One Bossy Proposal: Enemies to Lovers Romance

My lips turn up in a smile and I almost fall over.

“You...you big idiot. You’re playing matchmaker?” My lips quiver because I still can’t believe it.

Every time I think I have this man figured out, he bowls me right over again.

“Quiet. Don’t let Wyatt hear,” he grumbles.

I nod and don’t mention it again as we walk, still trying to bite back a smile.

“Come on already. Damn, you guys are slower than snails and that’s coming from the guy on one leg.” Wyatt sits on a few stacked wooden beams in front of his makeshift campfire.

“He’s impatient today,” I say.

“He’s in a good mood if he’s brewing coffee. I haven’t seen that in months. We’re going to have to pick up the pace.” Lincoln’s steps grow into a jog.

I struggle to keep pace.

He reaches the campfire before me and drops down on a box. I slow down and catch my breath as I approach them. Smoothing my skirt, I’m about to take a seat on the big crate beside Lincoln when Wyatt looks up with narrowed eyes.

“What the hell, man? Are you gonna let her ruin that pretty dress?”

But before he even finishes, Lincoln shrugs out of his blazer and lays it over the space next to him. Smooth.

“Lincoln, that’s okay, you don’t have to—I’m fine.”

I am so not fine. Seeing my grumphole in a suit acting chivalrous makes me feel things I should not be feeling in any universe that still makes sense.

“Wyatt’s right. Sit down, Nevermore.”

I can’t even say no. I just drop down beside him, leaving a sliver of space between us.

“Here. You have to try this.” Wyatt ladles out a dark liquid in a disposable cup he takes from a sack beside him. He passes it to Lincoln first.

My nostrils flare as I catch the scent. Fragrant coffee, and it smells like it’s strong enough to peel wallpaper.

Lincoln sniffs the cup and smiles.

“Smells mighty good.” He takes a small sip. “Damn, I like it. Tastes smoky.”

I swear I see Wyatt standing a little taller, less hunched over. He’s proud of his brew and it’s just...nice. Insanely nice to see this broken man care about something besides pastries and basic street survival.

“You want some, Dakota? I don’t have cream and fancy stuff to go with it,” he warns with a shine in his eyes.

Honestly, black coffee and I don’t get along, but I can’t stand being rude.

“Yes, please. I’ll give it a shot. Just pour me a little,” I tell him.

With a friendly nod, he ladles that jet-black rocket fuel into a second cup and passes it over. I’m a little afraid it’ll melt my throat. It smells like Eliza’s whole apartment after an entire day of cooking up batch after batch of rich espresso and pourover concentrate.

“What trouble are you two in tonight?” Wyatt asks.

Linc takes another hearty pull off his cup, totally unruffled by the potent drink.

“What else? I came to see you. Dakota’s just stalking me.”

“I am not, Wyatt. I...I came to see you too.” I stumble over my words, realizing how weird that sounds. “I was hoping you might have a story or two. I’m a fiction writer—a poet, really—when I’m off the clock. I’m always looking for inspiration. How could I know we’d both show up at the same time?”

Lincoln doesn’t even look at me but lets out a sigh that says, Nevermore, you suck.

“Pure coincidence. Always the best kind.” Wyatt ladles himself a drink and glugs down half the contents in one gulp.

“Exactly,” I say matter-of-factly.

Wyatt’s eyes trail from Lincoln to me. “By the way, if you are stalking him, I don’t think he minds. He likes it.”

“Pffft,” I hiss. “He wishes I cared enough to stalk him.”

Wyatt chuckles.

“I’m right here, you know?” Lincoln stiffens and takes another swig of coffee. He glances at me sharply. “Can you check my office email while you’re here? I’m expecting a proposal.”

“Sure.” I pull out my phone and open the EA inbox.

I’m pretending to focus on the screen, but I notice he leans closer to Wyatt. “What the hell are you doing? I’m her boss. Are you crazy?”

I couldn’t say what Wyatt is, but Lincoln is definitely off his rocker if he thinks I can’t hear. If I suck at lying, he’s a terrible whisperer. His voice has that deep, resonating boom that could carry through a thunderstorm—or even the Fourth of July.

“I’m trying to help you, man. Lighten the fuck up,” Wyatt growls back.

“Oh, yeah? And how would you feel if I hinted to Miss Green Thumb that you’ve got a beating heart?” Lincoln says, flashing me a conspiratorial look.

“Burns, you leave her alone. I swear to fuck...” Wyatt finishes that thought with a vicious glare.

I try not to giggle.

It’s like watching two standoffish bears in a library trying to keep it down and failing comically.