“Well, geez, I ruined your day. I feel like I owe you something.”
He smiled and locked eyes with her. “Tell you what, if you really feel the need to apologize…”
“Yeah?”
“I’d rather have your phone number.”
Gulp.
Her jaw hung open as his request hit her from out of the blue and sent her brain into meltdown. I’ve just given a gorgeous man a hot-coffee bath and he wants my phone number and I just met Alexander, who is interested in me and I haven’t had a date in two years and now I have to meet two guys in the same week… this isn’t fair. “Uh…whuh…”
“Cheaper than a new shirt and tie.”
“What is?”
“Your phone number.”
“Uh… yeah.”
He gestured to an empty table. “And have lunch with me? Add that to the list and we’ll call it even.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Great.”
The manager returned holding a pale-blue button-down oxford and handed it to him. “I think this should fit, it’s an extra-extra large. You can change in the back room. Follow me.”
He turned to Keira and pointed to an empty booth. “Grab that and I’ll be right back.”
“Yeah, sure.”
The guy followed the manager behind a curtain while Keira sat at a table for two in the corner, keeping her eyes locked on the curtain, which didn’t close all the way. The guy pulled off his shirt.
Gulp, again.
Oh. My. God.
He’s a real-life romance-novel cover.
She stared at his chiseled body and absentmindedly licked her lips as he changed into the barista shirt. Massive shoulders, cut pecs and a well-defined six-pack. The man was seriously ripped. He thanked the manager and shoved the curtain back. She quickly turned her head and looked out the window so he wouldn’t see her staring. He pulled out the chair and she turned to face him. “Maybe I can moonlight serving coffee and get a kickback from the men’s store across the street.”
He laughed and extended his hand across the table. “Dash Riley.”
She shook it. “Keira Madison.”
He studied her face. “I’ve seen you before, right?”
“I don’t think so.”
He shook his finger. “No, no, I never forget a face. And I’d remember one like yours.”
“Like mine?”
“Got a thing for redheads with freckles. My mom says it’s the Irish genes. Give me a minute.” His eyes widened. “Got it. I saw an article about you recently in The Post, right? You’re that publisher.”
“Editor. But yeah, that’s me. You have quite the memory.”
He turned serious. “That was a touching story about your best friend.”
She bit her lower lip, the image of Rose flashing through her mind.
His eyes locked with hers for a moment. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to—”
“It’s okay. I think of her every day. It’s gonna take a while to get over it.”
Their gaze was interrupted as the manager slid a sandwich and soda in front of him. “Here you go, sir. And I do apologize. Sometimes our baristas don’t put the coffee lids on tight enough.”
Keira laughed. “Hey, not your fault, I’m the clumsy one. You didn’t give him a latte bath.”
“You two enjoy your lunch. If you want anything else, dessert, whatever, let me know. On the house.”
Keira lowered her head and her voice. “Tell him you want tiramisu.”
Dash smiled. “I guess the lady wants tiramisu.”
“Coming right up,” said the manager, who spun on his heels and headed toward the kitchen.
Dash turned back to Keira. “So, editor. I imagine that’s a fun job.”
“Depends on the day and what you’re reading. But I love my work. Getting paid to read and discover great talent is something really special. So what do you do?”
“Political media consultant. Currently working on Senator Bradley’s re-election campaign.”
“That sounds interesting.”
“It is, though working with some politicians makes you want to take an hour-long shower at the end of the day. But Bradley’s a good guy, so I’m enjoying this election cycle.”
“Well, from what I’ve read, your candidate has a good shot.”
“As long as some unexpected shit doesn’t hit the fan.” He grabbed his sandwich and took a bite. Keira unwrapped her panini and did the same, not taking her eyes off him.
He looks so familiar…
“So, Dash, have I seen you somewhere before?”
He shrugged. “Don’t think so. I’m always behind the scenes. And I’ve never been in the paper.”
Then it hit her.
Ho. Lee. Shit.
He looks exactly like the guy on the cover of Rose Fontaine’s first novel. The Soul Mate hero was real.
And she instantly knew she’d been lying every time she made a speech at a writer’s conference.
The best men I’ve met only exist on paper.
“Excuse me, aren’t you Alex Bauer?”
Alex turned and found himself looking at a perky brunette behind him in the drug store checkout line. “That’s me.”
Her huge ice-blue eyes beamed. “I knew it.”
“I don’t usually get recognized in New York. How do you know me?”
“I just moved here from Texas. Used to watch you on Channel 4.” She extended her hand. “I’m Lauren Hale.”
He shook it and smiled. “Alex Bauer.”
“Yeah, I already figured that part out.”
“Right. So, Texas, huh? How do you like the Big Apple?”
“Love it. Never want to leave. Not wild about the cold, but I’ve gotten used to it. So what channel are you on here? I haven’t seen you on the local news.”
“I left television two years ago. I’m a writer now. Just sold my first book. It’ll be out in nine months.”
“Wow, that’s terrific. Great American Novel?”
“Don’t laugh, but it’s a romantic comedy.”
“Why would I laugh? I love a good rom-com.”
“Men don’t usually write those.”
She shrugged as she flashed a smile. “Just tells me you’re a romantic guy, and there’s a serious shortage of those around here. Actually there’s a shortage everywhere.”
The woman was beyond cute; one of those girls with a sweet, innocent face. But the body was anything but innocent. Maybe late twenties, about five-seven and seriously stacked with dangerous curves wrapped in a dress that matched her eyes, gentle curls that ended in the middle of her back, and a soft, devastating drawl. She was still locked on to