Bright Side by Kim Holden Page A

secrets. And still likes you in spite of them.
    After what I realize is an exaggerated pause on my part, I smile and offer my standard greeting, “Welcome to Grounds. What can I get for ya?” I realize that I sound much more excited than usual, and I clear my throat.
    Her smile deepens, like she knows this is out-of-character for me, and when it hits her eyes they smile, too. They’re the palest shade of jade and tell a story all their own. Then it hits me how beautiful this woman is. Like a freight train it hits me; from her eyes, to her smile, to her wavy sunshine-blond hair, to her petite but exceptionally well proportioned body. Everything about her is beautiful.
    Her magical eyes and mouth are still smiling at me. “Good morning.”
    Her voice is so sexy. I can’t explain the sound, but it lands somewhere deep inside me and takes root. It’s the kind of voice you don’t hear as much as you feel. And as soon as I feel it, I want to feel it again … and again. I find myself trying to match her smile. The right corner of my mouth pulls up. “Good morning to you.” I may be losing my mind, but I don’t want this time with her to end too fast. So I flirt. Which I haven’t done in such a long time. “Let me guess, caramel cappuccino, soy, no whip?”
    Her brows crease a little and her head delicately tilts slightly to one side, but her smile doesn’t fade. “So are you pretty good at this? Guessing people’s orders I mean?”
    I can’t help this feeling. I want to be closer to this woman standing four feet from me on the other side of the counter. So I lean forward, lace my fingers together, and rest my elbows on the counter. Mission accomplished: I’m another foot closer. She has a faint dusting of freckles on her nose. They’re beautiful, too. “Usually.” Which is a lie. I’ve never done this.
    She scratches her head like she’s thinking over what I’ve said. W hen she pulls her hand away from her hair, it’s even messier than before. That’s not a bad thing. At all . She challenges me. “So I’m a caramel whatcha-ma-call-it kind of girl? Damn, I don’t know how to take that.”
    I keep my elbows and hands resting on the counter. I’d worry I just offended her if her smile wasn’t back in place. But she seems feisty. “That’s my best guess.”
    “Wow,” she replies. “To tell you truth, I feel a little slighted by your presumptuous assessment, but I’m gonna let it slide. I always thought I wore my passion for coffee on my sleeve, kind of like a badge of honor. Large cup of coffee, house blend … black, please.”
    Black? She can’t mean it, no one ever does. They mean black until you put everything else in it . I narrow my eyes. “Flavor shot?”
    Her eyebrows lift . “Nope.”
    I press on. “Creamer? Milk? Soy?”
    She shakes her head. “No thanks.”
    “Sugar?”
    “Nah, I’m sweet enough already.”
    Out of anyone else’s mouth that would’ve sounded cheesy and over-the-top flirtatious, but she says it so matter-of-factly I don’t think she’s even trying to be suggestive. Damn, she’s got me falling all over myself here. I laugh and shake my head. “I bet you are.” I pour the coffee, then offer her the warm cup. I almost jump out of my skin when she takes it and her finger slides over mine. It was clearly unintentional on her part, but I have to suppress a vocal reaction. I clear my throat again and attempt to sound normal. “Guess I had you pegged wrong. Welcome to the club.”
    As she hands me two dollar bills, she winks. “I get that a lot.”
    She winked at me . I’m grateful at this moment that I’m standing concealed from the waist down behind this counter, because I’m way too close to embarrassing myself on such a middle school level. I drop the change in her tiny open palm, because I can’t risk physical contact again.
    She immediately drops it in the tip jar and hoists her coffee in the air. “Thanks. Have a stupendous Tuesday.”
    Who says