car inched forward. I threw myself back into the shop, dumped the coffee out, and frantically poured water for a new pot. A movement out of the corner of my eye caught my attention as I reached for the last of the ground coffee beans.
A tall, broad-shouldered man stood at the counter. Sooty hair, caramel eyes, a dark shadow of stubble on his face. He wore a white T-shirt and a pair of jeans. Underneath the thin white material, I could just make out a hint of tattoos on his left shoulder. The ink trailed to his elbow.
I swallowed hard, taken aback, and forced myself to look back at the coffee maker. The last thing I needed was a large, Viking distraction.
“Just a second,” I croaked.
He kept his eyes on the chalkboard overhead, which I doubted Anthony had updated with the flavor of the day.
Please don’t ask for amaretto, I thought. Please don’t ask for—
“Do you have amaretto?” he asked.
With a grimace, I said, “No, that was from yesterday, and we ran out. I believe today is . . . peppermint?”
“Is that a question?”
“Everything is a question today,” I said with a sigh, then headed back to the window, my heels clicking against the floor. “Hold that thought, please.”
I arrived at the window just as another car drove through without stopping, the driver’s lips pressed into a thin line. Relief slid over me like cool water when a familiar SUV pulled up. Jada, a middle-aged woman I thought of more like a mother than a friend, peered out at me.
“Rough day?” she asked, lips parted in a dazzling smile. The woman always had perfect teeth set in her dark brown complexion. She’d lived in Thailand for six months doing humanitarian work as a doctor, and she’d still came back with her grin sparkling. She toyed with the end of a long, thick braid that rested on her shoulder.
I slumped against the window. “Anthony just quit, and everything is broken, including myself. In good news, I dreamed about Jason Momoa last night.”
She grinned. “That’ll offset any bad day. I’ll take my usual scone, then. Who needs coffee?”
My nose wrinkled. “No one. Gross. I can’t believe my dad made a living selling it. Scone is free of charge.” I grabbed one from a nearby shelf and shoved it at her without a bag. Then I flipped a light switch on the wall that turned off the OPEN sign out front.
“I’m late to see my patients,” she said with a wink as she threw a twenty into the shop. “Talk to you later.”
No other car came up behind her, so I spun around with a deep, bolstering breath. Time to tackle Mr. Viking, get him something, and send him on his way so I could officially close and take stock of this madness. This utter, chaotic disaster was drowning me in stress and debt, preventing all my professional advancement into the beautiful world of real estate.
Thanks, Dad.
Setting aside that unfortunate thought, I stepped up behind the open register. “What can I get you?”
His gaze dropped from the board, meeting mine. My breath caught, but I fought through it, forcing myself to maintain eye contact. His eyes were liquid gold. I’d never seen such a color before.
“Macchiato.”
“We are fresh out of that.”
“Caffe latte?”
My voice quieted to a squeak. “That too.”
A flicker of amusement passed over his face as he reached into a back pocket. “How about you tell me what you do have?”
“Scones,” I said, “and bottled water. Until I can figure out the mess that my now-former employee left behind, that’s about as much as you’ll get. Eventually, I’ll have coffee again for you, but it may take . . . fifteen minutes at this rate.”
“Breakfast of champions.” He tossed some cash onto the counter. “Scones and water sound great.”
I slid it back. He had to be kidding. The scones could double as hockey pucks, but I’d take whatever mercy he offered.
“On the house.”
He left the money on the counter as he turned to sit down. My fingers itched to take it, but pride forced me to leave it there. The last thing I needed to be doing was turning away money.
But still . . .
My eyes darted to a clock that featured a prominent salmon Dad had bought while fishing in Alaska. Then I sighed. Nope. Already missed the scholarship meeting with Dave.
Slumping, I leaned against the counter.
Dang.
“Do you have internet?” the Viking asked. His voice rumbled low and deep, like a