“Hi,” Nicole said.
“Hi, and welcome.” The other woman greeted her with a friendly smile. “Are you new in town?”
Nicole laughed. “That obvious?”
“Only to someone who grew up here. I’m Trisha Lock-hart. I own this place.”
“Nicole Farnsworth. Are you related to Joe? He’s my landlord.”
“He’s my brother. He pumps the good people in town full of alcohol and I sober them up or help their hangover the next day.” Her words were light and teasing. “What can I get you?”
“Regular coffee with milk and sugar,” Nicole said.
“Coming right up.”
As Trisha poured her drink, Nicole stepped back to study the items behind the counter. There were prewrapped pastries and assorted other things like name-brand granola bars, but nothing that appeared freshly baked. She wrinkled her nose at the choices.
“Something wrong?” Trisha placed her cup on the counter.
“Not at all,” Nicole rushed to assure her, embarrassed that she’d been caught turning her nose up at the other woman’s offerings.
“You looked like you just ate a Sour Patch or something.”
Nicole shook her head, mortified. “I’m sorry. I was just looking at your breakfast offerings—”
“Pitiful, I know.” Trisha lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “It is what it is. I can’t bake and I don’t have the equipment even if I could.”
“Hmm. Well, it just so happens . . .”
“Yes?”
Nicole braced her hands on the counter. “I can bake. And I want to bake; I moved here hoping to find a place to do that, or open my own business.” She met Trisha’s interested gaze. “I have the savings for it, but I’m not sure I’m ready to dive in alone.”
Trisha eyed her speculatively. “I would be interested in bringing fresh items into the store. I’m certain it would only add business.” She shrugged. “Why don’t you drop off some baked goods for me to try?”
Heartened, Nicole nodded. “I will.” She placed money, enough to include a tip, on the counter and picked up her cup. “It was nice meeting you.”
“Same here. I’d say don’t be a stranger, but in this town, no one really is.” Trisha grinned and turned to refresh the decaffeinated coffee.
Smiling, Nicole spun around and bumped into a hard male body. Her coffee sloshed over the lid, burning her hand. “Oh crap,” she muttered.
Ignoring the sting, she backed up, then glanced up and into the same hazel eyes that had starred in her dreams. Sam stood in front of her, freshly shaved, wearing a dark sport jacket, and looking hotter than any man had a right to.
“Oh God. I’m sorry. Did I get any coffee on you?” she asked, embarrassed.
“No. I’m fine. Are you okay?” He lifted her burned hand in his for inspection.
Shocks that had nothing to do with the hot liquid tingled along her skin. A quick look up told her he’d experienced the sensation too.
“I’m okay,” she murmured. At least her hand was. The rest of her was another story. “Where are you going all dressed up?” she asked.
“Work.”
She narrowed her gaze. “No uniform?”
“I got a promotion since I saw you last,” he explained. “Detectives get to ditch the uniform.”
“Congratulations!” she said, impressed and happy for him.