consideration as he perused the pastries. "I'll take the lemon pastry, a black coffee and one dinner date."

I shook my head as I plucked the pastry from the tray. "You are persistent, I'll give you that."

"You don't get far in life without persistence."

Looking up at him was a huge mistake and caused the first crack in my resolve to not date him. He really did have one of those faces that could knock a woman senseless.

"One dinner, and if you hate it, you just say—Chase, I hated this night, and I only hope that I can someday wipe it from my memory. Sort of a money back guarantee. Then I promise to never ask again."

I had to work to keep from smiling. It was hard. He was pretty damn charming. I turned to the coffee pots.

"Do you like Italian?" he continued, unabated by my silence. "I know this great little restaurant with delicious pasta. Tonight? Say seven?"

I handed him his coffee. Turning down those green eyes would be like turning down a free trip to Paris. "Fine. But not seven. Eight. It takes me until then to finish with my baking."

I grabbed a napkin and picked up the pen I used for big orders. I scribbled down my address.

He placed it in his pocket and took his pastry. "See you at eight."

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