Page 35 of Colliding with the Coffee Shop Owner
"The shop? Dammit, Lily, I thought… I told you to head to your cottage hours ago."
"Sorry, but I got caught up with closing procedures." It's not entirely a lie. My free hand unconsciously touches my lips, still swollen from Max's attention.
"Well, you're staying put now. Roads are completely impassable, and we've got power lines down all over town. Not to mention, it's blizzard conditions out there. Complete whiteout. Whatever you do, please do not leave your shop until thisblows over." The sheriff's tone brooks no argument. "The shop's sturdy, and you've got that old generator, right?"
"I do." However, I've failed to do its annual maintenance for two years now. Not that I'll admit that to him.
"You'll be fine there until morning when my crews can clear the main roads."
"I will."
"Anyone else stuck there with you?"
I glance at Max, who has returned to his spot by the counter, leaning against it with deceptive casualness. The intensity in his gaze belies his relaxed posture. "Max Lawson. He came in before the worst hit."
"Well, that's lucky, at least. Two is better than one in these situations. You've got food, water?"
"Enough cookies, biscuits, and coffee to manage." My voice sounds strained even to my own ears.
"Good. Check-in if anything changes; otherwise, sit tight. This system should blow through by morning."
After hanging up, I stand frozen in the middle of the shop, reality crashing down.
Trapped overnight.
With Max.
After that kiss.
"I take it we're stuck here?" Max asks, expression unreadable, though his eyes still smolder like banked coals.
"Until morning at least." I run a hand through my hair, trying to regain composure.
The space between us feels electrified, charged with potential energy. Every movement seems magnified—the rise and fall of his chest, the way his fingers tap against the counter edge, the slight shift of his weight. The few feet separating us might as well be a minefield of unspoken promises.
"I should check the generator." I clear my throat, but it does nothing to dispel the thickness in the air.
"What can I do to help?" His voice has a ragged edge that sends a shiver down my spine. When I hesitate, he adds, "Put me to work."
"You could..." My mind scrambles for a task, anything to create distance. "Check the storage room for extra blankets? Second door on the left, past the restrooms."
He nods, pushing away from the counter. As he passes me, our shoulders nearly touch, and I swear I can feel heat radiating from him like a furnace. The ghost of his touch lingers on my skin.
An awkward silence descends, the air still charged with the energy of our interrupted moment. I busy myself checking the generator, assessing supplies, anything to avoid addressing what just happened. But when he returns with an armful of blankets, I can't avoid looking at him—the way his arms flex under the weight, how his eyes never leave mine as he sets them down on a nearby table.
With the Sheriff's words of caution, it's clear this storm has shifted from an inconvenience to a potential danger. I move purposefully through the shop, gathering flashlights and candles from behind the counter. All the while, the heat between us remains palpable, an invisible current that makes the hair on my arms stand on end whenever we pass too close.
His words echo in my mind—desires that would make me blush, appetites that would leave marks—and I fumble a stack of emergency candles, sending them clattering to the floor.
Max is there in an instant, helping me gather them. Our fingers brush, and we both freeze, the contact burning like a brand.
"Sorry," I mutter, though I'm not sure what I'm apologizing for.
His expression softens slightly. "Don't be." The words carry weight beyond this moment, a reassurance about everything that passed between us.
Max gathers the remaining candles with efficient movements, his hands steady where mine had trembled. He arranges them in a neat row on the counter, then pauses, watching me fumble with the matches.
"Here," he says quietly, taking them from my unsteady fingers. His hands close over mine for just a moment, warm and grounding. "You're shaking."
