“That form was for the dates that worked best for you, not necessarily the dates you would get. Did you receive a welcome email from us? That should’ve confirmed your appointment and walked you through a few things.”
I try to smile like a normal, relaxed—competent—person. “I did, but I skimmed it pretty fast.” A forced, awkward chuckle leaves my lips.
“Your appointment is actually for Friday with … Clarissa,” Brittni says. “From nine until ten. Does that work?”
Friday mornings at Cherry Pie Pizza—my restaurant and one of my only sources of joy in the world—is always packed. But, even if it did work, I’d bow out. This is obviously a sign.
“Actually, it doesn’t.” I back slowly toward the door. “My schedule is kind of wonky. I’ll just call tomorrow and work it out when I have my calendar in hand.”
“Okay. That’s fine. We—oh, hi, Dane.”
Brittni’s voice oozes sweetness. My gaze follows hers to the right. Standing next to the computer is him—Dane McDaniels.
My mouth goes dry.
Dane is practically a unicorn living in our midst. He’s the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome. His name is brought up at the pizza shop at least once a night. Women gossip about why he’s single, where he was last spotted, and if anyone has been lucky enough to get him as a trainer.
Men, on the other hand, gripe about the way he parks at the gas station, how much he runs—shirtless— and definitely about how much the women swoon over him when he gives them any more than a curt nod.
His habits don’t help his reputation. You’d think the owner of Cherry Falls Fitness would be involved in the social functions of the town. He isn’t. One would think that someone as ridiculously good-looking as him would have a wife or girlfriend. Not him—as far as anyone knows. And anyone with an ounce of common sense would think that the man everyone agrees—even the men of Cherry Falls—is an inherently kind person would go out for pizza or a beer on occasion with friends. Nope. Not Dane McDaniels.
The man is nearly a recluse. An insanely attractive, business-owning, help-this-old-lady-get-her-cat-from-a-tree gentleman with a panty-dropping smile recluse.
It’s almost not fair to humanity.
And it’s also not fair that on the day I have a Snickers bar smeared across my face, have bungled my appointment, and have my pants wedged up my butt crack in a way that I’m positive isn’t doing me any damn favors that he’s in the office staring at me.
I gulp.
“What’s going on up here?” he asks, his voice pure honey. It’s thick and slow and makes my insides all gooey.
The question is obviously for Brittni, but his attention—an intense yet comfortable gaze—sits directly on me.
I try not to squirm in my sneakers.
“She thought she booked Clarissa today,” Brittni says, all too happy to fill him in. “Clarissa isn’t in this afternoon. Kaylee’s appointment is on Friday.”
“Kaylee Richards?” He arches a thick, dark brow.
How does he know my name?
“That’s me.” I give him a grin that likely reads more like a cringe. “I’ll come back Friday.”
He leans against the front desk, completely unhurried. Slowly—oh-so-sinfully slowly—a smile spreads across his full lips.
Sweat beads along my spine. My sneakers feel too big. My bag suddenly weighs double what it did when I walked in here five minutes ago, and I feel the need to run.
But I don’t. Instead, I stand in front of Dane McDaniels—and Brittni, for that matter—with my mouth slightly ajar as I try to get my wits about me.
“There’s no need to come back Friday,” he says. “Let’s do it now.”
“We don’t have anyone to train her,” Brittni tells him.
Dane doesn’t look at her. “I’m available.”
I laugh. I laugh. Has he lost his mind? Does this joker think I’m mature enough to survive a personal training session with him? Ha!
“You actually have an appointment in thirty,” Brittni says, batting her lashes at her boss.
“It’s okay,” I say, blowing out a shaky breath. “I’ll come back on Friday.”
“Why?” he asks.
It’s a one-word question that feels … bigger than that. It sinks between the two of us, nearly drowning Brittni in her own drool.
Why? Because. Just because.
I readjust my bag on my shoulder. “You have an appointment in thirty. I have a case of tomatoes that need chopping at the pizza shop. It’s no big deal.”
He shoves off the desk and walks across the room as if he’s on a mission. The closer he gets, the faster my logical thinking abilities flee.
His cologne perfumes the air with a musky, heady scent. I haul in a lungful of air in hopes I’m not completely swamped with oxytocin—something I only know is a part of attraction thanks to Anna’s health study session last month. I wish I’d have paid more attention.
“Come on,” he says, standing in front of me. His eyes are the color of chocolate. “What are you afraid of?”