Spitfire in Love (Chasing Red 3)

She was like this yesterday too. Yesterday. It didn’t feel like we just met yesterday. It felt like I’d been thinking about her for a long, long time.

It was clear to me that she had a one-track mind. She was like a missile. Once she locked on her target, that was all she could concentrate on.

Yesterday morning, when she was marching to Dingle Dick’s house, she passed in front of me as if I didn’t exist. And last night, while I was out for a run, trying not to think about her, debating whether to call her or not, she appeared in my driveway. She was sneaking around like a thief and didn’t even notice that I was behind her, watching her.

I had thought it was a tall, lanky guy in a large, shapeless hoodie trying to do a B and E. I would have attacked. And then her hair had spilled out from her hat.

And somehow, I knew it was her.

I thought she’d vandalized Dingle Dick’s house, maybe got spotted and was looking for someplace to hide and picked my house.

I didn’t expect the words that had tumbled from her mouth after that.

And now I was at her shop, watching her again.

She tried to open the back door of the shop with her key, but it looked like it wouldn’t turn. Must have frozen overnight. She muttered under her breath. Instead of walking to the side of the building where I was standing, she circled around the opposite side. I walked back to the front of the building.

Success, I thought as I watched her twist the key and unlock the front door. At least this door didn’t give her grief. She raised her head slightly, and our eyes connected.

She froze, eyes wide in shock, before she pulled out her key—or tried to. It was stuck.

I watched her struggle, almost in a panic trying to yank the key out. When she did, she grabbed the door like a lifeline and disappeared inside. The decisive snap of the dead bolt was loud. I laughed quietly.

Man, she was a riot. She saw me and definitely locked me out.

I walked to the front door, leaned against the wall. Tapped my knuckles on the door.

Nothing. I waited.

Was she pretending she hadn’t seen me?

It took a couple of minutes before I heard the lock open. The door opened a crack.

Hazel. Her eyes were hazel. More green, like crisp grass in the morning, than brown.

Those eyes glared at me, razor-sharp blades ready to make me bleed. We stood there for a beat.

My gaze slowly shifted down.

She had a beauty mark on the upper side of her lip. So faint you could barely see it unless you knew where to look.

I wanted to do more than look.

Her hands flew to cover her mouth.

“Back off!”

Or I thought that was what she said. Her hands had muffled the sound.

“Morning,” I said. I propped my arm on the doorjamb, gave her a smile. A friendly, nonthreatening, I’m-as-safe-as-they-come smile. It usually worked. This time, it didn’t.

She glowered at me. She had zipped her parka closed, hoodie in place to cover her messy hair.

“Do you know how to read?” she demanded, still covering her mouth with her hand.

I pushed the door open and walked inside the warmth.

She stepped back.