Fletcher watched Emily from across the small circular table as she unfolded her napkin and set her currant bun on top, mesmerized by the way the sunlight coming through the open cafe window accentuated her resplendent yellow hair.
She blew on her coffee to cool it down, and her eyes raised over the rim of the cup at him. She paused and locked into his stare. “Do I have something on my face?”
He froze, unable to divert his eyes, locked into a prison of embarrassment that she had caught him staring.
She laughed and broke the tension. “How’s the porridge?”
He was relieved to be freed from her enchantment and surveyed his bowl in front of him. “Haven’t tried it yet.”
“I know. That’s why I asked.”
“You’re cheeky.”
She folded her arms and leaned back, one hand around the mug. “How’s the f
