OWEN

“Next time you visit me, you’d better bring a woman with you.”

“Gran.” I almost dump my watering can out on her carpet. It’s not the first time she’s made that request, but it still shocks me every time I hear it. I manage to keep my focus on my task—an Anthurium with leaves as long as my forearm, two spider plants with arching tendrils, and an Algerian ivy trailing green-and-white vines sit on her windowsill waiting for a drink.

“How else am I going to get beautiful, brawny great-grandbabies out of you?”

I laugh in spite of myself. “Brawny babies?”

“They’ll be roly-poly just like you were.”

I finish my watering job with a snort. “You’ll give them a complex before they’re even born.”

Grandma Pearl grins up at me from her cozy recliner, unrepentant. “Roly-poly babies are the cutest kind.”

I put away the watering can under the kitchen sink and return to her side. “Do you need anything else before I go?”

She waves away the offer. “I’m pretty well looked after. I just like to see you.”

Her apartment here at Fiesta Village is small but self-contained—she has everything she needs at the retirement center to take care of herself, and attentive staff down the hall for times she can’t. She wears a small pendant around her neck with a button she can press in case of emergency.

Doesn’t mean I don’t worry.

“I like to see you too.” I bend down to kiss her cheek.

She gives my biceps a pinch as I pull away. “See what I mean? Those babies will be brawny.”

“You’re counting babies a little too soon. I need to meet a woman first.”

Gran smiles wider. “Then you’d better bring one with you next time.”

I walked straight into that.

“You think I work that fast?”

Maybe I did back in the day, but I’ve barely dated since I moved to Magnolia Ridge. I made a few attempts early on, but lately, I’ve been distracted. There’s a certain brunette scientist I can’t get off my mind.

“You will work fast.” She nods sagely as if she’s read my future in the stars or tea leaves or something. “When you find the woman for you.”

“I’ll keep an eye out for her.” I edge toward the door before she can charm anything out of me. “You’re sure you’re good?”

She points a bony finger at me. “Unless you want to shave that beard.”

Shouldn’t have asked. “I’ll see you soon, Gran.”

I make my way through her retirement complex’s main hall, nodding at the attendants I pass. They didn’t always smile at me so warmly. My first visits here, I think they suspected I was casing the joint to rob it.

Probably has something to do with my motorcycle. The tattoos snaking down one arm. My job as an MMA instructor. The beard Gran wants me to get rid of.

My general demeanor doesn’t help things.

I’m not much of a smiler. Never have been. As a personal trainer and fighting instructor, it’s an advantage.

With the general population of this small town? Not so much. To them, I’m the unfriendly guy they try to avoid. Not everyone thinks like that, of course, but enough that I notice. People tend to give me a lot of space.

I get on my bike and head out. I have just enough time for one more errand. It isn’t late, but towns this small close up shop early. Proven by the parking spot I find right in front of the bookstore downtown.

Inside, my friend Miles is at the counter, ringing someone up. The café side of the bookshop is empty, but the scent of pumpkin-spiced something still fills the air.

Miles sees his customer on their way and turns his attention to me. “I’ve got your special order here.”

He pulls two books from behind the counter—one a small sci-fi paperback for next month’s book group, the other a weighty hardcover about native plants in central Texas.

“Is this my sign to stock a few gardening books?” he asks.

“I’ve been monopolizing the library’s copy. Figured I should get one of my own.”

“You could probably start a club.” He tilts his head to the side just enough for me to register it.

My stomach drops, and I swivel my head to look that direction, even though I know already who I’ll see.

A woman with long, dark hair has her back to me, scanning the bookshelves. She’s got on Army-green cargo pants and tall rubber boots, with an oversized sweatshirt draped on top. Her outfit’s nondescript, but I’d know her anywhere.

Josie.

My mouth goes dry, and my stomach ties into a knot.

A few short steps would take me to her. I could say something flirty about reading. Ask her how she’s enjoying Magnolia Ridge. Invite her to get coffee.

But like every time I’ve seen her around town, I won’t do any of that.

I turn back to Miles and ignore his meaningful eyebrow raise as I tap my card to pay for my books. “Thanks for these.”

“You know, I don’t close up when people are still browsing. Just a thought.”

For a reserved guy, he can sure be pushy. In a low-key, blink-and-you-miss-it way.

“Not tonight.” My heart thumps hard in protest, but I ignore it.

“Okay.” He manages to sound disappointed in me, but he’s no better. Has he told his best friend he’s in love with her? Absolutely not. “We got a few more takers for game night over at the retirement complex this week. Should be a strong turnout.”

“Sounds good. I’ll see you then.”

Before I pull open the door to leave, I turn back for one more glimpse of Josie. She’s moved to examine a small table stacked high with fall-themed romances. Her attention is glued to the book in her hand, and she pulls her lower lip into her mouth as she reads the blurb.

I need to get out of here before I do something stupid.

And, just to be clear, everything I might think to do would be stupid.

Out on the sidewalk, I curse myself out for my cowardice. It won’t make much of a difference, since I’ve given myself the same talk a dozen times. Maybe one day, I’ll get up the nerve to finally talk to the brilliant, beautiful scientist.

Maybe.

###

JOSIE

Blind dates are weird, aren’t they? Take two people you know and smoosh them together, hoping all the jigsaw pieces of their personalities match.

So who’s weirder—the person who does the smooshing, or the one who agrees to be part of the puzzle?

When my friend, Georgia, offered to set me up, I agreed right away. I haven’t been on a date, blind or otherwise, in over two years. When she said she was setting me up with Miles, I asked her to repeat it. Twice.

From all my observations, I’d thought she was dating the local bookshop’s owner.

But she swears they’re only friends. Trusting she isn’t using me for one of those “testing my boyfriend” TikTok challenges, I met up with Miles at the Harvest Festival downtown.

He’s very nice. A mild-mannered guy who’s polite to everyone. Green flag material all the way. No spark, but that’s all right with me.

As much as I enjoy reading romance novels, they’re just fantasies. In real life, people don’t feel an electric spark the moment they touch, hearts don’t stop unless you’re dead, and anyone with half-smiles and crooked grins is probably having a stroke.

My mother, on the other hand, is always talking about sparks. How she “just knew” the moment she met my dad. At almost thirty, I now suspect love at first sight is like walking uphill to school both ways in the snow—a parental urban legend.

“How long have you been in Magnolia Ridge?” Miles asks as we weave through the farmers market aisles.

“Just about a year.”

After almost a decade working on my PhD in environmental science at universities in the Pacific Northwest, I thought for sure I’d get a job in the same area. But my only offer came from central Texas, like life popped up and shouted Surprise! I accepted the position because I want the work experience and need to eat, but it’s been a steep adjustment period. Heat and humidity are my mortal enemies, and starting from scratch socially is a nightmare for this introvert.

But I’m out here. On a date. Trying. Wandering a quaint fall festival and pushing myself to maintain my side of the conversation.

I tell Miles about how Georgia’s invited me out with some of the women from the romance book club she started, and he launches into heartfelt praise about how great she is and how she always wants the best for everyone.

It’s very sweet. And just a tad suspicious.

I tell him about my habit of buying the most pathetic plants at the garden center so I can rehabilitate them. Suddenly, his whole demeanor shifts, but I can’t see where I went wrong. Have plant ladies become the new cat ladies?

“I know it’s weird.” A guy I briefly dated in grad school thought my houseplant collection was a sign I couldn’t maintain a work/life balance. As if I’m supposed to have a house without plants in it? What kind of life would that be?

“It’s not weird at all,” Miles says. But he’s got a strange glint in his eyes that wasn’t there before. “Do you like barbecue?”

That’s…random. “I thought you were a vegetarian.”

“I am. I’m just curious about you.”

“I like barbecue.”

“What are your opinions on seventies rock?”

Is he reading these questions off of a hidden cheat sheet somewhere? “Generally positive?”

“Have you ever tried kickboxing?”

“I’ve always wanted to give it a try but haven’t worked up the nerve.” Someone out there could walk into the gym downtown and join a class all on their own, but that someone is not me. “Are we speed dating now?”

His smile widens a touch. “Something like that. How do you feel about tattoos?”

“I have one, but I might consider more.” I push up my sweater sleeve to show him the tattoo on the inside of my right forearm—a hammerhead shark framed by my favorite plants. The artist added a touch of color to accentuate some of the leaves and the shark’s head. It’s my most prized possession, which is a weird thing to say about something that’s on me, but it’s true. “I originally wanted to be a marine biologist, but environmental science was a better fit. So I chose something that incorporates both.”

He laughs—actually laughs at this work of art that’s a part of me. I guess I was wrong about those green flags.

I walk up the market aisle, pretending to look at whatever random, fall-related things the stalls have for sale. I don’t need to have a spark, but I won’t put up with a guy who laughs at me. I thought I was done with that when I left university and the pretentious men who wanted to be sure I knew that their degrees were “harder to get” than mine. Guess not.

“Wait.” Miles touches my arm, and I stop. “I wasn’t laughing at your tattoo. It’s just…do you believe in fate?”

Fate? I’m not following his conversation at all. “I’ve never thought about it. Why?”

“I would really like to introduce you to someone I think you share interests with. Is that okay with you?”

I want to believe he’s just looking to help me make a new connection in town. But he’s so excited. Too excited. Like…“stuff me in his trunk and drive me off to his cabin in the woods” excited.

It’s a big shift from the ultra-calm guy I met up with half an hour ago.

“I’m not comfortable leaving.”

“We don’t have to leave the Harvest Festival. I’d just like to introduce you to a new friend. That’s all. No expectations.”

Hmm. As long as we stay here in public, he can’t be planning anything iffy. “Okay.”

He leads me around a corner and over to the opposite end of the Harvest Festival, grinning wildly the whole time. My heart rate has already ticked up from this weird turn, but when I see where we’re going, it starts to race.

It’s him. The guy. The one with the dark beard and the tattoos and the motorcycle. The one I seem to see everywhere but have never actually talked to. He’s standing at a booth for the boxing studio, wearing a black T-shirt he had to have been poured into.

This is the new friend?

He glances over at us, and my heart stops. I know that’s not a thing, but it does something strange in there.

Miles walks right up to the guy, that same bold, slightly crazed grin on his face. “Josie, I’d like you to meet my friend Owen. Owen, this is Josie.”

He holds out a hand to me. “Nice to meet you.”

That voice. I’ve never been close enough to him to properly hear it, but now it rumbles over me, soft and desperately low.

The second I put my hand into his, a current of something passes between us. Electricity. Warmth. A fuzziness that clearly goes straight to my brain.

“Hi.” It’s all I can manage. My hand’s still buzzing in his like a firefly lighting up. I’m vaguely aware this handshake has gone on too long, but I can’t seem to break the connection.

“Josie and I were just talking about backyard gardens, and I thought, ‘You know who knows a lot about backyard gardens? Owen.’”

Miles’s remark causes him to release me. He stretches his fingers out as though I’d held on too hard…but he doesn’t break eye contact with me.

“What did you just plant in your yard, Owen?” Miles asks. “Some kind of fern?”

“Silver cloak fern,” he says. “And some autumn ferns.”

“Autumn ferns are so pretty.” I’d love to plant a few somewhere at my rental, but they’d scorch in the sun. “You must get a lot of shade in your yard.”

“There’s a big ash in one corner. I’ve got some clerodendrums back there. Of course, the blooms are gone, and they’ve just got seed pods now.”

I can’t help my massive grin. He really knows plants. I never meet guys who know plants. “But the seed pods add interest.”

He smiles back. For all the times I’ve seen him around town, this is the first time I’ve seen his smile. It softens all the hard lines in his face. It’s not even his full smile, but my breath stops in my lungs.

Ugh. I’m such a romance book cliché. Next, I’ll release a breath I didn’t know I was holding and look up at him through my lashes. But this intense reaction to him is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. It’s definitely worthy of more research.

“I’ve seen you at Dogeared.” It’s not the brilliant piece of conversation I might have hoped for, but at least I didn’t blurt out all the other places I’ve seen him. I wasn’t keeping track or anything. He’s just…memorable.

“I like books.” His smile slips, like maybe he’s not thrilled with his side of the conversation, either.

“I like books too.” See? We’re both conversationally talented.

Owen’s smile returns. “Maybe we could talk about books sometime.”

“And plants.”

“And hammerhead sharks,” Miles says.

“They’re the coolest sharks.” Owen and I speak at the same time, the best kind of jinx.

I don’t know what’s happening here. Or maybe I do, but it’s so unprecedented, I’m not sure what to do with it. I just know I don’t want it to end.

“Josie, I’ve had a lovely time,” Miles says. “Do you mind if I head out?”

That puts the brakes on my starry-eyed staring. I turn to Miles. My actual date. Oh gosh, I’m the worst. On a date with one man and eyeing up another. “Oh, Miles. Should we finish our…?”

I can’t even complete the sentence. Because I’m terrible and don’t want Owen to know I’m currently on a date. Who even am I?

“Believe me, nothing would make me happier than for you two to stay and talk.” Miles still has that too-big grin going, as if this really is exactly what he wants.

Weirdest blind date ever.

“Okay. Thanks.”

“Owen. We’ll talk later.” Miles waves at us and walks away.

Owen’s smile slips again. “I hope I didn’t interrupt.”

“No. We…” I can’t lie, even if it’s embarrassing to admit I just ditched my date. Or was ditched by my date. Maybe a bit of both. “Georgia set us up on a blind date, but I don’t think we’re a match.”

“No?”

“He’s really great. There just…wasn’t a spark.”

Not like the crazy zing that rocketed up my arm when I shook Owen’s hand. I thought those were only make believe, but here I am, skin still tingling from that brief touch.

“That’s too bad.”

Oh. They are friends, after all. Maybe this is weird.

“He really missed out,” Owen adds.

I’ve admittedly spent the majority of the last ten years surrounded by more plants than people, but I’m pretty sure the tattooed, motorcycle riding guy is flirting with me. In my experience, men don’t really see me. They like my face, but they’re not interested in the brain that’s attached to it or the introversion that comes along for the ride. But Owen’s watching me like he sees all those layers at once and is up for the challenge.

Which is probably a lot to put on a simple look from a guy I just met.

My gaze drops to his arms. They’re hard to ignore, given the size of them, but it’s more than that. One of his arms is covered in tattoos to his wrist, with what looks like mountains and trees leading down to water. The other is only tattooed to the elbow, but the underwater scene makes me want to look closer.

“It’s pretty fresh,” he says, lifting his short sleeve so I can see the design better.

Oh. I am looking closer, leaning into his space for a better view of the jellyfish and sea turtles. When I see the whole thing, though, I can’t help the sigh that escapes my lips.

Do you believe in fate? I’m starting to. I think I understand why Miles was so eager to introduce us.

The centerpiece of the design is a beautiful hammerhead shark. I run a fingertip along the shark’s snout and have to suppress a shiver. Yeah, I should not be touching this man. The knowledge doesn’t take away the desire, though.

“It’s incredible work,” I tell him. I shove up my sleeve for the second time today. “I only have the one, and it’s a lot smaller, but…we might have the same favorite shark.”

Owen stares at my hammerhead surrounded by maple and alder leaves, pine branches and sword ferns. A smile spreads across his face like an artist slowly revealing their masterwork. When he looks up at me, butterflies explode to life in my chest.

I don’t know if it’s fate, destiny, or just a strange series of coincidences, but today feels special. Start of an intense crush the likes of which I’ve never known before kind of special.

A couple of youngish guys walk up to grab some of the flyers for the boxing gym Owen has spread out on the table.

He glances over at them and back to me like he’s come back to reality. He is at work. Or something close to it. “I should probably—”

“Would you like to get coffee sometime?” I blurt out. Because I can’t have a moment like this with these buzzing, electric tingles and a man who looks at me like he’ll never look at anything else, and not ask for more.

Even if my request probably sounded a little less flirtatious and a little more crazed than I would have liked.

He freezes for a split second, but his smile returns. “I’d like that.”

###

OWEN

She asked me out.

She asked me out.

That stunning thought is still knocking around in my head when I arrive way too early for my coffee date with Josie the next day. I considered drowning the nerves rushing through my gut with a pre-coffee, but I don’t need to be wired before she even shows up.

Not sure anything could quiet the anxieties flapping around inside me like bats. I spent an hour this morning in my garage gym trying to strangle them with physical exertion, but it only made them stronger. Makes sense. After months of watching Josie from afar, getting a coffee together is a colossal step forward.

I don’t know how many steps we’ll get, so I need to relish this one.

I still can’t believe Miles’s gall. He’d been cornered into a date with her by Georgia—the woman he’s actually in love with—and I’d done my share of pushing just to pretend I was okay with it. I wasn’t, FYI. But I never expected him to waltz over mid-date to introduce us, drop hints about our similar interests, and then scram.

To be honest, I admire his nerve. I don’t know how long I would have gone on not talking to her if he hadn’t forced the situation. It was enough just to see her in town. I didn’t need more.

Wanted more, yes. Knew how to make it happen? No.

I smooth my hands over The Busy Bean’s faux wood tabletop, my gaze on the front window, searching for a sign of Josie’s arrival. This…might have been a mistake. She’s a literal scientist, and I’m about five minutes away from proving I’m not very smart.

Before I even finish that grim thought, I spot her outside. I shoot to my feet and cross the café to meet her when she walks in.

Her gaze hits mine, and her full smile shines out. The sight is like a thunderbolt—beautiful and dangerous.

“Hi.” She side-steps the person in line on her way to me. “I hope you weren’t waiting long?”

“Not long at all.” She’s right on time. I was just over-eager and too ramped up to sit at home.

We order our coffees and grab a table. I sit across from her…and have no idea what to say. This tangled-up, tongue-tied feeling is the reason I’d avoided trying to talk to her in the first place. My usual state is more indifferent—I’m not out to win anybody’s approval. But with her? I want to. Just don’t know how.

She takes a small sip of coffee. “Did you have success at the market yesterday?”

The only success I care about was talking with her.

“We had a lot of people interested in taking the free class.”

“What’s that like?”

“We go through a few basic kicks and punches. Hopefully, it’s enough to entice them to sign up for one of the intro courses.”

“Is it one on one, or do students work with a punching bag?”

I pause. “You’ve taken kickboxing classes before?”

Wide brown eyes gaze back at me. “No. Not me. I’m not coordinated like that. I just think it would be fun to punch the heck out of an inanimate object in a socially acceptable setting once in a while.”

“It is fun. But why do you think you’re not coordinated?”

“Experience. I’ve never been good at sports. Anything where I have to hit or catch a ball? Total embarrassment. Hikes and long walks are about the extent of my athleticism.” She drops her gaze from me and focuses on her coffee.

“If you want to give it a try, the free class uses punching bags, so there’s no worry anyone will get hurt. You should experience the joy of kicking the crap out of something.”

She laughs, and the sweet sound makes me smile.

“It’s a rush, right?”

“Oh, yeah. To just go absolutely feral on a punching bag? It’s my therapy.” Don’t need to get into my actual therapy just yet.

Her eyes glint at me. “That must be why you look so calm all the time.”

“Most people use the word ‘surly.’”

“No. It’s more of a…” She traces a finger in front of her own face, then points it at mine. “Well. I suppose it’s a little surly.”

I can’t help but laugh at myself. I’m aware my face’s default setting is “About to Commit Aggravated Assault.”

“But you don’t look surly today,” she adds.

“I don’t feel surly today.”

Nervous? Yes. Excited? Yes. Tempted to run my fingers through her loose waves like a lunatic? Also, unfortunately, yes.

She flashes a smile, her cheeks reddening softly. She sips her coffee, and I drink mine, back to being at a loss for words. It’s been too long since I’ve dated, and even longer since I’ve been out with someone I was really interested in. Whatever easy confidence I typically have fled the moment she walked into the café.

“Read anything good lately?” I ask.

“Always.”

She grins again, and it’s like her smile moves straight through my ribcage and burrows into my heart. Getting to know her better is going to ruin me for anyone else.

“I’m reading a few things. A fantasy where all the good guys are villains.” She ticks them off on her fingers. “A book about three sisters coming together to take care of their dying father and reveal family secrets. And a rom-com about a figure skater falling for the NHL player she can’t stand but has to marry for plot reasons.”

“You’re reading them all at once?” I ask. She nods. “How do you keep them separate in your head?”

“There’s not a lot of overlap in the stories. What about you?”

“Uh, it’s a classic sci-fi book about a civilization that doesn’t know they live on a generation spaceship.” It’s two hundred and fifty pages, and I’ll be lucky to finish it before book group next week.

“That sounds like there’s some mystery, too. I like sci-fi, but I don’t read as much of it.”

“It’s just about all I read. I’ve tried some fantasies, but I have a hard time following them.”

Cool. So glad I admitted that. Might as well whip out my GED now.

She just laughs softly. “Tell me about it. I’ll stop reading if the names all sound alike, or if it goes too deep into faerie politics or ancient lore. Just show me the dragons already.”

Something loosens in my chest. I like Josie more every time she speaks.

“Maybe a book that was all dragons would get me into fantasy.”

“Ooh, yes. I bet that exists. At this point, I’m convinced every kind of book exists.” She cringes adorably.

“You sound like you’ve read some crazy things.”

She shakes her head. “I’ve heard some unusual recommendations in my romance book group. That’s all I’m saying.”

The hint of a blush on her cheeks only raises more questions. “Now I’m very curious.”

“No way. I’m not opening up that discussion.”

My mind’s reeling with bizarre possibilities, but I’ll accept her no. “Do you always read more than one book at a time?”

“Pretty much. There’s a slight chance I signed up for too many book clubs at Dogeared.”

I chuckle at her exaggerated wince. “That’ll do it.”

“I was overzealous. I hadn’t really met anyone since I moved, and it seemed like a good way to break out of that. The trouble is, I like my own company.”

“Me, too.”

Pink washes over her cheeks again, and I hear the accidental flirtation in what I said.

“I mean, I like being alone, too,” I explain. “I can be social for work, but I need a lot of time on my own to recharge.”

Her expression shifts gears, sliding back to something more neutral. “Right. I relate to that.”

I draw in a deep breath. “But I like your company a lot.”

She holds my gaze. “I like yours too. Do you want to walk around for a little while?”

“Sure.” There’s literally nothing she could ask me to do that I’d turn down. Walk through the park? I’m ready. Put on a ski mask and rob the bank with her? I’m there.

We throw out our empty cups and leave the café. I try not to crowd her, but she stays close by my side as we make our way past other people on the sidewalk.

“It’s such a nice day.” She tilts her head like she’s a cat basking in the sun. “I’m still getting used to the weather here.”

“Where did you live before?”

“Seattle.” She tosses a hand out as if to stop me in my tracks. “It’s not as rainy and dreary as you’re thinking. But it’s not usually in the eighties in late September, either.”

We head up Center Street toward the busiest section of downtown. “Is your family there?”

“Most of my family is in Olympia, about an hour away.”

“Do you miss it?”

She seems to consider. “Not yet. I like living in a small town, and my field work is easier when it’s so warm out. It’s hard to start from scratch, but I’m making friends now.”

Her fingers brush against mine, and it’s all I can do not to clasp her hand. I don’t, but I’m not thinking about much else.

“I’ve been here two years, but you’re doing better than I am in that department.”

Her gaze swivels up to mine. “You’re new too? What brought you here? Your job at the gym?”

“That’s part of it. My grandma lives here, and she needed somebody close by. And I was tired of city life. I wanted something slower.”

“Slower. I like that. All my friends thought I was crazy when I told them I was moving to a small town in Texas. Told me I’d never be happy here.”

It never occurred to me she might already be sick of Texas and ready to move. The possibility makes my stomach twist. “Are you? Happy here?”

She grins up at me. “I think I am.”

My overpowering relief isn’t totally justified, but it’s there anyway.

We walk around downtown, and I talk more than I have in weeks. We tell each other about our families. Favorite TV shows. Where we like to eat. Most memorable Halloween costumes from when we were kids.

“You wanted to be a skunk?” She’s trying not to laugh and mostly failing.

“I had plans to squirt water from the costume’s butt. Unfortunately, my mom refused to make that part.”

That gets her to let loose her giggles. “Why a skunk though?”

“Did you ever watch those old Bugs Bunny cartoons? I wanted to be Pepé le Pew.”

“Now I see it. He’s good with the ladies.”

“I had big dreams.”

“How old were you?”

I shrug. “Seventeen.”

She laughs even harder. “You were not.”

“I was eight. My costume was a big hit with all the adult women who passed out candy that night.” Kids my age didn’t know who I was, but everyone over fifty guessed immediately.

“So it worked. I’m not surprised.”

“It was the fake French accent that really sold it.”

“I’ll need to hear that sometime.”

I shake my head. “I hung it up along with the skunk outfit.”

She fakes a pout. “Pity.”

If she actually wants to hear a fake French accent, she’ll get it. Just maybe not on our first date. I need to pace myself with the embarrassment.

We’ve looped back around to the parking lot near the café where we started our date.

“Is that your motorcycle?” she asks, edging closer to the only one in the lot.

“It is.”

She looks it over and nods appreciatively. “Nice hog.”

Now I’m the one laughing.

She blushes wildly. “I’m just teasing, obviously. I don’t even know if that’s the right term.”

“Oh, you used it right.” And I will never forget her saying it. “Have you ever ridden one?”

“Ha. No.”

“Would you ever want to?”

She freezes, her gaze locked on mine. “Is it safe?”

“I would keep you safe.”

Big words I don’t know if I can live up to when she’s watching me this intently.

“Maybe I’ll take you up on it.”

I doubt she’s trying to be sultry, but nothing could be sexier than the promise of a motorcycle ride with her.

She shuffles a step closer to me, rubbing her arms as though she’s chilled even though it’s plenty warm out. “If I were to go to the free kickboxing class…would you be teaching it, or someone else?”

“I probably would be.” I can’t tell if that’s the answer she’s hoping for or not. “If that’s weird for you, I can give you the schedule when other instructors lead it.”

“No. I think I’d like to take a class with you. It’s everyone else that would make me nervous.”

Makes sense. Group classes aren’t for everyone.

“I could teach you at my house. I’ve got a gym set up in my garage. If that would make you more comfortable.”

She draws in a breath and stills. Have I gone crazy? Why would being totally alone with me in my garage make her more comfortable? That’s the start of a true crime documentary, not a date.

But to my absolute amazement, she says, “I’d love to.”

We arrange a time for her to come to my house next weekend and I text her my address. Six days feels like five too many, but I probably shouldn’t be saying things like that, either.

“Thank you for today,” she says. “I had a lot of fun.”

“So did I.”

I hadn’t planned far enough ahead to have a clue how to play the end of our date, but when she steps closer for a hug, I move automatically. I wrap her in my arms, holding her close. The feel of her hands on my back is exactly right, the scent of her this close something warm and comforting. Cinnamon, maybe.

I don’t set big goals. I’ve lived most of my life from one moment to the next, never thinking too far ahead of where I’m at any given day. But with Josie in my arms, it’s like my future spreads out in front of me. Today, next week, next year: I want her.

###

JOSIE

I nudge Owen’s doorbell, my hands loaded down with delivery bags. We decided to do a casual dinner, and since I was already heading to his house, I offered to pick up the order he placed at the noodle restaurant in town. A big bowl of savory ramen sounds perfect today, even if I have my concerns about how it will affect working out with him afterward.

Yeah. I’m in workout gear, bearing noodles at the home of the most attractive man I’ve seen in forever, ready to have him teach me how to throw a punch. Admittedly weird first date material…but it’s the only thing I’ve been able to think about all week.

He was just so easy to be with. Funny and interesting without being overwhelming. Maybe my favorite part? Zero condescension. Obviously, I was going to jump at the chance to see him again. Even if I’m guaranteed to embarrass myself tonight.

Owen opens the door, and my heart does that “romance book” skip again. His smile is wider than I’ve ever seen it, like a present just for me. The previously undiscovered crinkles around his eyes make him look like the sweetest teddy bear. I want to take a moment to appreciate what it does for his face.

I, um, also want to take a moment to appreciate what his outfit does for his body. He’s once again in a form-fitting shirt, although with that physique, I can’t imagine where he would find loose clothing. He’s just so amazingly broad… And why would he wear gray sweatpants today? Is he trying to annihilate my heart rate before we even start working out?

But I school my features—hopefully—and raise the bags. “I’ve got noodles.”

Which is not how I envisioned greeting him, but the sight of him scrambled my brain.

He immediately grabs the bags and steps aside. “Thanks for picking it up. Come on in.”

I follow him through the living room, admiring the cozy style. The dark wood floors and comfy-looking brown couch make me want to curl up with a book and stay a while. His furniture is all a little dated, which just adds to the relaxing atmosphere.

He sets the food on his kitchen counter and turns back to me. “Hi. It’s good to see you.”

Then he wraps me up in a huge hug. I changed my mind. This is where I want to stay a while. It’s exactly the way I remember our first one, warm and reassuring and full of comfort. The kind of hug you’d want after a hard day. A hug that says, “I’m here for you.”

I might have thought about that hug all week. Now that I’ve got a second one, I think I’ll have to start a collection.

He releases me and takes a step back. “Are you ready to eat?”

I nod, and we focus on our meals. He’s already set out two enormous bowls and two plates, so we serve up our noodle dishes and an order of bao to share. We move to his dining table and sit together on one side.

“Your house is really lovely.” Even from the street, I could tell it’s been well-loved, with a fresh coat of paint and a neat front yard.

“Thank you. It’s been a lot of work, but it’s coming along.”

“You did all this?” It’s an older home, but there’s at least a chance he might have found it in perfect condition.

His eyes are on his noodles, not his spectacular house. “It was trashed when I bought it, so I got it cheap. I started with the kitchen and floors and have been doing some reno project or another ever since.”

“It’s good work. And your style is really…warm.” I don’t know if a man wants to know his house feels cozy.

“That’s my sister. I don’t have skills in that area, but she helped me make it look less like a frat house. Her words. I had ultimate approval, though.” He pauses. “Who am I kidding? She always had final say.”

“Then you’re a great team. It’s impressive.”

“Thanks.” He smiles but almost looks…embarrassed? Like maybe my compliments are too much. Or he’s not sure how to respond.

I understand that. I struggle with compliments myself.

“Good day at work?” he asks.

I make a noncommittal sound over my noodle bowl, stirring my miso broth. “It was an office day. I’d rather be mucking around in the field.”

We texted a bit over the last week, and I told him how I split my time between my company’s office in Austin and various environmental sites as far north as Waco.

“Is it the ‘preferring your own company’ thing?” he asks.

“Mostly. I don’t like working in a cubicle. And there’s this guy—” Grr. I could kick myself. I was absolutely never going to think about him in my off hours. “Well, going into the office isn’t as much fun as being outside.”

“What about this guy?”

His voice is calm, but his steady gaze tells me this is more than mild curiosity.

I sigh, but I’m the one who brought him up. “Steve. He’s just really patronizing. He always finds ways to talk over me or make it sound like my research isn’t as valuable as his, or my degree isn’t on par with his. He’s…not my favorite coworker.”

“Have you tried telling him he can take his opinions and shove them where the sun—”

I put my hand on Owen’s arm to stop him, laughing at his not-quite-work-appropriate suggestion. “I haven’t been that blunt, no.”

“Nobody should talk to you like that. I don’t know what you do, but anyone who put in the time to get a PhD deserves more respect than that.”

From my experience that’s categorically untrue, but I love that he believes it about me.

“Thank you. I know I need to tell him to—”

“Shove it?”

I laugh. “Keep his opinions to himself. But I don’t want to create a contentious work environment.”

Speaking up about actual work issues is easy. I can defend my findings and research any day. But speaking up about something personal? That’s far more daunting.

“He’s already created a contentious work environment for you. Want me to swing by the office one day?”

He makes no explicit threat, but it’s in his voice all the same. He wouldn’t even have to say anything to Steve—with a guy like that, just knowing I’m “protected” by a man would probably be enough to get him to stop. It’s tempting. But I need to deal with him on my own.

“No, that’s okay. But I appreciate that you would.” I finally realize I’m still holding onto Owen’s forearm, and let go of him.

We finish our meals, and he takes the empty dishes to the sink.

“Before we head into the garage…” He winces like he regrets that intro. “Do you want to see my backyard?”

I clasp my hands, trying to keep my excitement subtle. “Yes, please.”

He shows me to the back door on the far side of the kitchen and throws it wide. I gasp because there’s no hope of subtlety now. It’s like when Willy Wonka opens the door to the chocolate factory but with crape myrtles and cast iron plants and birds of paradise.

Okay, not like a chocolate factory at all. I like this much better.

He’s got a wide, wooden deck with a few steps leading down to the yard itself. Carefully set pavers weave through shrubs and perennials, with a hammock tucked away beneath an ash tree and a fire pit surrounded by half-moon outdoor sofas. Even in the fading light, I can see it’s backyard heaven.

I take the stairs down to the lawn. Except it’s not a lawn at all—it’s clover mixed with creeping phlox and thyme. “This is beautiful.”

“Yeah?”

I spin to face him. “You have to know this is an amazing space.”

He hitches a shoulder, both hands shoved in his pockets. “I think so, but it means more coming from you.”

My heart soars higher than the old ash in one corner. It’s safe to say my crush on Owen has reached dangerous levels. I don’t intend to do a thing about it.

“You know I’m not really a plant expert. I’m more of a pollution expert.”

His smile kicks up. “How are the pollution levels in here?”

I laugh but make a show of glancing around. “Not bad.”

“That’s a relief.”

“You did all this yourself, too?”

He nods. “It was just dead grass when I got it.”

“Did you build the pergola?”

He clears his throat. “Yeah.”

“Is there anything you can’t do?”

A cloud seems to come over his expression. “There’s a lot, actually.”

I seriously doubt that. I’m starting to suspect my giant teddy bear is a little shy and doesn’t want to admit just how talented he is. That happens to make me like him even more.

“I should tell you something.” He stays a few feet away from me, his hands still in his pockets.

I don’t have a ton of dating experience, but I still know that’s never a good intro. “Okay.”

I stand taller, bracing myself for whatever he’s about to say.

“I dropped out of high school senior year. I didn’t get my GED until I was twenty-three. All my jobs have been hands on, experience based.” He’s so somber, he sounds like he’s giving a eulogy. “The book I get for sci-fi club is often the only thing I read in a month. Wordle frustrates the hell out of me. I can’t—”

“Owen.” I take a few steps closer. “Are you…worried I’m going to judge you for those things?”

His mouth flattens into a thin line. “Yes.”

“I don’t care about any of that.”

I can’t tell him right now that this is a first—that in my previous relationships, I always felt like I was trying to catch up to someone else’s achievements and accolades. I totally understand his concerns. But he won’t get that kind of judgment from me.

“Are you sure? If it’s a problem, I’d rather know sooner than later.”

He hasn’t moved, like he’s waiting for me to run away now that he’s told me this. I don’t have it in me to slink across the last few feet of space between us and say something sexy, but I can be honest.

“I like you, Owen. Just the way you are.”

Finally, his smile reappears. “I like you too, Josie.”

“Then we’re on the same page.”

Because I’m not bold enough to go to him, I go back to wandering his yard. I’m impressed at every turn by how he’s packed it full of lush greenery, making the most of the space. It rivals anything designed by a professional landscaper. “I love that you chose so many native plants.”

“I didn’t want to only use the same six plants every home improvement store sells.”

“It’s a little wild back here, but it’s perfect.” I’m tempted to snuggle up on one of the couches and ask him to light a fire.

“Are you ready to go a little wild?”

Nerves rocket through me, leaving sparks in their wake. “I think so.”

He crooks a finger. “Follow me.”

We weave back through the house to the interior garage door. And wow—he really does have a home gym set up in here. There are rubber mats on the floor, a weight set, dumbbells, and a punching bag hanging from the ceiling. Other pieces of equipment I don’t recognize are tucked neatly away in this very organized space.

“I guess this is your chocolate factory,” I say softly.

He raises an eyebrow at me.

“Nothing.” I catch sight of myself in the mirror on one wall—there presumably so he can monitor his form. I wouldn’t know. I try to stay away from both gyms and very large mirrors. “Wait a second.”

I pull an elastic from the tiny pocket on my athletic leggings and scoop my hair up into a bun. It’s not pretty, but it will keep it out of the way for our private workout.

“Ready,” I tell him.

He swallows hard, then nods. “Normally, we would wrap your hands, but we’re not going to get into it that hard tonight.”

“I thought I was going to go feral on the punching bag.”

“I need to teach you some moves first. You can go crazy next time.”

“I guess that’s fair.” And I’m secretly delighted there’s already a next time.

He grabs a pair of red boxing gloves and helps me slip my hands into them. I don’t like how heavy and unwieldy they are. My hands might be safer, but I’m guaranteed to be a hundred times clumsier in them.

“How can these possibly fit you?” I ask. His hands are huge, and mine are as snug as possible in these gloves.

He doesn’t look away from where he’s securing the first glove around my wrist. “These aren’t mine. This is a women’s pair.”

“You had a pair of women’s boxing gloves?” I blurt. Oh. I’m not trying to pry. A man like him most definitely dates. Probably a lot. Why wouldn’t he have a spare pair of gloves on hand just in case? “Obviously you had them. Never mind.”

His gaze finally meets mine. “I got them for you.”

This must be that romance-book thing where fireworks explode in the heroine’s chest. It’s small, really. He’s being practical. But the sweet gesture still lights me up inside.

“Oh. Thank you.”

He nods once, his expression losing his humor. I guess we’re all business now. He grabs a pair of oversized mitts with extra padding in them for himself and slips them on.

“Are you sure we should do this so soon after eating?” It’s my last-ditch effort to quietly get out of this thing I supposedly wanted to do. The chance of embarrassment is freakishly high right now.

“We’re not going to do enough to risk your dinner.”

“Sure, but you taught classes today, too. Aren’t you tired?”

He breaks out a rakish grin that makes my stomach flip. “Are you afraid you’re going to wear me out?”

I’m not afraid of anything when he looks at me this way.

“Don’t worry about me, Josie. I don’t tire easily.”

Okay, it’s a million degrees in here now. If he was trying to put me at ease, getting all flirty was not the way to do it.

Owen goes back into serious mode and starts showing me some punching basics. At first, I don’t even hit his mitts, I just throw punches in the air. I can’t tell if I’m getting a feel for it or not—I’m too focused on how calm and patient he is. I get the sense I could do it wrong a hundred times, and he’d just go on gently showing me the correct way.

He even shows me how to do kicks. I’m no better at them than I am the punches, but it still feels pretty awesome to learn to do a roundhouse. Well…an attempt at a roundhouse. I’m not sure my tries deserve the title.

Finally, I get to hit his mitts. He takes me through a simple routine, calling out left or right and jab, uppercut, and cross. Honestly, it’s hard to keep them all straight in my head. Any second now, I’m going to throw the wrong kind of punch and look foolish.

“Eyes on me, sweetheart.”

My gaze snaps to his, and the air whooshes out of my lungs. Did he just…? I think I’m going to need a minute.

“You’re watching your own gloves,” he says. “Keep your focus on me.”

Oh. Right. Boxing stuff. Not…never mind.

“I’ll miss if I do that.”

“You’ll miss a lot more if you’re too focused on your own hands.”

I grumble but maintain eye contact with him while he calls out punches. This is…incredibly awkward. It’s impossible to keep any veneer of competence when I’m staring into his eyes. He’s made his point—I have a better view of him this way. But that’s kind of the problem.

He’s just so handsome and generous and warm. I’ve never felt so comfortable so soon with anyone. Usually, it takes weeks, if not months, for an acquaintance to progress to this level of interest. And for the record, my level of interest is off the charts.

I furrow my brow and try to focus, tossing out punches as he calls them and staring into his eyes. His luscious brown eyes that have an unexpected softness to them, even when he’s putting me through my paces.

Baby paces are still paces.

But then it happens. He calls out “left jab” and inexplicably, I go for my right—and hit him in the mouth.

“Oh, Owen!” I move closer to try to touch his face and almost hit him again. I can’t do anything with these huge gloves on. “I’m so sorry!”

He goes on staring at me, but then slowly smiles. Nope. He cannot laugh about this when I just hit him in the mouth. Like a fool.

For all my struggling, I don’t make any progress with removing the gloves. I exhale small growly sounds, but I’m stuck. “How do you get these off?”

Owen slides his hands out of his mitts and tosses them aside. He easily unfastens the velcro at my wrists and helps me out of my gloves. I step even closer to him and take his face in my hands.

“Your mouth is red.” There’s a small, swollen part of his lower lip that must have taken the brunt of my punch. He’s probably got more redness beneath his beard, but it’s hard to tell. At least I didn’t split his lip, but that’s not a lot of consolation.

“You hit me.” He sounds impressed.

Maybe that makes sense for a boxing pro, but he needs to get his priorities straight. He should be kicking me out, not watching me like I just won an Olympic gold.

“I didn’t mean to. I’m really sorry.” About a thousand more apologies are in order. I’m thankful he’s not bleeding, but geez. What a way to end a date. “If I’d followed your instructions, this never would have happened.”

“It was my fault,” he says, his beard rasping against my palms where I’m still holding onto him. “I was distracted and didn’t see it coming.”

I snort. “You’re a professional. I did not distract you.”

“Josie,” he says softly. “You’ve distracted me since the first time I saw you.”

I stop examining the red mark on his lip and meet his gaze. The scorching heat there steals my breath. I’ve never seen want so clearly in someone’s eyes before. Can he see the same thing in mine?

His attention falls to my mouth, and he leans in. His lips gently brush against mine. That delicate touch is like a match to dry paper, and I’m instantly in flames. I melt against him, opening up as he kisses me deeper.

His hands rest on my waist, their weight solid and reassuring. He’s so gentle it hurts, like even now he’s making sure I have the option to escape if I want it. I slide my hands from his face around to his neck, drawing him closer so I can prove there’s nowhere I’d rather be than with him.

He makes a small sound in the back of his throat. Shoot. His swollen lip.

I draw away so I can focus on his mouth again, searching for evidence his injury is worse than he’s letting on. “Does it hurt?”

He leans closer. “Only when you stop.”

Well. We can’t have that. I bridge the last breath of space between us to kiss him again.

###

OWEN

Several weeks later

I’ve barely had a chance to shut off my motorcycle and dismount before Josie’s out her front door on her way to meet me. This right here? The woman of my dreams eager to see me? Nothing could be better than this.

She rises up on tiptoes to plant a kiss on my mouth. She starts to pull away again, but I slip my hands around her back.

“Not yet, sweetheart.” I move back in for a full hello kiss. Our schedules haven’t lined up the last two days, and I’ve missed her. I’ve been craving this kiss like I need air to breathe.

From the sound of her sighs, I don’t think she minds.

When I finally break the kiss, it takes her a few seconds to open her eyes again. I love the sight of her kiss-drunk in my arms.

“Hi,” she breathes.

“Hi.”

“I had something to tell you, but I need a second to restart my brain.”

“Take your time.” I caress her back over her soft sweater, waiting.

“Oh, right. Steve.” She laughs at whatever stormy thing my face does and pats my shoulder. “I told him off.”

“You did?” She’s been psyching herself up to get him off her back for a while now. Most confrontation isn’t easy for her, so I understand what a big step this must have been.

“In a polite and work-appropriate way, but yes. He was hinting again that my degree isn’t as good as his. I pretended ignorance and said, ‘Really? Our manager has the same degree that I have, and he seems to be doing well for himself. Maybe we should ask him what he thinks.’ He stammered a bit, told me I misunderstood him, and walked away.”

“That’s my genius.”

She looks at me like I could reach up and pluck the stars from the sky for her. “Not a genius, but definitely yours.”

That deserves another kiss. But we have plans tonight, so I can’t lose myself in her the way I want to.

“Are you all set?” I ask.

“I think so. I just need to put on gloves, and I’ll be ready.”

“Gloves?” I know exactly what this means, but I like to hear her say it.

She looks ravishing when she flashes that sly smile. “I thought you could drive.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Josie grabs the leather gloves I got for her, locks up her duplex, and returns to me. I get on the bike, and she slips on behind me, her arms wrapping tight around my middle.

“Ready?” I ask.

“Take the long way.”

Yeah. That’s my Josie.

I take us through some of our favorite backroads, turning a ten-minute drive into thirty. Motorcycle rides have become one of our favorite lazy afternoon activities. I think we like it for the same reasons—when her hands get cold and she burrows them beneath my jacket to steal my warmth.

Eventually, I park in the lot at the retirement center. Gran invited us to have dinner with her, and it’s not an opportunity I like to miss. No surprise, she’s been taken with Josie from the first day I introduced them. I started by bringing Josie to a game night at the center, thinking that would keep things low-key and casual.

Grandma was not deceived.

Josie and I walk through the lobby hand in hand. We get a lot of friendly waves from staff and residents. We get a few surprised looks, too, but not as many as we did at first. It was the same around town—I think people were surprised the local boxing instructor got together with anybody, let alone his favorite scientist. Then, when it became clear I’m head over heels for her, I think they laughed that the surly guy had found his soft spot.

I don’t care what they think. I’m devoted to Josie, and I’ll show it in front of anybody.

Even Gran, who opens her door for us with a big smile on her face. “There you two are.”

I bend down to kiss her on the cheek, and she kisses mine in return. Then, she pulls Josie in for a big hug and kisses her too. The sight makes my heart light enough to soar.

“Hi, Pearl.” Josie squeezes her back. “You look like you’re feeling good today.”

“That’s because I’ve got something up my sleeve,” she says, already beelining to her recliner. “I have something special to show you, Josie dear.”

Josie and I sit on the couch across from her, but when I see what Gran’s pulling into her lap, I groan. “I thought those were lost.”

She shushes me. “They were in a box in the closet. Come see Owen’s baby photo albums.”

Josie gasps and crosses the space to kneel next to Gran’s chair. “Show me.”

“He was the cutest little thing.” Gran opens the album and points at what looks like pictures from my birth. “Maybe not at first, but nobody is.”

“Nine-and-a-half pounds?” Josie says to me, eyes wide.

I shrug. “I’ve never been petite.”

“I guess not.” She grins but turns her attention back to the book.

“Look at my roly-poly little man.” Gran looks up at me like she wants to say “Remember? Remember our conversation?” I love her, but she’s had no subtlety when it comes to Josie.

Then again, neither have I.

Grandma revels in her sacred duty to lightly embarrass her grandchildren. She flips through page after page of baby pictures, telling Josie about how I had colic and cried so loudly it shook the house; I was a late crawler but an early walker; I flushed my mom’s keys down the toilet.

“Owen,” Josie scolds. “Naughty.”

She’s walking on thin ice, flirting with me so boldly. She can be shy and introverted like me, but I love it when she relaxes into her playful side. I love her—her mind, her thoughtfulness, her huge heart. Not many people get to know the private side of her, and I’m constantly in awe she’s given me that privilege.

I adore this woman, from her curly hair down to her ticklish toes. She’s it for me. Not just today or tomorrow, but years and years down the line. It’s early yet, but I’m decided. I’m not giving her up. Josie’s in my bones, and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her smiling at me the way she is right now.

And if we’re all really lucky, maybe Gran will get those roly-poly great-grandbabies, after all.

***If you’re looking for the next book in the Cinnamon Rolls & Pumpkin Spice series, it’s Coffee Break with the Billionaire!***