My friend, Verity, moved to Sacramento two weeks ago, but we’d stayed in touch over the phone. She would get a good laugh when I shared the details of my “little crisis,” especially when I told her about the dark-haired hunk watching me. She would probably scold me for not striking up a conversation with him. Which I planned not to do when I got out of the bathroom.
It had been four years since my husband, Daniel, passed away, and I was not ready to move on with someone new. The ache lingered like a tight knot in my stomach, and the way he died… The way it happened… I wasn’t over that either and never would be. It haunted me to this day and no amount of therapy would fix it.
At twenty-eight, I was still young and had time to find another life partner, but the thought only made me sad. If I were honest with myself, I would have to admit that the idea of falling in love again terrified me. The pain that came from losing a spouse was devastating, and I didn’t ever want to go through that again. I understood that it was inevitable that everyone died at some point, but I wasn’t ready to take a chance with someone else. At least, not now. I’d found my soulmate and lost him, and I would never find a love like that again.
I sighed and stood at the sink, washing my hands. Nope. I would definitely not talk to the hunky man waiting in line.
Chapter 2
Troy
The woman causing the ruckus earlier walked out of the restroom, and I had to turn away so she wouldn’t see me rolling my eyes. Okay, ruckus might be too strong of a word. Commotion might be a better fit.
She was clearly too old to be acting like an attention-getting teenager who wanted a way to make all the boys look at her. She’d danced around like someone lit her pants on fire, and everyone in the room stared at her, including me. It would have been amusing except it just…wasn’t. I didn’t care for women who thrived on that kind of behavior, but that was a personal preference of mine.
Maybe I was being too harsh. My bad mood was probably coloring my judgment. I’d gotten a text from Dad ten minutes ago basically telling me not to screw up my job promotion. I got a raise and an opportunity to start a new division for Bad Boy Bodyguards, and what did I get back? Great job, Troy! Way to go! No, instead, he sent a text saying it was about time. Nice. Guess the black sheep of the family shouldn’t expect better than that.
Without meaning to, I glanced over my shoulder and saw Little Miss American Pie joining the end of the line as if nothing happened five minutes ago. She was the girl-next-door type, and if I had to bet, I’d say she was probably homecoming queen back in high school.
She could have been Rachel McAdams’ younger sister with her creamy skin and big blue eyes. Yep, she definitely had a wholesome vibe going on. Rosy lips and dimples that were actually kind of cute. Check. Light brown hair formed into braids, one on either side of her face. Check. Cut-off shorts, a red checkered blouse, and fire engine red cowboy boots. You couldn’t make this stuff up. All she needed was a cowboy hat to complete the outfit. Don’t get me wrong, she was pretty, but I had a rebellious streak and preferred edgier women. As a Christian, I still wanted someone who knew the Lord and had good values, but that didn’t mean she had to be Little Miss Perfect.
I was so absorbed with Miss American Pie back there that I was lost in thought when it was my turn to order.
The guy at the cash register, a teenage boy with spiky hair, repeated the question he’d asked seconds ago. “Can I help you?”
“Yes. I’ll take a black coffee.”
“Would you like cream or sugar?”
“No.” I stared him down, waiting for my response to register. I had assumed when one ordered their coffee black, it meant no cream or sugar, but that was just me. Boy, I was a grump today.
He took down my name and told me it would be ready in a few minutes. I made my way to the spot designated for customers to wait, and my gaze wandered over to the woman with the braids. She turned and caught me staring, and I quickly glanced away. The last thing I wanted was for her to think I was checking her out. I was definitely not doing that.
Fine, I was checking her out a little, but only because I found her outfit slightly corny and over the top.
When it was her turn to step up to the counter, she ordered a non-fat latte with caramel drizzle and extra whipped cream. What was the purpose of asking for non-fat when the drink had loads of sugar? Who did that? Might as well make it full-fat at that point. I wasn’t normally that judgmental about what people drank, but for some reason, it just rubbed me the wrong way. One of the baristas called my name, and I got my coffee from her and sat down at a quiet table in the corner. Determining to have a better attitude, I decided it was best to ignore everyone in the room and concentrate on other things… Such as what
