Initiation (Master Class Book 1) by Sierra Cartwright

can.” She snatched up her cup, grabbed some mascara and an eyeliner pencil from her purse and headed back to the bedroom.
    He watched every step.
    A few minutes later, minimum makeup in place and hair finger-combed, she rejoined him.
    “We’ll take my car,” he said.
    Fine with her since he obviously knew where he was going. After donning their coats, they headed for his black SUV.
    Wind whipped around them, and the temperature seemed just as cold as it had last night. The sky was gray, as if the sun hadn’t been able to part the curtains on the day.
    He opened her door first and waited until she was settled in before closing her in and walking around to the driver’s side. The moment he started the engine, she pushed the button to turn on the seat warmer. Even though she set it to high, the cold leather bit through her tights. “It looks as though it might snow,” she said.
    “Couple of inches are possible in town.” He shifted into drive and slid her a glance.
    “Which means we could get more than that up here in the foothills.”
    He nodded.
    Logan drove them down the mountain then turned onto a road she had never before noticed. A couple of minutes later, they arrived at a quaint shopping center. There was a coffee shop, a breakfast place, a clothing boutique, a liquor store and a restaurant that specialized in tacos. “Heaven, all in one place.”
    The breakfast place wasn’t anything like she’d anticipated. She’d been expecting something a bit more upscale, maybe with waitresses and delicious coffee choices.
    Instead, wooden tables were packed into a small place. The tops were scarred from years of use. Even though it was still early, most of the sturdy chairs were occupied, and the dining room was loud. But the way it smelled, of coffee and fresh-baked goods, made her mouth water.
    There was a line of people in front of the counter, and the restaurant’s meager offerings were scrawled on a black chalkboard hanging from the wall. One special had already been crossed through.
    The menu seemed to consist of a limited number of skillet meals and a few sandwiches, but a glass case was stuffed with a dizzying array of scones and pastries.
    Her stomach urged her to order something substantial, but her mouth demanded a chocolate croissant.
    Obviously noting her dilemma, he suggested, “Get a croissant to go.”
    “The calories,” she protested.
    “The exercise,” he countered. “I’ll take it upon myself to make sure you work them off.”
    Suddenly warm, she untied her belt and opened the buttons on her coat. “In that case, I want the spinach scramble. With a side of bacon.”
    “What’ll it be?” the woman behind the counter asked when it was their turn. She plucked a pen from behind her ear and poised over a pad all without making eye contact.
    Must be the way she managed the large crowd.
    “Coffee?” he asked Jennifer.
    “Water is fine. I’m holding out for a mocha latte.”
    “I should have guessed.” He placed their orders.
    Impressively, the woman still didn’t glance up as she grabbed a mug and filled it with coffee before replacing the carafe on the burner. After tucking the pen back into place, she slid a plastic glass across the counter toward Jennifer, pointed to a pitcher, then put two croissants in a bag. “Anything else?” she asked, her fingers already flying over the keys on the cash register.
    When she announced the total, Jennifer reached into her purse for a twenty-dollar bill to pay her part of the tab, but froze when Logan said, “Put it away.”
    “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said.
    His eyebrows drew together formidably.
    The woman behind the counter finally looked up. She glanced at Jennifer then Logan before taking his money.
    She gave him change, and he dropped it into the tip jar. “Your number is twenty-one. Pick up your order at the end of the counter when it’s called.” She plucked the pen from behind her ear again. “What’ll it be?” she asked,