Page 5 of Sweet Spot

Chapter Four

Chase

It was earlierthan I'd been up in months, but I was determined to get my workout routine in full swing, which meant an early morning run before the streets and sidewalks got too crowded. I walked to the window and pushed the button. The window shades lifted. The sun had barely poked through the thin clouds layered over the horizon. At least at this hour I'd beat the heat.

As I pulled my gaze from the window, movement below in the city plaza caught my attention. It was the girl with the pastries and coffee.

The early morning sun glinted off the dark pink sign on her kiosk. Sweet Spot. It was a great name for a bakery cart. I watched for a few minutes while she bustled around in her white shorts and blue t-shirt, filling her trays from boxes she'd carried to the stand. The day before, when she'd stared up at me with her big brown eyes, something about her expression struck me. Aside from the obvious, that she was extremely pretty, something else had caught my interest. I just couldn't put a finger on it.

I finished tying on my running shoes and headed down to the lobby. As I stepped out into the cool morning air, an idea struck me. Sweet Spot would make a great title for a monthly theme.

I walked across the plaza. Since she ran a coffee and breakfast cart, she was the first person out on the city square. Aside from an early morning group of hungry pigeons, huddled in a bright corner of the courtyard, waiting for crumbs, she was all alone.

The woman was leaned over a box as I approached, and since, as my partner, Zane, liked to point out, I was a cocky ass when it came to women, I watched her. She straightened with a plate of pastries. She was a petite little thing, the kind you could pick up and swing into your arms without any effort at all. Suddenly, I found myself wanting to know what her laugh sounded like. Something told me it was the kind you would miss once it stopped.

"Guess you're the early bird out here." I spoke too abruptly, and it startled her. She swung around and nearly pitched a few pastries off the plate.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to sneak up on you like that."

"No, that's fine. I'm just relieved to find out it wasn't the pigeons talking."

I laughed. I couldn't think of any person in the world who could make me laugh this early in the morning, but she'd managed it.

She continued working, lining up her delicious breakfast treats in a perfect array on the silver trays. She took the time to glance at my shoes. "Out for a run?"

"That was my goal," I said. "Do you bake these yourself?"

"Yes, I do. I'm a trained pastry chef." As she reached to the top of the trays, her t-shirt inched up a bit, exposing the curve of her slim waist.

"Then I suppose my next question should be—how the heck can you be so tiny when you bake amazing treats every day?"

"They only look amazing. They taste awful," she said in such a deadpan tone, it took me a second to realize she was joking.

"Humor at dawn, a rare and admirable trait."

She still hadn't stopped to look up at me, and I was working hard for it. I wanted to catch that expression I saw yesterday. I wanted to know what it was I’d seen that had me so captivated. Her small hands neatly arranged some colorful berry tarts. I decided on a new tactic.

"I'm Chase England. I thought since we're sort of going to be neighbors, I should introduce myself."

She stopped and peered up at me. I hadn't been imagining it. It was there. I just wasn't sure what it was yet. She worked up a sweet smile. "Macy Pennington. Nice to meet you, Mr. England." She went right back to her task.

And I went right on with my conversation. "This is probably an unexpected question, especially at this hour, but is that name trademarked?"

"Macy Pennington? Not that I know of, but then my mom can be a little obsessive about things, so who knows?"

I found myself laughing again. She was quick witted, and I was finding myself more than a little intrigued. "Actually, I was asking about Sweet Spot."

I had her attention. She had her long tawny hair tied back in a neat ponytail, but one strand of hair was too short for the band. It fell forward, curling across her face. She brushed it away.

"It's just a name I came up with. The kiosk is so small compared to the shops on the street. I figured Spot was a good word to describe it." Her brow arched up in suspicion. "Why are you interested?"

"Nothing sketchy, I promise. I'm part owner in a company called Plaything. We are a subscription service—"

"Yes, Chuck and George told me about your company."

"Chuck and George?"

She pointed two directions with her thumbs. "My neighbors." She returned to her work and set about filling her coffee pots.

"Right. Well, I can see that you're very busy, so I'll just head out on that run."

I backed up a few steps and waited for her to look up again. But she didn't. I couldn't believe how fucking disappointed I was. Guess my usual dazzle and animal magnetism just wasn't turned on today. Maybe that was it. Maybe that was what intrigued me about her. I'd met a woman who had zero interest in talking to me. Zane was right. I was spoiled when it came to women, which probably meant that his other favorite phrase, conceited jerk, fit me as well.

I started toward the sidewalk and glanced back at her one more time. She stepped around to the front of the stand and leaned down into a box again. Instantly, I imagined her doing the same thing, only naked, preferably with my hands holding her hips and my cock pressed up against her fine ass. I shook away the image before it hindered my ability to run.

My feet took off along the cement, and after a few steps, it hit me. It wasn't her obvious lack of interest in me, so much as my extreme interest in her. There was something else about her, but, hell, if I could figure out what it was.

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