Page 3 of Smoke and Fire
“Welcome to—”
The words died on my lips.
A pair of stormy eyes peered at me from an angular face. One of the hotshots—the one I couldn’t quite peg.
A rough beard streaked with brown and hints of blonde drew my gaze to his strong neck and shoulders. The smell of smoke entered the room with him. None of that startled me. Not even the obnoxiously yellow shirt, muted by layers of grime and filth, or the dark green pants.
The expression of panic in his eyes, despite his haggard mein, stopped me. That strange, glazed terrorwasn’t normal, certainly not in such a strapping face. What could possibly have a man like him look terrified like that?
“—the Frolicking Moose,” I finished lamely.
He shifted, revealing a computer under his left arm. A backpack strap rested lazily on the other shoulder. When he spoke, it rumbled in his chest.
“Internet.”
I tilted my head to the side. Wait . . . what? What was that? A caveman request? It wasn’t even a question.See?I told my inner self.Men are the same everywhere.
Not true. In direct contradiction to your point, Jakob never caveman-requested.
Peeved now, I countered. “Coffee shop.”
He frowned. His gaze dropped to the countertop, as if seeking something, then landed on the books. The muscles around his lips tightened.
I bristled.
Great. He was going to judge me to be a simpering woman that read romance novels at work. That would put me into a label without him knowing me at all. A true label, unfortunately, but that was besides the point. The judgment already built up in his gaze, like a gathering storm. Oh, that’sexactlywhat I saw in his a-little-too-attractive face right now. Condemnation.
Judgment.
Or, maybe, just an extension of his strange fear.
On an average day, I liked everyone I met. It’s why a coffee shop in a small mountain town for the summer ended up being an ideal job. It gave me space to plan my next move, enough work to not feel utter terror over my lack of direction, and connection with people so I didn’t get lonely. Something aboutthistough guy, however, set my teeth on edge. Definitely wasn’t that masculine appeal.
Nope. Not that.
He scowled and shifted the backpack strap. “I would like to use the internet, please.” His voice purred like a lazy cat now.
“Okay.”
Utter silence followed, and I felt his annoyance deepen in the weighty pause. A little guilt for my own intensity trickled through me. My cousin Pele told me I could be ataddefensive, even before anyone said something, and I had a feeling I’d just done that here.
“If you are asking,” I drawled in response to his obnoxious quiet, “if we have internet, the answer is yes. Hot and cold running water too, if you like that kind of modern upgrade, but the outhouse is out back if you need it. Password is on the board.”
If possible, his frown deepened. Ooookay, that attempt at humor certainly didn’t work, which only intensified my frustration.
Tough crowd.
I slapped on my brightest smile. The kind that almost crackled. He seemed to notice the edge of frustration as well because his gaze darkened.
“What can I get you to drink?” I asked.
“Coffee. Straight,” he turned to head toward a table, then added over his shoulder, “and protein.”
I opened my mouth to clarify, but decided not to. He probably operated life using less than twenty words per day. No reason to force him to outdo his quota.
I grabbed a cheese-and-sausage bagel sandwich and tossed it on a plate. Then I reached for a mug off of our wall collection with a picture of a scowling cat on it that felt deliciously passive-aggressive, and slung coffee into it. By the time I worked my way to his table with the requested nourishment, he had his laptop open. Within minutes, he’d sunk deeper into his own foul mood.
Whatta happy pair.
