Page 26 of Once Smitten, Twice Shy

“Yes, please.” I step around my corner of the table and right into his arms.

Will wraps himself gently around me in a brief, sweet hug. Perfect for a first-date greeting.

I lightly rest my arms around his broad back and breathe him in. He smells so darn good, and there go those butterflies again. I smile to myself, my cheek brushing his soft cotton shirt, and sigh. He lets go, and I make myself pull away. “That was delightful,” I tell him.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” I spy an eyelash I left on the pocket of his shirt and swipe it off with my fingers.

He glances down, frowning.

“Just cleaning up after myself,” I tell him. “An eyelash.” I blow it off my fingertip, for good luck. “I like the shirt. It’s really handsome on you.”

His cheeks turn bright pink. Gah, what is it about a man who blushes?

“Don’t flatter me,” he says, pulling out my chair. “I look like a pumpkin.”

I laugh as I sit and he pushes in my chair. “You do not! I wouldn’t lie to you. We promised to be honest with each other, and I’m sticking to my word. I really do think it suits you.”

Will sits across from me and gives me a skeptical look. “We can agree to disagree, then. I feel like a gourd in this thing.”

“Then why are you wearing it?”

“My niece,” he says, pushing the sudoku aside.

“Your niece?”

He nods. “She gave it to me yesterday. And then she was around this morning when I was packing up, getting ready to leave…I didn’t really have a choice.”

My heart does a somersault. “You mean she wanted you to wear it, and you’re too big of a softie to say no.”

He grumbles under his breath, turning the pencil for his sudoku between his fingers.

“Will, that’s a compliment.” I lean in over the table, lowering my voice. “That’s the stuff you tell the lady you’re trying to romance. It’s very attractive.”

Will’s head snaps up. “How?”

I sit back in my chair. “You put your ego aside to do something kind for a little person who loves you. That’s a major green flag.”

A milk steamer screeches on the other side of the table as a throng of people jostles past us, quickly filling up the large round table nearby. They’re a rowdy bunch, teens basking in their summertime freedom, talking loud and laughing. The volume in the place instantly doubles.

Will slips a hand beneath his hair and seems to fiddle around his ear.

That’s when I remember the earplugs he was wearing when we met at the pub. His sensitivity to noise.

Dammit, I should have thought of that when I suggested where we meet up for coffee. Somewhere with a quiet back patio and outdoor seating would have been much better.

Will forces what I think is meant to be a smile but can only beconstrued as a grimace. He’s trying to muscle his way through it. But he shouldn’t have to.

I clasp my purse and slide it back onto my shoulder. “What do you say we get our coffees to go?”

—

Something happens between leaving the table and making our way toward the counter. My nerves are back, and not the swoony butterfly ones—these feel like a swarm of bees stinging my insides, making my hands tingle, my heart race.

Where has my capacity for small talk gone? Why does my smile feel like a rictus on my face? And I thought I was spiralingbeforeI got here.

“What is it?” Will asks quietly.

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