But he did look up, because there wasn’t a man on the planet who was unable to spare Elisa a second glance. He swallowed hard, watching her pour her father’s coffee, his gaze skimming over her high cheekbones and pink lips. Her blond hair, shorter than he’d ever seen it, was tucked back into a tiny ponytail, revealing her slender neck.
“And can I get you anything, hon?” Elisa’s voice, twangy with a southern drawl just as he remembered, trailed off as her eyes met his. Just as blue as he remembered, too, though they darkened as recognition paled her cheeks. She jerked the carafe upright. “Noah Hebert.”
He spread his arms in a slightly exaggerated, resigned gesture. “That’s me.” And that had always been the problem between them, hadn’t it? His name. What he represented.
She lifted her chin, her smile wobbly around the edges. “Well, I’ll be. It only took you four months of being back in town to stop in here, didn’t it?”
“I’ve been pretty busy with the inn.” He waited. Elisa had always been a master at keeping her emotions in check. Hard to tell if her words carried a genuinely pleasant undertone…or if she was contemplating stabbing him with the fork resting near Isaac’s mug.
She resumed pouring, her back rigid but her tone fluid as if he hadn’t spoken at all. “I didn’t think men who wore flannel every day were afraid of anything.”
He scooted the fork out of reach. “Never said I was.”
“You’re right. You didn’t say much of nothing, did you? Some things never change, I suppose.” Her voice flowed like molasses, but the look in her eyes as she met his gaze full on packed a punch he hadn’t expected.
And just like that, he was eighteen again, sitting on the pier out by the bay and memorizing the curve of her sun-kissed shoulder beneath his arm. The smell of sunscreen and vanilla wafting off her hair, lapping over him like the waves beneath their feet.
Naively believing that summer would last forever.
He held her challenging stare. “And some things do.” Unfortunately, and fortunately, all at once. He watched a hurricane of emotions flicker through her eyes, but he couldn’t have named a single one.
And he refused to look away first.
“Elisa!” Isaac yelped.
She finally broke eye contact, looking down with a gasp. Coffee spilled over the brim of Isaac’s mug and formed a river on the table, cascading toward Noah. He jerked back, but not before a stream of scalding brown liquid struck the leg of his jeans.
Forget Hurricane Anastasia—Elisa would always be the biggest storm he’d ever encountered.
And it looked like his brief respite from the rain was over.
two
Elisa Bergeron had always hated surprises—because they were usually bad. And if Noah Hebert sitting in a coffee-soaked booth wasn’t further proof of that, she had no idea what was.
“I’m so sorry.” She jerked the carafe away, but the damage had been done. And maybe she didn’t feel entirely all that bad about it, save for the accident gave away the fact that Noah Hebert still affected her. After all this time.
Bless it.
She fisted a handful of napkins from her apron pocket and tossed them on the coffee, but it felt a little like tossing a sponge into Magnolia Bay. Embarrassment heated her throat. “Here.” She handed a few more to Noah, but he was already sliding across the booth, wincing. Okay, so maybe she did feel bad. That coffee washot.
He moved to the end of the seat. “I think this requires a trip to the men’s room.”
“Of course.” She stepped back to give him space, but not before he crowded her at the edge of the table, smelling like a mixture of spicy soap and a forest after a hard rain. Good gravy, but she hadn’t smelled that particular mix in over a decade. Not since the last time she’d snuggled in close to his neck on a beach blanket, stretched across the bay’s sand.
Then he stood, taller and more imposing than she’d remembered, and her mouth dried at his flannel-coated proximity. “It’s that way.” She pointed to the restroom.
“I’ve not been gonethatlong.” He raised a dark brow at her.
And now she was back to no longer feeling bad. “Well you know what the Good Book says about a day being like a thousand years?—”
“Elisa, why don’t you get us a towel?” Dad’s expression revealed nothing—how did he always do that?—as he calmly moved his work folders out of the way of the spreading puddle.
“Right.” Guilt from reacting poorly in front of her father washed over her like—well, like a massive coffee spill. She avoided Noah’s eyes as he stepped past her to the restroom hallway. “Be right back.”
Once he’d cleared the wall full of various inspirational sayings Delia had framed over the years, she dashed for the kitchen, attempting to look more like she was on a mission for a towel than a personal quest to hide her burning cheeks. Her pulse accelerated, and she shoved through the swinging doors, nearly slamming into her co-worker, Trish Gamble.
“Whoa!” Trish pulled back a round tray of water glasses just in time. “I’d ask where the fire is, but it seems to be burning your face. You okay?”
