“I’ll try not to make a big deal when he comes in.” Wolfie’s lips twitched. “Though watching you bounce around like an excited puppy is entertainment enough.”
A gasp from the kitchen doorway made us both turn. Brinley froze, still holding a tray of fresh muffins. “Chance Prince is coming here? Today?”
I grinned at Brinley’s enthusiasm. Her strawberry blonde curls bounced as she practically vibrated with excitement, matching her bubbly personality. The pastel pink streak in her hair complemented her rosy cheeks and the sparkly butterfly clips holding back her bangs.
“Maybe,” I replied, though her enthusiasm was contagious. “And we’re all going to be totally cool about it, right?”
“Of course!” She set down her tray. “I promisenot to fangirl. Much. Just a tiny bit. Barely noticeable.”
“Brinley…” Wolfie’s warning tone made her giggle.
“Fine, I’ll be professional.” She arranged the pastries in the display case with extra care. “Do you think he’ll want to try my chocolate chip muffins? Should I make extra whipped cream?”
“Breathe, Brinley.” Wolfie chuckled as he reached over to ruffle her hair. She ducked away with a squeak of protest, readjusting her clips.
“You’re messing up my perfectly crafted ‘I woke up this way but actually spent an hour on my hair’ look,” she pouted, though her eyes sparkled with mirth.
“Heaven forbid someone thinks you wake up less than perfect,” I teased, helping her arrange the muffins in the display case. Each one was positioned with surgical precision.
“But what if he doesn’t eat sweets?” Brinley continued. “What if he’s on some fancy Hollywood diet?”
“What if you focus on making these displays look as irresistible as always?” I suggested. “Trust me, no one can resist your muffins once they see that mountain of whipped cream you pile on top.”
“You mean my artistically sculpted cloud of happiness,” she declared with such earnest conviction that I laughed. “Besides, the ratio of whipped creamto muffin is scientifically calculated to produce maximum smile wattage per bite.”
“Is that the technical term?” Wolfie asked, dodging the paper towel she threw at him.
“Don’t mock my methods,” she warned, brandishing a whipped cream canister as a weapon. “Or the next latte art I make for you will be a frowny face.”
Before he could respond, the morning rush began. The bell above the door chimed repeatedly as customers streamed in, most of them regulars who needed their caffeine fix before facing the day. I fell into the familiar rhythm of taking orders, making drinks, and keeping the line moving.
“Medium caramel macchiato for Sarah!” I called out, already starting on the next drink in the queue. The morning bustle kept me from watching the door, though I couldn’t stop sneaking glances between customers.
“Wolfie, we need more oat milk!” Brinley’s voice carried over the espresso machine’s hiss.
“On it!” He ducked into the back room to grab more. When he returned, three more people had joined the line, all of them regulars I greeted by name.
The morning flew by in a whirl of coffee orders, warm pastries, and friendly chatter. I stayed focused on each customer, determined not to let my anticipation affect my service. Still, I couldn’t quite shake theexcited flutter in my stomach every time the door opened, hoping it might be Chance.
The bell chimed for what felt like the hundredth time that morning. I glanced up from wiping down the counter, ready to greet another regular, but my rehearsed welcome died on my lips.
There, attempting to blend in with all the subtlety of a peacock at a penguin party, stood Chance Prince. The baggy bomber jacket and black glasses made a decent disguise, but there was no missing someone as handsome as Chance. The glasses enhanced his appeal, giving him an adorably bookish vibe that contrasted with his rock-star persona. My mind flashed to Duke taking me hard the other night while Chance’s voice had filled our bedroom, making my cheeks flush with heat.
I bit back a laugh as he walked toward the counter, trying to look casual while scanning the café to see if anyone recognized him. Our gazes met, and his confident stride faltered for a moment before his lips curved into a devastating smile.
Those lips had starred in quite a few of my fantasies last night, especially when Duke had growled the lyrics of “Requiem of Sin” against my neck. The memory of him claiming me while Chance’s voice surrounded us made my skin tingle. Now, seeing Chance in person, looking somehow both dangerous and endearingly nervous behind those glasses, I understood why Duke had gotten so workedup.
He radiated the same sexuality that came through in his music, but there was also something vulnerable in the way he kept fidgeting with his jacket sleeves. The contrast was intriguing. While his stage presence was all confidence and seduction, the Chance in front of me seemed more real as a beautiful young man trying to navigate fame while maintaining some semblance of normalcy.
The glasses slipped down his nose as he approached, and he pushed them up with an unconscious gesture that was far too adorable for someone who regularly made tens of thousands of fans scream his name in stadium arenas. The brief glimpse of his humanity beneath the celebrity made my heart squeeze. Duke and I could offer him something genuine if he were interested in more than a quick fling.
My body hummed with awareness as he got closer, remembering how thoroughly Duke had claimed me while Chance’s music played. Faced with the man himself, I couldn’t help wondering how his full lips would feel against mine or how his voice might sound breathless with pleasure rather than perfectly controlled in a song.
“Good morning,” I purred. “What can I get for you today?”
He leaned against the counter with practiced ease. “Depends. What would you recommend?” His voice was pure honey.
“That’s a loaded question. I need to know your coffee personality first.” I mirrored his posture, closing the distance between us. “Are you sweet and indulgent, bold and intense, or somewhere deliciously in between?”
