CHAPTER 2
640 Words
The wall—I mean, the man I walked into—is stupidly good-looking. Like someone up there decided to mix Greek god DNA with sin and throw him into a leather jacket. A Henry Cavill clone with darker hair, a jawline sharp enough to slice bread, and those eyes... steel-gray, unreadable, and cold. And yet, something flickers beneath them. Something dangerous.
Every instinct I’ve sharpened over the last year screams run.
But when he gives me that slow, deliberate, sinful smile—the kind that feels like a warning wrapped in a kiss—well... the ache between my thighs has a few notes of protest.
His companion, the one across from him, is the type your mama warns you about but secretly hopes you'll bring home. Blonde, blue-eyed, boyish charm. Dimples. Tan skin. Early thirties, maybe. Could’ve been a poster child for summer. Except right now he’s ice-cold, scowling hard enough to turn milk sour. And not at me—at Mr. Dangerous.
I clear my throat, shifting into professional mode.
"Good morning. My name is Sadie and I’ll be your server today. Here are your menus. Can I get you anything to drink?"
It’s Dangerous who speaks first. Of course it is. His voice is deep, calm, with just a touch of gravel.
"Just coffee. We won’t be here long." He hands his menu back without even opening it. Confident. Dismissive. Like he owns the damn world.
The blond guy barely glances up. Still fuming. He taps the menu once and grunts, “Coffee,” like it physically hurts to speak.
I nod, retreat to the counter, and try not to glance back too many times. I get their drinks, careful not to spill a drop. When I return, Dangerous looks up, those steel eyes pinning me like a butterfly to a corkboard.
“Thanks,” he says. Polite. Calm. Totally unnerving.
Blondie doesn’t say a word.
As I turn to leave, that voice stops me again.
“Excuse me,” he says, low and deliberate. “What did you say your name was?”
“Sadie.” Short, simple. Not hard to remember, dude.
He nods once, like he’s storing it away.
“Good to know.”
It starts happening the very next day. And the day after that.
The man—Lincoln, I learn, after coaxing his name from a very smitten waitress named Marnie—keeps showing up.
Always early morning. Always alone. Always black coffee, no cream, no sugar. The order of emotionally unavailable men everywhere.
And every time, he sits in my section.
He doesn’t say much at first. Just watches. Listens. Tracks my movements like a hawk sizing up its prey.
Then, slowly, it starts. Small things.
“How’s the learning curve going, rookie?”
“Forgot your name, Sadie or Sunshine?”
“You always walk into people or just the ones you like?”
Harmless flirting, almost. But with him, nothing feels harmless. It’s like being tossed a match while standing in a puddle of gasoline.
I try not to let it get to me. I’ve got enough to worry about. A new job. A new town that still smells like someone else’s memories. And a past I can’t outrun—not completely.
But I’d be lying if I said my heart doesn’t skip a beat when I see him walk in. Leather jacket, steel eyes, that confident swagger that says I don’t run—I make the rules.
And I’d be lying harder if I said I didn’t start looking forward to his visits.
Which is exactly why I should be worried. Because nothing about Lincoln says safe.
And I didn’t come to this sleepy little town to fall into danger all over again.
But some storms are beautiful, even when you know they’re going to break you.
- Writer
