Page 1 of They Are Mine

Chapter One

Juliet

I sip my vanilla latte, pretending to scroll through my phone while I watch him, my sweet, oblivious Noah, moving behind the counter. The hum of the espresso machine rumbles beneath his off-key humming, a soft, comforting dissonance. He sways a little as he wipes the steamer wand, his hips moving in an absentminded rhythm.

He does that when he’s in a good mood.

I love that about him. I love that I know that about him.

I know a lot of things now.

Like how he rolls his sleeves up when he’s flustered, the fabric bunching at his forearms, revealing smooth, sun-kissed skin. How he fidgets with the strings of his apron when he’s nervous, winding them around his fingers, pulling, releasing, pulling again. How his smile is never just in his lips, it’s in his whole face, in the soft crinkle at the corners of his eyes, in the warmth that spreads over his cheeks like the world has never once hurt him.

I want to protect that. I want to keep that.

I press my cup to my lips, letting the warmth bloom through me. He closes in ten minutes. I know this because I’ve been here every day this week, timing his shifts. I know how long he takes to wipe down the counters (seven minutes, always starting at the far left and working clockwise), how he counts the till with careful precision (twice, always twice), how he rubs the back of his neck when he’s tired, fingers dragging over the fine hairs at his nape.

This is my moment. Our moment.

I take a deep breath, smoothing my pink skirt. My nails are perfect, soft, pale pink with delicate little hearts. Noah likes soft things. Kind things. He’s drawn to warmth, and I am nothing but warmth when I want to be.

He’s walking toward the door, and so am I.

I time it perfectly, just as he reaches me, I spin, pretending to be distracted, and…

Collision.

The impact is brief, but electric. The solid warmth of his chest against my shoulder. The scent of him, coffee, vanilla, something clean and safe, wrapping around me like a weighted blanket. My phone flies from my hand, clattering to the floor.

I let out the softest, sweetest little sound of distress.

Men love that sound.

“Oh shit,” Noah says, instantly crouching. His fingers close around my phone, quick and sure, his brows pulling together in concern. “I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”

His voice. A little rough, a little breathy, like he hasn’t quite caught up with the moment.

I press a hand to my chest, making my eyes go wide. “Oh my gosh, no, I should be apologizing! I wasn’t paying attention.”

He hands me my phone, his fingers brushing mine. Just the faintest touch, but I feel it. A whisper of warmth, a barely-there press of skin against skin. I could swear he hesitates. Just for a second. Just long enough for the moment to stretch, pull, hum between us like a live wire.

Then he smiles. Like I’m cute. Like I’m something delicate that needs to be handled carefully.

I want to sink my teeth into him.

Instead, I let out a breathless little laugh, letting my fingers linger just a fraction longer than necessary. “Thank you, Noah.”

His ears turn pink.

I love when men blush.

I tilt my head, letting my gaze drop, pretending I just noticed his name tag. “Noah,” I say again, softer this time. Testing it out. Tasting it.

He rubs the back of his neck, grinning. “Yeah, that’s me.”

I step just a little closer, my lashes fluttering. “That’s such a cute name.”

His smile falters, just for a second, just long enough for me to see the exact moment his heart skips.

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