Summer Love in the City (Summer Instalove)

much deserved break.

Ordering a simple appetizer and coffee, I began people watching. The diners all around me

were mostly wearing dark gray and black suits, or dark blue and gray dresses. So I turned

to the street to watch the summer parade of flowered skirts, candy-colored high heels, and interesting band t-shirts.

The food was delicious, and I realized I didn’t have a lot of experience eating out by myself.

I forced myself to leave my phone in my purse and simply observe the world around me. If I

wanted to become a top-notch video producer, I was going to have to learn how to crop a

shot and set a scene on the fly. Imagining various assignments, I tried to analyze every

angle, picturing where the best shots would be.

I saw a man approach the hostess who would be perfect to play some sort of billionaire

prince. If I were shooting a “normal man on the street” segment, I would never choose him.

But if it was a piece where I needed a man who had once been a thug, then became a rich

playboy, he would fit the bill perfectly.

The hostess instantly took his arm, leading him to the bar as if he was some sort of VIP.

From the cut of his stylish suit to the flash of his impressive watch, he had the look of

someone who was just known. Like an actor, or a rockstar.

As he came around the corner, his dark eyes flashed to mine, and I looked away

immediately. It was too intense to look directly at him. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw

that he stopped the hostess, as they murmured something together.

Finishing the last bite of my incredible lunch, I dabbed my lips with a napkin, then took a sip

of coffee. Casually glancing around the restaurant, his eyes met mine again as if he’d never

stopped staring at me.

Then a man nearly as huge, who must have been the chef, arrived to shake his hand and

lead him away. I loved that some chefs were wearing all black uniforms now. It had a bit of

military flair, somehow. But I was momentarily irritated that he took the most beautiful man

I’d ever seen out of my line of sight.

Suddenly the hostess was at my elbow. “Excuse me, miss. Chef and his guest would like to

invite you to join them on the private terrace.”

“Um, why me?” I blurted.

She leaned in with a sly smile. “I believe Mr. Mitchell was quite taken with you. Your bill has